They sold me a dream of Christmas
They sold me a Silent Night
They told me a fairy story
Till I believed in the Israelite
I believed in Father Christmas
I looked to the sky with excited eyes
Till I woke with a yawn in the first light of dawn
And I saw him and through his disguise
Oscar-winning actor Rod Steiger wrote a short story in college. One day, the moving neon readerboard circling New York’s Times Square went crazy repeating “God returns to earth at noon Friday.”
Cutting off electricity failed to stop the flashing notice.
“By Friday, you couldn’t get near the place,” Steiger said in an interview.
Promptly at noon, a huge black whale appeared on a building above the message.
“I am the Lord your God, bow down and worship me,” boomed a majestic disembodied voice.
Indifference from the multitudes.
“I am the Lord your God, bow down and worship me,” God repeated.
A faint rumble rose from the spectators.
“I am the Lord your God, bow down and worship me.”
Rumble became grumble, then growl.
“I am the Lord your God, bow down and worship me.”
Somebody threw a rock, followed by a beer bottle.
“I am the Lord your God, bow down and worship me.”
Intrepid New Yorkers tried to pull the whale down with ropes.
Shots were fired. NYPD cleared a path for tanks.
God finally got so frustrated that he nuked the place.
Moral of the story: Man will accept no god not made unto man’s image and likeness.
‘Twas ever thus and remains today, at least in western society. The gods of Olympus were imagined as simply giant people. Easterners, especially Hindus, were more creative and included many of God’s creatures. Latecoming Moslems banned all attempts to make physical representations of God.
We remain so trivial and tribal. The Old Testament relates how Saul became King of Israel by acclamation: “Saul stood head and shoulders above any other man.”
People wanted to be led by the biggest, baddest dude in the tribe. Same thing today. We want daddy to tuck us in at night and tell us not to be afraid, easy prey for poltroons and poseurs.
The flaw in most religions lies with their marketing departments.
If the local god arose from the sea in the arms of Venus, the new, improved god had to be better in order to sell memberships. So he was born of a virgin. (We have lately learned that there have been a lot of virgin births, euphemistically caused by “heavy petting.”)
Proselytizing apostles asserted that their guy walked on water (ice skates optional) and also rose from the dead. (Top that!)
The great religions try to explain the unexplainable in simple terms mere mortals can understand. People can remember stories so Jesus wisely spoke in parables. Fast forward a couple hundred years and the marketing department insists that the metaphorical lessons actually happened.
The Christian canon was sealed at the Council of Nicea (in modern Turkey) in 325 AD. The Gospel According to St. Thomas was notoriously excluded. Tom would doubtless have proven bad for cash flow. He asserted that the kingdom of God lies within you, for heaven’s sake. Churches and preachers are thus unnecessary to find it. Zounds.
There are no recorded first-hand accounts of the life of Christ. The gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John were written a century or so after the Great Nazarene ascended to parts unknown. (I remember a lot from four years of Catholic high school.)
It is perfectly consistent with the inconsistency of “this monster mannunkind” to pervert peaceful teachings to serve power and greed. Such human weakness may destroy us sooner than we dare imagine.
Religious scholars know that Christianity existed at least 600 years before Christ. Devotion to the Golden Rule, the essence of Christianity, actually ended war in ancient China for about two centuries. (Read religion anthropologist Karen Armstrong’s splendid 2006 volume “The Great Transformation.”)
The Protestant Reformation also bounced a few screeds. The Epistle of St. James the Less was surgically removed because he said “faith without works is nothing.” Martin Luther and his crew said all you need is faith.
St. John Lennon got it better when he sang “All you need is love,” then asked “So this is Christmas. What have you done?”
St. George Carlin answered: “Take care of each other.”
Our artists, scientists and moralists keep beating us over the head with simple advice which we consistently choose to ignore at our peril.
Take care of each other. Please.
Happy High Holly Days.
Be well. Raise hell. Esté bien. Haga infierno.
Andrew Barbano is a 51-year Nevadan and editor of NevadaLabor.com. E-mail . Barbwire by Barbano has originated in the Tribune since 1988. “I believe in Father Christmas” lyrics by Peter Sinfeld, vocals and music by Dan Lake (turbocharged by Sergei Prokofiev). “Pity this monster mannunkind not” by e.e. cummings.
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