The Christmas of 2008 was grotesque and lingering.

Up at Schloss Dissidens darkness had fallen and the elderly gentleman morosely putted this year's Christmas present, a piece of coal, with last year's Christmas present, a stick, across the marble floor of his library. Between the fluted arches above the fireplace was the mounted head of an elk, his nose garnished with a red cotton ball placed under the cover of darkness by some insolent staff member.

The glad and golden hours of which the Christmas poet spoke so confidently had not come swiftly on the wing as expected. Instead, the philistines abroad in the world were emboldened to share with us their feelings about "the holidays". One Canadian dunce who thinks of himself as an artist trapped in a pastor's body fashioned something for us that is neither artistic nor pastoral. Nor clever.

But I do think it is indicative enough to assault you with.

This selfsame dunce had a good cry while meditating on the promise of the "first Christmas". [cucullus non facit monachum] You can go there for the whole thing or you can read an excerpt here:

I had a strange and surprising experience yesterday. I went into a store that sells fair trade goods from all over the world. It's an interesting place. Ethereal, New Age music playing. Incense burning. My wife and daughter browsed around looking at their very unique handmade items. I checked out several things. There were 3 or 4 ladies serving people. They were very helpful and friendly. It was packed with stuff and with people. I picked up a vile of aroma therapy perfume called "Rain" and sniffed it. I liked it. I want some. I made my way over to a corner were some handmade banners were hanging inscribed with wise sayings from Mother Teresa, Zen Masters, Nelson Mandela, Buddha, Jesus, Albert Einstein, John Lennon, Confucius, and so on. As I was reading the sayings with the aroma of "rain" still in my nostrils, I suddenly noticed that I was feeling very emotional. I was embarrassed and almost left the store. Instead, I maintained a level of control, just allowing my eyes to be misty and my throat slightly choked up. My heart was welling up with waves of incredible feeling. I walked around the place enjoying the rich atmosphere of peacefulness, calm, joy, and solidarity. I felt genuine unity among all of us in that store. More than any other store, including the Christian book store, this one seemed to promote, even unconsciously, the good will toward all people that the angels promised on that first Christmas. Oh, may it be!

I do hope his Christmas stocking contained a "vile of aroma therapy perfume" along with a lavender sachet and perhaps a nice lace handkerchief.

Elsewhere there was this:

Ever notice how responsive reading in church tends to make us all sound like the Borg? Creepy!

And another promising artist tries his hand at some run-on poetry here:

Twas the Night Before Preaching

Twas the night before preaching and all through the church
not a person was stirring much less were they screaching

The Gospel was hung by the pulpit with care
in the hope that St. Jesus would soon be there

The Christians were nestled all snug in their beds
While vision of rapture danced in their heads

While Christians all settled down for a long winters nap
And the devil got ready for a debilittating rap

When out in the sky that rose such a clatter
I ran out to see just what was the matter

What did I see, Jesus you guess
Now ask Him to do what it takes to fix your mess.

I give at this point.

Have a Great Jesus Christmas.

Bill

He did that all in one sentence and never even had to reach for the dictionary. It's a kind of Christmas Miracle!

And walking by a television one might have seen EWTN broadcasting a tale of gregarious insects and a stolen fruitcake. We cannot tell you the end of the matter because we didn't stay to watch it, but we are confident that it brought glory to God in the highest.

And all the world is filled with the bleat of deluded and sentimental religious folk who, though conspicuously covered in tinsel, powdered sugar and scotch tape, assure us that they are ever mindful of "the true meaning" of the season. So they celebrate this most holy thing by juxtaposing misplaced sentiments and professions of piety. Because mixing the sacred and the profane is what the righteous do.

We were told that whereas the church once "focused on logic, evidence, proof, answers, scholarship, reasons, arguments, and appeals to authority", it would now " focus more and more on beauty, goodness, experience, questions, mystery, community, and humility".

Ironic, isn't it?