Christmas Eve, and I am meditating on cynicism (as I am oft these days, unfortunately), and Christ.
There are some Christmas songs I don’t really like. “Silent Night” is one of them.
No, it is the songs in minor key that hold the most meaning to me.
Presents. Reindeer. Mangers. Shepherds. It’s all crap. Everyone a genetically programmed machine, adapted to maximize the propagation of itself in the future, at any cost in suffering, misery, or betrayal. And worse—they’re conscious of it, but unable to stop it. And it all winds down into heat death.
And when you understand this, you understand what a horrible, miserable, meaningless plight we are in.
Most people don’t get this. They don’t want to think about it. They want to pretend we’re still in Eden.
But if you understand that we’re not—if, as Frost says, “If there is any justice in the world, it does not come from Man,”—then that puts you in august company.
He understood it, alright. And He did what all our blogging and planning has failed to do: He fixed it.
Hang in there.
But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumor that it will not always be so. Someday, God willing, we shall get in.