Christmas in Hell: The Missionaries Who Stayed in Nanking, December 1937

December 1937, Nanking, China. Five of the fifteen members of the Nanking Safety Zone.

On Christmas Eve 1937, Reverend John Magee stood in his chapel in Nanjing, China, preparing to deliver a Christmas sermon to a congregation of terrified refugees. Outside, Japanese soldiers continued their rampage through the city—murdering, raping, and looting. The traditional Christmas message of "Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Men" had never seemed more grotesquely inappropriate, yet never more desperately needed. As Magee would write in his diary, he found himself thinking of another Christmas story—King Herod's slaughter of the innocents in Bethlehem, searching for the infant Jesus. The parallel was unbearable: once again, innocent blood was being spilled while the message of salvation struggled to survive. The novel Nanking Safety Zone captures this extraordinary moment when faith collided with evil, and a small group of missionaries chose to embody the light they could no longer see.

The Decision to Stay

When Japanese forces approached Nanjing in December 1937, most Westerners fled. The American embassy evacuated. Businessmen departed. Journalists retreated to Shanghai. But a small group of missionaries made a different choice. They would stay for Christmas.

This wasn't naivety or martyrdom complex. These missionaries—John Magee (Episcopal), Minnie Vautrin (Disciples of Christ), Robert Wilson (Methodist), James McCallum (Disciples of Christ), George Fitch (YMCA) and others—understood exactly what was coming. They had heard reports from Shanghai and Suzhou. They knew staying might mean death. Yet they stayed, driven by a conviction that abandoning their flock at Christmas would betray everything they claimed to believe.

As Minnie Vautrin stated, "There is probably no stranger place in the world to spend Christmas than here, but I would not be anywhere else. If Christmas means anything, it means God coming into the darkness. We cannot leave."

December 13-24: The Descent into Hell

The Japanese entered Nanjing on December 13, beginning what would become known as the Rape of Nanking. For the missionaries, the next twelve days before Christmas became a daily confrontation with evil that challenged every aspect of their faith.

John Magee, armed only with his clerical collar and a 16mm camera, documented atrocities while trying to save lives. He filmed because he believed the world must know, but also because the act of recording was itself a form of resistance against chaos. His footage shows scenes that seem to mock the approaching celebration of Christ's birth: murdered children in the streets, women who had been raped and mutilated, and families destroyed.

The novel Nanking Safety Zone captures Magee's internal struggle during these days. How do you prepare for Christmas while stepping over bodies? How do you plan a celebration of divine love while witnessing demonic hatred? Magee's answer was to continue his ministry—conducting funerals, protecting refugees, and preparing for Christmas as if normalcy itself was an act of defiance.

The Herod Parallel

On December 20, as Magee worked on his Christmas sermon, he was struck by a terrible parallel. The Gospel of Matthew tells of King Herod, who, learning of Jesus's birth and fearing a rival king, ordered the murder of all male infants in Bethlehem. The "Massacre of the Innocents" was Herod's attempt to kill the Christ child by killing all children.

In Nanjing, Magee saw the same dynamic—innocents being slaughtered by power afraid of losing control. Japanese forces, humiliated by Chinese resistance and fearing continued defiance, were killing indiscriminately. Children were being bayoneted. Pregnant women were being murdered. The parallel was exact and horrifying.

Magee wrote: "We are living through Matthew Chapter 2. But where is the angel warning us to flee to Egypt? Where is the escape for these innocents? We missionaries must be that angel, that escape, though we have no Egypt to offer—only a few buildings and the presence of God."

This theological insight transformed how Magee understood his role. If this was indeed a modern massacre of innocents, then the missionaries were called to be the holy family's protectors, creating whatever sanctuary they could amid slaughter.

Christmas Eve: The Impossible Service

The novel vividly depicts the Christmas Eve service at Ginling college. The chapel was packed with refugees all seeking sanctuary not in Christ necessarily but in the physical protection of a Western religious space.

Outside, Japanese soldiers had been drinking heavily, and Christmas Eve saw some of the worst atrocities. Yet inside the chapel, Magee attempted to conduct a traditional Christmas service. The cognitive dissonance was overwhelming.

His sermon, partially preserved in letters home, wrestled with the contradiction:

"Tonight we celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace while war rages outside these walls. We sing of good will toward men while men commit unspeakable evil. We proclaim that God became human while humans become demons. How can this be? How dare we celebrate?

"But consider—Christ was born into a world of violence. Herod's soldiers were murdering children after the Magi brought gifts. The holy family fled as refugees to Egypt. The Christmas story is not about peace achieved but about light entering darkness. Christ came not to a perfect world but to this world—a world of Herods and soldiers, of refugees and rape, of power crushing innocence.

"Tonight, iniquity rages outside our walls. But tonight, Christ is also born—born in every act of courage, every moment of compassion, every refusal to let evil have the final word. When Miss Vautrin stands at the gate protecting women, Christ is born. When Fitch rescue a woman from rape, Christ is born. When Dr. Wilson saves a life, Christ is born. When you share your rice with a stranger, Christ is born.

"We cannot stop evil tonight. But we can be the innkeeper who makes room. We can be the shepherds who bear witness. We can be the Magi who bring gifts. And somehow, mysteriously, in being these things, we proclaim that Herod does not win. Love wins. It may not look like winning. It may look like a baby in a manger or a man on a cross. But it wins."

Minnie Vautrin's Christmas Diary

Minnie Vautrin's diary entry for Christmas Day 1937 is one of history's most poignant documents. She along with Fitch had spent Christmas Eve not in worship but standing guard at Ginling College, physically preventing soldiers from taking women for rape.

"December 25, 1937. Christmas Day. The saddest Christmas of my life. This morning between 4 and 5 a.m., I heard the hymn 'Silent Night, Holy Night' being sung in Chinese. The refugees in the Science Hall were singing. I wept. How can the night be silent or holy when it is filled with the cries of women? Yet they sang.

"At 7 a.m., two Japanese soldiers climbed over the wall. I confronted them. It is strange to say 'Merry Christmas' to men intent on evil. They left. A Christmas miracle? Or just my American face?

John Rabe's Nazi Christmas

Perhaps the strangest Christmas celebrant was John Rabe, the Nazi businessman heading the Safety Zone Committee. The novel explores the surreal irony of a Nazi Party member protecting refugees while celebrating the birth of a Jewish messiah.

Rabe decorated a small tree in his home where 650 Chinese refugees sheltered. He wrote in his diary: "The Führer would not understand what I do here. I use his picture and my swastika to protect Chinese from our Japanese allies. Today, Christmas, I wonder what the Austrian corporal would think of the Jewish carpenter whose birth we celebrate. Both promised salvation. I see now which salvation is real—it comes not through power but through service."

Rabe's Christmas wrestled with his own contradictions. He remained a Nazi Party member, yet his actions embodied Christian charity more than many Christians. The novel uses his character to explore how extreme circumstances can reveal unexpected grace in unlikely people.

The Theological Crisis

For the missionaries, Christmas 1937 precipitated a theological crisis that the novel explores in depth. Every tenet of their faith was being tested:

The Problem of Evil: If God is all-powerful and all-loving, why was He permitting such horror? The traditional Christmas message of divine intervention seemed to mock the absence of intervention in Nanjing.

The Nature of Humanity: Christian theology teaches that humans are made in God's image. What the missionaries witnessed suggested humans could become devils. How could the same species produce both the Japanese soldiers committing atrocities and the Chinese sharing their last rice with strangers?

The Meaning of Incarnation: Christmas celebrates God becoming human. But in Nanjing, humans were becoming inhuman. What did incarnation mean when humanity itself seemed corrupted?

The Power of Witness: The missionaries believed in the power of Christian witness. But their witness seemed impotent against machine guns and bayonets. What good was moral example when evil ignored it?

Finding God in Hell

Yet paradoxically, many missionaries reported finding God more present in Nanjing's hell than in comfortable chapels back home. The novel captures this mystical discovery—that extreme evil can make good more visible, not less.

James McCallum wrote: "I have seen more of Christ in these Chinese refugees—in their sharing, their courage, their care for each other—than in years of church services. If God is anywhere, He is here in the suffering."

This wasn't sentimental theodicy but hard-won insight. God was not in the power of the Japanese military but in the powerlessness of the refugees. Christ was not conquering but crucified, present in victims rather than victors. Christmas 1937 revealed that the incarnation was not about God endorsing human power but about God entering human vulnerability.

The Christmas Miracle That Wasn't

Some refugees hoped Christmas might bring a miracle—that Christian Japanese soldiers might remember the season's message.

No such miracle came. December 26 brought more killing, more rape, more horror. The novel confronts this absence of miracle honestly—faith that depends on miraculous intervention will fail in places like Nanjing.

Yet the missionaries identified smaller miracles: the refugee who shared her last sweet potato, the Chinese soldier that escaped execution, the Japanese embassy official who secretly warned Fitch of planned raids. These weren't miracles that stopped evil but miracles that preserved goodness despite evil.

John Magee's Final Christmas Message

Magee's Christmas night reflection, recorded in his diary and featured in the novel, provides the theological resolution:

"Today we celebrated the birth of Christ in the midst of Herod's slaughter. I understand now what I never understood before—Christmas is not the story of God preventing suffering but of God entering suffering. The incarnation means God refuses to remain distant from human horror.

"Herod believes he wins by killing the innocents. But Herod always fails. He failed in Bethlehem—Christ survived. He fails here in Nanjing—love survives. Not all of us survive. Most don't. But love survives, and that is the Christmas message. Not that evil is prevented but that evil is ultimately powerless against love. And just as there was a purpose for the baby Jesus to escape Herod’s onslaught, God also has a purpose for those of us who have survived this day.

The Contemporary Message

The novel Nanking Safety Zone makes December 1937 urgently relevant to contemporary readers by revealing an eternal truth: the chasm between Christmas promises and world realities never closes. Today, we still sing "Peace on Earth" while Ukraine burns, Nigeria bleeds, and refugees flee across many continents. We still proclaim divine love while witnessing human hatred metastasize online and in our streets. We still face modern Herods—wearing different uniforms but wielding the same cruelty, using technology instead of swords but pursuing the same slaughter of innocents.

What makes this story resonate across decades is the choice these Christian missionaries made. George Fitch could have been decorating a tree with his four children in safety. Minnie Vautrin could have been singing carols in her Illinois hometown. John Magee could have been conducting peaceful Christmas services in comfortable America. Instead, this small band of believers rejected the comfort of a safe, peaceful Christmas holiday with their families. They chose to stay in hell because they understood that Christmas belongs most where it seems to belong least.

The Nanking Safety Zone they established became something extraordinary—not just a physical refuge but a spiritual statement. It was a two-square-mile declaration that evil, no matter how overwhelming, cannot extinguish good. When Japanese soldiers came hunting for victims, they met Vautrin standing in doorways singing hymns. When they climbed walls seeking women to assault, they found Fitch with his flashlight and his fearless defiance. When they demanded surrender to chaos, they discovered Magee with his camera, documenting their crimes for history. The Safety Zone became the light that evil could not smother, the small flame that proved darkness is not absolute.

Their choice teaches us how to respond to our own world's horrors: we don't wait for peace before proclaiming peace—we proclaim peace as active protest against war. We don't postpone love until hatred ends—we celebrate love as living resistance against hate. We create our own safety zones—whether physical sanctuaries for refugees, safe spaces for the vulnerable, or simply homes where kindness reigns despite the world's cruelty. Every such zone, however small, proves that humanity can survive inhumanity.

Christmas 1937 in Nanjing revealed a profound theological truth: the incarnation is not merely historical fact but a perpetual invitation—the choice to enter suffering rather than escape it, to witness evil rather than look away, to light candles rather than simply curse the darkness. George Fitch, Minnie Vautrin, John Rabe, John Magee and the others were not just helping refugees. They were embodying the incarnation—God entering human suffering not to eliminate it but to transform it through presence.

The missionaries couldn't stop the massacre—evil raged for six weeks despite their prayers. They couldn't save all the innocents—thousands died even within sight of the Safety Zone. But they could embody the alternative to evil. They could demonstrate that brutality is a choice, not an inevitability. They could ensure that the last word spoken in Nanjing would not be a scream but a carol, not a curse but a blessing, not despair but defiance. In choosing to stay that December and celebrate Christmas amidst slaughter, they wrote a different ending to the story—one where love, saved over 200,000 Chinese.