Christmas

Nothing makes me both more joyful and more cynical than the holiday celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ.

This year, people have lost lives in the name of commercialism.
Instead of a tragedy of extreme consumerism, it was an annoying inconvenience.
Some who have lost their sources of resources this year (something I can be even more cynical about) worry and struggle over the fact that they may not be able to have a "Merry Christmas" because of it.

Question. What happened to our awareness?

I don't mean to offer the truth of Christmas as a vaccination against the hard times that this economy will undoubtedly create.
I just want to question the truth of the new "Merry Christmas."
The appalling and apparent truth of the matter is that this has all gone too far!
But, as the late Irish philosopher George Berkeley reminds us:

"Truth is the cry of all, but the game of few."

What can redeem something so... irredeemably terrible?
I'm going to try to sidestep the cliché Jesus pigeonhole here, because I want to get the big picture.
So, I suppose the first question to ask is pretty simple: why did this happen?
Jesus is the Word of God, which we already had, right?
It really only means one thing.

This was an intervention.

We got this whole deal so mixed up that God Himself needed to step in and show us how to live... again.
He meant for everything to be fixed.
But He didn't mean to fix it Himself-- that's not how an intervention works.
No, I'm pretty sure that God meant to change the world through humanity.
If He didn't, then why bother with this whole... you know... "becoming human" business?
Peter became like Christ, as well as the rest of them (except for one, of course).
I cannot speak out against the deep gash of commercialism in the human body without revealing the ailments of my own soul.
Like an addict, like a criminal; He shows us that we can change with His help.

What was broken has been made like new with our willingness; but our own power was inadequate.

The gift of grace.
The power of mercy.
The joy of manifested love-- which was crying, sleeping, feeding, blinking, breathing, and laughing in a soft, glorified scarf one night-- I celebrate it.
Because I don't understand.
Still.
But I know for a fact that I can latch onto it with all the strength I have!
What am I, perfect?
I'm not perfect and it will still save me.
He will save me.

Now, that's what I call redemption.