Merry Christmas to all blog posters, Tweeters, Google plussed, and face-bookies on my many lists.
I pick my post of the day from James McGrath here. Twelve cellos in the snow - alone yet playing together.
Grey dominates the upper half of my view over the straits of Juan de Fuca, roofs dominate the lower half. With a little imagination, I can remember that the trees are green - but blowing black is their true colour at the moment against the grey and through the rain spattered window.
The world has not ended for some. The end is truly desirable, like the birth of a child. All creation groans - you can hear it in the injustice and violence and coercion and invidious desire that pollutes our gold, frankincense and myrrh - unoffered to the child. What is this domination that we should submit - to be ruled by a child? Or will it be that a little child, dominated, will lead them.
Friends - the child is not carrying a gun. The myrrh represents his own fragility and mortality. The child has neither silver nor gold. He is wholly exploitable. The child seeks no power but has been given that name that is above every name. Frankincense, adoration, worship, religious power is a slight turning to the left or the right or the centre. It is a small step, a slight turn to return. The great response is quite unexpected. Woe is me says the prophet. For my eyes have seen and my ear hears. Go to them and say - hear, see. And be deaf and blind no longer. You know that was not the immediate answer. The way back from the idolatry that is injustice, exploitation, deadly force, the opposites of gift, is long and tortuous, narrow, with dangerous cliffs, landslides, falls... but it is a way. A slight turn, a treacherous way? no longer?
How can there be a longer in the now?
There is light on the eastern horizon. A strong east wind blows the clouds along.There is white in the grey upper half of my view. The drops on the window shine in anticipation. Messiah plays on as do Facebook, Google, Twitter, and Blog servers.