Some people may find it odd that I– I who never found a convincing reason to believe in God or the faith to do so in spite of one; I whom the majority of self-avowed Christians worldwide would probably dismiss as perverted if not demon-posessed if they knew the full truth about my identity– would be completely in love with Christmas. They would probably find it even odder if they knew that I actually vastly prefer the full-on, spiritual, unrepently religious version of the Holiday to the watered-down, consumerist, toys-toys-toys-for-all-the-girls-and-boys version.*
Of course, I know that, even though Jesus of Nazareth almost certainly existed, December 25th was probably not his birthday, and, as I have implied earlier, I don’t really think that he’s God. However, none of that really matters does it? What matters is that he was Good, and, more to the point, that it is a good story (indeed, I am tempted to say an “archetypical” story, although I don’t really believe in archetypes either).
And on that subject, here is my Christmas gift to you: Sarah Maclachlan’s cover of the First Noel/Mary, Mary. I am particularly fond of the subtelty in the final verse; I find that one can easily imagine the baby asleep in the manger, dreaming of things that no man can know, and all of the people involved scarce able to imagine how this godling, now only in His infancy, will alter the substance of the universe.
*Although I think that it is obvious that the prevalence of the latter has far more to do with the natural tendancy of capitalist enterprises to appeal to the broadest range of the public possible than it does to do with the satanic machinations of evil “lieberals.”