So, you probably haven’t heard anything about this. There’s this company named Apple. They used to just make computers and now they make phones. A few people seem to like them.
OK, I kid. Of course you’ve heard of freaking Apple because the iPhone 5 has just come out and people have been standing in lines around the world waiting to get them. Well, the lines haven’t literally been around the world…but they’ve been pretty long.
Now, some people (including the site from which I stoldcopied downloaded with proper attribution the above picture) have called Apple fans cultists.
Yes, you can also consider this post your Graph of the Week. Remember those? Still doing it…just not very much.
Now one could say that over the years I’ve been involved in a cult or two: MSTies, Bondians, some might even say fundies, but I have actually never owned an Apple product. Nothing against Mr. Jobs et al but when I first got a computer in the 90s I bought a PC (from a friend who had gone Mac) and I never went back. I also have never had an iPhone. I currently have an Android (awkward).
But speaking of iPhone lines and fundamentalist Christianity, there’s a Christmas song that I’ve come across called “Where’s the Line to See Jesus?” I don’t know if it would have made the cut for my Good/Bad Christmas Song list that I did a couple years back, frankly I didn’t listen to it past the first verse and chorus. It got me thinking though. It’s easy to laugh at people who are so invested in getting the very latest gadget that they are willing to camp out in line for it, but what would I stand in line for?
I’m not talking about a piddly line of six people at the bank or the grocery store, I mean a serious line that you’re in for hours. Disneyland I guess. You pretty much have to for the big rides. It’s been a long time since I’ve been though. Maybe for concert tickets, Springsteen or somebody like that, but I haven’t done that for a while.
The longest line I’ve been in lately, if ever, was a couple years back when I was still in California. The actual Emancipation Proclamation was on display for just a couple of days at the Ronald Reagan Museum. I went with Tania, Boodles, and another friend. That line was huuuge because they only let it out of the Library of Congress for a few days at a time so as not to damage the paper. At the time Boodles was five so having her stand in line was impossible. I figured the least I could do was be the line guy while Tania kept Boodles busy. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to see the document that freed their slave ancestors from being treated like cattle for so many years in this country. It was worth it. As Tania looked at it, a small tear fell on the glass.
Actually when you think about it, if Jesus actually showed up in the flesh again, who wouldn’t stand in line to see Him? That line would literally be endless. Everybody would bring their sick family members. There would probably be some people in line with big Sparkletts water bottles. Follow them when they leave because that’s where the party is.
It’s probably sacrilegious to say this, but hell yes I would stand in that line for days. First of all, I would want to see what he looks like. My fervent readers will know that I have a pet peeve when movies, TV, and before that Renaissance artists portray Jesus as a white dude instead of a man who was from the Middle East. It’s a pet peeve, but it’s a big one. It’s like a Great Dane peeve.
After I got a good look at the Son of God I might get around to asking him to fix my brain, and maybe put some hair on my head. I hear Amy Poehler is single again, would it be too much to ask…well, let’s not get greedy. Keep it moving, Jesus is a busy God.
So what about it, fervent readers? What would you stand in line for?
So, we’ve established that Christmas trees are evil and want to kill you and burn down your house. In spite of this, many of you will ignore my warnings and put up a tree anyway.
Fine. Be that way. If you insist on doing the whole tree thing, I offer the following bad, tacky, and downright tasteless Christmas tree ornaments for your consideration. And I don’t mean tacky as in something your precious first-grader made for you, I mean tacky as in…well, you’ll see:
♫ Up on the rooftop/Sick, sick, sick ♫ From Zazzle
The Baby Jesus may not have cried, but I want to cry just looking at this. From Wacky Owl
Oh…so these were the reindeer games Rudolph wasn’t included in. From InventorSpot
Carlton Cards “Heirloom” Ornament? Sorry, but if it has anything to do with Grease, it’s not the one that I want. From The Shark Guys
It’s beginning to smell a lot like Christmas.
And finally, I give you the tackiest and most tasteless ornaments of all. I saw these at my local Walgreens:
I had so many reactions to this that I couldn’t choose just one, so I’m going to list them all and let you tell me which one you like best (or write your own):
a.) Is it just me or do the plastic versions look more lifelike?
b.) Collect them all, just like the Jersey Shore cast members collect STDs.
c.) Something tells me this won’t be the first time Snooki has hung from a tree by her hair.
d.) Three words: Ho, ho, ho.
And, as a public service, I give you…
…a Snooki upskirt (now we’ll see how many search engine hits this post gets).
And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from WalMart that all the world should buy cheap TVs and waffle irons made by slave labor. And all went to buy cheap items, every one into his own city.
And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night and eating hormone injected turkey with instant mashed potatoes. And, lo, the CEO of Target came upon them, and the glory of Best Buy shone round about them: and they were sore and afraid.
And the angel of Kmart said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great savings, which shall be to all people who hath credit cards.
For unto you is born this night in the city of Toys “R” Us a sale, which is called Black Friday. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find other shepherds, truck drivers, and telephone sanitizers in line to purchase cheap shit. You shall also find babes wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in shopping carts because their parents could not find babysitters.
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising Savings, and saying, Glory to Money in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward corporations.
And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto the mall, and see this thing which is come to pass, which hath been made known unto us.
And they came with haste, and found TVs, waffle irons, Barbies, and pepper spray. And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this sale. And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.
But some who heard kept all these things, and pondered them in their hearts.
Here we go again. To make a long story short, I pick a movie at random, I review it, you read the review and find me brilliant and insightful, then you write a comment. For details on how it works, the MST3K scale, etc. Click here.
Ratings:
USA: PG-13
UK: 15
Common Sense Rating: Age 14
IMDB: 4.5/10
Metacritic: 42/100
Netflix: 3.1/5
Rotten Tomatoes: 33% (Rotten)
Yeah…this is what it’s all about, having a good excuse to watch a movie that I might otherwise not go out of my way to see. I was mildly interested in this movie when it came out, but I never got around to seeing it.
So I will admit that I have a thing for funny women, and since Saturday Night Live first premiered I have harbored crushes on many of the female cast members, Molly Shannon being one of them. Her character Mary Katherine Gallagher was just sexy enough with her too short Catholic school skirt, and yet so awkward…and don’t get me started on the whole armpit/fingers thing.
Mary is a misfit, and we all love a misfit because most of us can relate. High school and junior high were hell for me because my sense of humor wasn’t developed yet, and I was a misfit of course. Mary has a lot of special problems, her parents are dead due to a horrible accident that may or be not be shark related, she is being raised by her Grandmother who gets around in an electric wheelchair, and she has trouble expressing herself without quoting a monologue from a 1970′s made-for-TV movie.
What Mary really wants is to be loved, and that means a kiss. Not just a peck on the cheek or lips, mind you. She wants a full on Hollywood kiss where the music swells and two souls connect. What songwriter Bruce Cockburn calls “the suddenly compact universe of skin and breath and hair.” The guy she really wants this experience with is Sky Corrigan, the high school hottie. Played by Will Ferrell, Sky isn’t the full of himself jerk that he could be, he’s actually quite thoughtful and often has a kind word to say to his fellow students as they pass by (“Hey Tom, sorry your Dad’s dead. Hey Bartholomew, nice name!”). The problem is that Sky is already dating Evian, “the prettiest, most successful, most bulimic girl in school.” In order to rectify this situation, Mary must become a…
Superstar!
Now, I’m not even going to try to hide my affection for this movie. Maybe it just hit me as the right antidote for the mood I was in at the time, but it just seemed to me to be a sweet, innocent, check-your-brain-at-the-door movie and I liked it a lot (obviously more than most). It’s always risky to take a 10 minute SNL skit and blow it up to a whole movie, but this one worked for me. Molly Shannon and Will Ferrell may have been a bit too old to play high schoolers at 34 and 32 respectively, but Stockard Channing was 34 and Olivia Newton-John was 30 when they made Grease and a lot of people like that piece of relentless crap so quit complaining!
Sorry.
The movie was directed by The Kids in the Hall member Bruce McCulloch and features another Kid in the Hall Mark McKinney as the principal of Mary’s school. He does a bit where he’s eating a piece of burnt toast that may be the funniest thing in the movie. Mary’s Grandmother is played by Glynis Johns from Mary Poppins for gosh sakes! Will Ferrell is always fun, and I found Emmy Laybourne adorable as Mary’s very energetic friend Helen.
The Misplaced Boy MST3K Movie Scale
Remember that the scale goes from Dr. Forrester (bad) to Joel (good). So for a check-your-brain-at-the-door movie it was cute and funny and I’m giving it a…
Crow
And finally, here’s my Random Quote Whore Quote: Remember, it goes like this: “[Movie Title] is a [adjective], [adjective] [noun] of a movie! [Star of Movie] is [adjective]!!!”
“Superstar is a conducted, godly plasterer of a movie! Molly Shannon is chemotherapeutic!!!”
OK, so far here on the bad list we’ve covered a lot of territory: Good songs ruined by singers who shouldn’t be singing them, songs with bad lyrics, songs about holiday date rape, and songs by annoying rodents, but so far we have yet to tap into a rich vein of Christmas coal: The depressing Christmas song.
Somehow, over the years the celebration of new life and hope coming to the world in the form of a baby boy has morphed into a time when many people get the holiday blues. It’s natural for some folks who thrive on sunlight to get seasonal affective disorder, then you add all of the other stressors that come with the holidays and voilà, you have a tasty little dish that we call Holiday Depression.
As if all that wasn’t enough, songwriters throughout the years have decided to kick it up a notch by writing songs that make you want to hang a noose by the chimney with care.
Some prime examples of this genre: John Denver’s classic Please Daddy Don’t Get Drunk This Christmas,a heartwarming tune that has also been recorded by Alan Jackson and The Decemberists (appropriately). Then there’s Eddy Arnold’s Will Santy Come to Shanty Town? from his Christmas album that I grew up listening to. And it’s hard to beat Pretty Paperwritten by Willie Nelson and sung by Roy Orbison.
I could go on and on, but one thing separates the songs listed above from my #2 bad song choice, they seem sincere and authentic. Yes they’re depressing as hell but they seem to come from genuine emotions and possibly real experiences. Not manufactured out of thick schmaltzy goo like so many Christmas McNuggets with the sole purpose of wringing emotions out of the listener, like….
Because it’s no longer enough to have a hit song, Butterfly Kisses: The Song was followed by Butterfly Kisses: The Journal and Butterfly Kisses: The Golden Book. Butterfly Kisses: The Breakfast Cereal was in the works but Mr. Carlisle wisely decided that he had pumped all he could out of the Butterfly Kisses Well and that the marketing would stop with Butterfly Kisses: The Microwave Popcorn.
Singer, please. We can’t all be Thomas Kinkade.
Then one night a few years later, Bob Carlisle was visited by three spirits: The Ghost of Money Past, The Ghost of Money Present, and Ernest Borgnine. Mr. Borgnine was successful at convincing Bob that he wouldn’t be able to continue upkeep of his mansion on Butterfly Island unless he wrote a new song. A Christmas song.
Years ago when I was still trying to become a big time Hollywood screenwriter, an actor friend told me that I should write a Christmas movie. “Christmas movies are always successful,” he said, “Even if they suck.” My friend obviously had great faith in my ability as a writer, but he was right, and the same thing is true about Christmas songs. Hell, every year for the entire month of December about nine radio stations in every market go all Christmas songs all the time. That gaping maw has to be filled.
The song is about a self absorbed yuppie (do we still call them that?) who is waiting in line to buy “that last gift or two” when he uncharacteristically notices something other than himself:
Standing right in front of me
Was a little boy waiting anxiously
Pacing around like little boys do
And in his hands he held
A pair of shoes
And his clothes were worn and old
He was dirty from head to toe
And when it came his time to pay
I couldn’t believe what I heard him say
Sir I wanna buy these shoes for my Momma please
It’s Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry Sir?
Daddy says there’s not much time
You see, she’s been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes will make her smile
And I want her to look beautiful
If Momma meets Jesus, tonight.
Well, it turns out the young man does not have enough money to buy the shoes so that his Momma will look beautiful when she meets Jesus. And we know what that means; Jesus will say “Come into my Kingdom my good and faithful…wait, not in those shoes!” He will then snap his fingers in a circle and it will be straight to Hell with Momma and her butt ugly shoes.
He searched his pockets franticly
And he turned and he looked at me
He said Momma made Christmas good at our house
Though most years she just did without
Tell me Sir
What am I gonna do?
Some how I’ve got to buy her these Christmas shoes
Now, just picture this. It’s Christmas Eve at WalMart. The line to the cashier stretches all the way to sporting goods, and this dirty kid is digging through his pockets for change? I’m sorry, but not only is nobody going to help him out with his shoes, he’s going to be lucky if he survives. He’s at WalMart, WalMart customers don’t play, they kill people.
But in the fantasy world of this song, the narrator has a pang of conscience and buys the shoes. And he knows…he *sob* knows that God sent this little poor boy to teach Yuppie McSelfishpants a lesson.
I knew I caught a glimpse of heavens love as he thanked me and ran out.
I know that God had sent that little boy to remind me
What Christmas is all about
That’s right, Bob. God created that family, made them poor, had their Daddy lose his job because the factory moved to China, made the Mommy have to get two jobs, and then gave her freaking cancer so YOU could learn what Christmas is all about. Because, after all, it is all about you. That woman is going to die tonight but it’s all good, because you learned a valuable lesson.
If you were made out of Brawny towels you couldn’t be more self absorbed.
And what the holy hand grenades is this kid doing out by himself on Christmas Eve?
And why doesn’t somebody tell him that his Mother doesn’t want shoes when she’s dying, she wants to hold her little boy and look in his eyes and tell him how much she loves him so he’ll never forget.
This song makes no damn sense. This song only works in a fantasy world and in the cynical money grubbing minds of people who write and release this shit so gullible people with tears in their eyes will part with their money.
But I need to calm down. It’s all OK because all of the royalties for this song and its by-products have been donated to build schools, homeless shelters, food pantries, and start a shoe manufacturing company in the US that pays its employees a living wage and offers generous health benefits.
What?
Oh…now I guess I’m living in a fantasy world.
≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈
And, just in case the original version isn’t bad enough for you…ladies and gentlemen, The Chipmunks:
Finally, if you think my take on this song is cynical/horrid/I deserve to be turning on a spit for all of eternity with demons roasting chestnuts over me, then you might want to avoid this video from comic Patton Oswalt. He makes some of the same points but Scout’s Honor I didn’t see it until I wrote this (NSFW due to language):
Friends, are you tired of waiting every morning for a divine miracle to sear the image of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ onto your toast? There you are with your oleo margarine and grape jelly ready to partake, and time after time you put in your Webers bread, awaiting the miracle…and nothing. Tears are your only meat once again (well, tears and bacon).
Yes, now you can take and eat of the body of Christ (well, the face and upper torso of Christ) daily. Smear jam, jelly, or marmalade onto the loving visage of the only begotten Son of God as you count your blessings to live in such a blessed time in history.
…it will surely get your day off to a tasty and righteous start!
Disclaimers: No actual miracles are implied by the use of this product. Strawberry jam bleeding stigmata accessories sold separately. Not available in Utah.
And remember friends, if Jesus isn’t your bag we have peace sign and hemp leaf toasters instead.
A young man stands in the back of a church auditorium. It’s another Sunday. Pastor Nolan has preached another sermon, one that contains elements of the same sermon he has been preaching for years. Now it is time for another altar call.
“Every head bowed and every eye closed.” Pastor Nolan orders. The young man in the back ignores that edict, not because he’s rebellious, not even because he is now a teenager and an usher in the church at this point – so he has a good reason to keep his eyes open. He does it because he is troubled by something. He wants to know what is really going on in the church that he has been going to since he was five.
Matthew Paul Turner and I have a lot in common, despite his being 15 years younger than I and growing up on the opposite coast. I was also “churched” my entire life. Where MPT (that’s what I’m going to call him because I think it’s cool to use all three of your names and then abbreviate them like JFK) went to a very conservative Baptist church, I was raised in the very conservative Assemblies of God.
If the name Assemblies of God rings a bell it’s probably because of the many luminaries of the Christian faith that came from the denomination. Hallowed names such as Jim and Tammy Bakker, Jimmy Swaggart, Benny Hinn, and Gene Scott all started out as AG ministers. In fact when a televangelist or other well known preacher gets in trouble, there’s a good chance he’s AG.
So, yes, like MPT I was churched. In fact I was so churched that to this day when a bible speaker says to turn to a particular verse I race to it to try to beat the person next to me like we used to in Sunday School Bible Drills. I don’t stand up when I find the verse though…usually.
I was so churched that my first word was “Hallelujah.”
I was so churched that when I found out that my 7 year old friend was Catholic I tried to cast the demon out of him in the name of JEEESUSSSS!!!
I was so churched that whenever I hear a classic bible story like Noah’s Ark or David vs. Goliath I always picture it on a flannel board.
OK, that will be enough of that.
MPT is one of a number of Christian writers that I’ve discovered in the past couple of years who approach their faith with humor, honesty, and the awareness that the answers aren’t as easy as traditional fundamentalism seems to portray them. For me, discovering these writers has literally been a Godsend. Writers like MPT, Susan Isaacs, Don Miller, and Jonathan Acuff have done more to draw me back to my faith than The Prayer of Jabez, The Purpose Driven Life, andThe Shackcombined (none of which I’ve read of course, but they sit there on my bookshelf encouraging me anyway).
These are Christians who take their relationship with Christ very seriously, but are able to turn a cynical eye at Christianity and point out it’s foibles as practiced. One of my favorite features of MPT’s blog Jesus Needs New PRis the Jesus Picture of the Day where he collects and displays the most horrid depictions of our Lord and Savior ever perpetrated, usually done in all sincerity, and of course Jesus is almost always Caucasian. Here are a few of my recent faves:
“Betty, was the billboard your idea? Don’t you think we have enough perverts coming to our church?” – Tom, church billboard committee member
“I just feel safer carrying your burdens.” -Jesus
Jesus loves the little white kids, all the white kids in the world.
At the age of five, young Matthew and his family were snatched from the satanic – well…Methodist – church that they were going to and placed in the loving arms of the Independent Baptist Bible Church led by Pastor Dave Nolan. Apparently many in the Methodist congregation no longer felt that God was attending a church where the pastor would use Yertle the Turtle as a sermon illustration.
Personally, I think the collected works of Dr. Seuss are filled with allegorical meaning for children and adults and are excellent sermon material. From there to here, from here to there, wonderful insights are everywhere. But maybe that’s just me. I’m a big fan of the good doctor.
As MPT points out, fundamentalism “made lots of people weird. But I think some people at my church believed that was the point, that somewhere in the Bible, Jesus declared, ‘Blessed are the weird.’ Our weirdness was a form of obedience to God.”
As a recovering fundamentalist myself, I can tell you that there is some comfort in it. Even though it separates you from the mainstream population and makes you “weird,” it gives you a set of clear cut guidelines on most issues. It eliminates gray areas and cognitive dissonance. Most importantly, in most fundamentalist churches, if you have any questions about how to live your life, there are plenty of church folk around who will be glad to tell you.
Pastor Nolan and his ilk had no problems telling people how they should live. He was filled with wisdom about how a Baptist should dress, how to cut your hair, what movies to watch (none basically), what music to listen to, what to watch on TV (avoid The Smurfs, not because it was a lame cartoon, but because the cat Azrael was satanic), even how to stand:
“…it was obvious Mr. Harry didn’t love Jesus. Not the way I did. For one thing he slouched. Pastor Nolan told us that a man’s posture said a lot about his character. All the men at church stood up straight. I did too. Every time I saw Pastor Nolan at church I pretended to be a soldier – a tall one, with a gun and a slew of badges. He would walk by me like he was a king inspecting his knights, and if he approved, he would pat my head and say, “You’re a good kid, Matthew.”
In Churched, MPT describes his journey through the thicket of fundamentalism with honesty and humor of course, but with a surprisingly light touch. Although he skewers some of the conclusions that the people in his church came to, you never get the sense that he holds the people themselves in contempt. All of this makes for a very readable book with just enough cynicism to keep it entertaining, but not enough to make it bitter and unsavory.
In the church where he grew up, he obviously was instilled with many worthy values. One of them was honesty, and this is where things began to unravel for him. As he grew older, became an usher, and was privy to more private conversations between church leaders he noticed that the talk of “souls being saved” focused more on numbers and percentages than on people’s lives actually being changed.
As he stood in the back of that auditorium that Sunday, his head not bowed, his eyes not closed. He watched Pastor Nolan ask for hands of anyone who wanted to become born again. He watched as Nolan said, “I see that hand.” Five times he said it, indicating five more souls to enter the Kingdom of God that day. The problem was that Matthew, head up and eyes open, didn’t see any of those hands.
At the end of the book there is a scene where MPT is talking to the pastor of the church where he currently attends. He confesses to the pastor that he has some questions about some important tenets of fundamentalism and evangelicalism, and he wants to make sure that he and his doubts will be welcome at this new church. This is at the end of the last brief chapter called ‘Benediction’ where MPT talks about trying out different churches. I would like to have seen more about his journey from fundamentalist to believer with questions. Some of this may be fleshed out in his new book Hear No Evil, which I am still reading and will be reviewing here next week.
The pastor seemed to understand and welcomed Matthew to continue his faith journey with the congregation. And isn’t that all that any of us can ask for?
Well, Epiphany has come and gone and my epiphany is that it will be Christmas in July by the time I finish this thing, but we soldier on:
Some Children See Him
Words: Wilha Hutson
Music: Alfred Burt (1951)
I’m proceeding with caution here because I may step on some toes. Even though I am putting this song in the “bad” category, I do not consider it an act of evil and I am reserving my true bile and invective for the next two songs.
I just have some concerns. Let’s start with the lyrics:
Some children see Him lily white,
the baby Jesus born this night.
Some children see Him lily white,
with tresses soft and fair.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown,
The Lord of heav’n to earth come down.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown,
with dark and heavy hair.
Some children see Him almond-eyed,
this Savior whom we kneel beside.
Some children see Him almond-eyed,
with skin of yellow hue.
Some children see Him dark as they,
sweet Mary’s Son to whom we pray.
Some children see him dark as they,
and, ah! They love Him, too!
The children in each different place
will see the baby Jesus’ face
like theirs, but bright with heavenly grace,
and filled with holy light.
O lay aside each earthly thing
and with thy heart as offering,
come worship now the infant King.
‘Tis love that’s born tonight!
This song is one of 15 Christmas Carols written by Alfred Burt between 1942 and 1954. Collaborating with his father and later Wilha Hutson, these songs were mainly sung by family and friends until the year of Burt’s death, when they were recorded on an LP. The family tradition was that each new carol was accompanied by an original Christmas card.
Now, I have no doubt of the sincerity of Burt and Hutson’s sentiment in this song. The idea that people of different races and ethnicities see the baby Jesus as looking like them was probably a generous and magnanimous concept to the dominant culture in 1951. How wonderful, while we Europeans see a white baby Jesus with blonde hair and blue eyes, African Americans see him as one of them, and so do Asians, and Latinos.
I have two problems with this. First of all, it perpetuates the idea that we can make God (in this case His only begotten Son) into our own image. The truth is, Jesus was born in Bethlehem, in the Middle East. Yes, if you follow the miracle of a virgin birth, he was implanted by God but he was born of Mary, a middle eastern Jew. There were no cameras back in those days, so we don’t know what he looked like, but it’s doubtful that he looked like H.B. Warner, Jeffrey Hunter, Max von Sydow, Ted Neely, Robert Powell, Kenneth Colley, Brian Deacon, Willem Dafoe, Jeremy Sisto, James Caviezel, or Jack Black. He also doesn’t look like what my friend Susan Isaacs called “the kind, Norwegian looking Jesus” that hung on our walls in the 60s or the hippie from the 70s and 80s. As one of my friends said back in the early 00s, Jesus probably looked more like Osama bin Laden than we care to think about.
OK, Joe I get it. You think the White Jesus is stupid at best and hegemonic at worst. So what? Get over it. It’s Christmas for Christ’s sake! Or it was a few weeks ago.
Yeah, maybe I’m taking the whole thing too seriously, but not seeing Jesus as a real person from a real part of the world makes him less…well…real. It’s the same thing as my second problem with the song (and it’s a problem shared by tons of Christmas songs, even some that I like), keeping Jesus in the cradle. Praying to the “Baby Jesus” like Will Ferrell does in Taladega Nights. A baby Jesus or a Jesus who is just a fictional…hmm…dare I say Avatar…keeps him safe. Following Jesus is not a safe thing to do, not really. And that comes from someone who, at this point in his spiritual life, struggles with the idea of whether I can really follow Christ right now. It ain’t easy folks.
Keeping Jesus little and cute and safe and nice and Norwegian or whoever you want him to be keeps us from taking what he said seriously.
Picture by: Unknown
