A SKEPTIC'S CHRISTMAS
This is that warm, fuzzy time of year that I get all choked up and sentimental, even reverent. I know many of you think I am a raging atheist but, believe it or not, I actually enjoy the spiritual aspects of Christmas. There have even been rare but confirmed sightings of me in church around the holidays. The choral music, the cookies, the lights, the cookies, the smell of pine... mixed with cookies -- it's a wonderful time.
I don't know if you know this but once, after too much eggnog, Jesus appeared before me on Christmas eve and questioned my lack of Belief. "Here I sit before you," the Lord said, "talking with you, joking with you -- and still you doubt the existence of the Holy Spirit. What is it with you skeptics?"
After cautioning him to go easy on the eggnog, I told Jesus his points were only valid if I actually existed. If he could prove I existed, that would be sufficient. He looked at me, shook his head, and got up to leave. I said, look, I'll settle for any sign: how about a jar of herring and cream sauce under the tree? That way, at least, I'd get a jar of herring with the nice crunchy onions out of the deal.
Christmas morning came and there was no jar of herring under the tree. There was one in my stocking -- but technically, that shouldn't count. Skeptics need to get things precise.
That being said, at times, we must all suspend our disbelief in order to enjoy the fruits of irony. This is the time of year I let go and let Jesus have his day. After all, it is his Birthday. Jesus and I joke about each other's resurrection --I tell him he has resurrectile dysfunction -- and he tells me I'll rot in Hell -- you know, playful guy stuff. Sometimes our feelings get hurt, but hey, it's all in good fun.
Anyway, this is the time of year I take the family out Christmas tree shopping. I always manage to get a tree that is seven feet taller than our ceilings, forcing me to discard the top half. Buying a proper-sized tree would cut its price in half, but by cutting the tree in half, I don't have to admit to low ceilings. Missing its taper, the tree ends up looking like a spiral staircase.
My wife likes the free-range, natural trees with no branches, and my daughter likes the farmed bushy ones that grew up on Miracle Grow. Every year we fight over which kind of tree to get and, being the peacemaker in the family, I remind my daughter that Christmas is not about the children.
According to my wife, the emaciated trees that grow naturally under the forest canopy are perfect for hanging Christmas balls. They are reminiscent of the old-fashioned, 19th-century feather trees that were made from bird feathers and dyed green. If you don't mind Christmas trees made from died animal parts, feather trees festooned with Christmas balls are lovely as well.
Buddy Hackett once told Al Franken a related story that I'll never forget. It seems a man went to his doctor worried about a green spot that had suddenly appeared on his forehead. After close inspection the concerned doctor told his patient he was so sorry, but in 14 days a penis would grow out from where the spot had been. The man freaked. How would he cope Christmas morning seeing a penis on his forehead while shaving? It won't be so bad, the doctor assured him. The balls will hang down and cover your eyes.
I just love Christmas stories! Anyway, the balls hang down from our sorry Christmas boughs, and not only do the trees come alive -- but Jesus, and Buddha, and Buddy, and Al-Franken all come alive as well. Life is funny, and isn't that the greatest gift of all?
This is that warm, fuzzy time of year that I get all choked up and sentimental, even reverent. I know many of you think I am a raging atheist but, believe it or not, I actually enjoy the spiritual aspects of Christmas. There have even been rare but confirmed sightings of me in church around the holidays. The choral music, the cookies, the lights, the cookies, the smell of pine... mixed with cookies -- it's a wonderful time.
I don't know if you know this but once, after too much eggnog, Jesus appeared before me on Christmas eve and questioned my lack of Belief. "Here I sit before you," the Lord said, "talking with you, joking with you -- and still you doubt the existence of the Holy Spirit. What is it with you skeptics?"
After cautioning him to go easy on the eggnog, I told Jesus his points were only valid if I actually existed. If he could prove I existed, that would be sufficient. He looked at me, shook his head, and got up to leave. I said, look, I'll settle for any sign: how about a jar of herring and cream sauce under the tree? That way, at least, I'd get a jar of herring with the nice crunchy onions out of the deal.
Christmas morning came and there was no jar of herring under the tree. There was one in my stocking -- but technically, that shouldn't count. Skeptics need to get things precise.
That being said, at times, we must all suspend our disbelief in order to enjoy the fruits of irony. This is the time of year I let go and let Jesus have his day. After all, it is his Birthday. Jesus and I joke about each other's resurrection --I tell him he has resurrectile dysfunction -- and he tells me I'll rot in Hell -- you know, playful guy stuff. Sometimes our feelings get hurt, but hey, it's all in good fun.
Anyway, this is the time of year I take the family out Christmas tree shopping. I always manage to get a tree that is seven feet taller than our ceilings, forcing me to discard the top half. Buying a proper-sized tree would cut its price in half, but by cutting the tree in half, I don't have to admit to low ceilings. Missing its taper, the tree ends up looking like a spiral staircase.
My wife likes the free-range, natural trees with no branches, and my daughter likes the farmed bushy ones that grew up on Miracle Grow. Every year we fight over which kind of tree to get and, being the peacemaker in the family, I remind my daughter that Christmas is not about the children.
According to my wife, the emaciated trees that grow naturally under the forest canopy are perfect for hanging Christmas balls. They are reminiscent of the old-fashioned, 19th-century feather trees that were made from bird feathers and dyed green. If you don't mind Christmas trees made from died animal parts, feather trees festooned with Christmas balls are lovely as well.
Buddy Hackett once told Al Franken a related story that I'll never forget. It seems a man went to his doctor worried about a green spot that had suddenly appeared on his forehead. After close inspection the concerned doctor told his patient he was so sorry, but in 14 days a penis would grow out from where the spot had been. The man freaked. How would he cope Christmas morning seeing a penis on his forehead while shaving? It won't be so bad, the doctor assured him. The balls will hang down and cover your eyes.
I just love Christmas stories! Anyway, the balls hang down from our sorry Christmas boughs, and not only do the trees come alive -- but Jesus, and Buddha, and Buddy, and Al-Franken all come alive as well. Life is funny, and isn't that the greatest gift of all?
posted by R. Reynolds at 8:29 AM
8 Comments:
It's your greatest gift. Don't ever stop sending me stories.
I really feel that its quite unfair that we have to kill so many trees in the prime of their lives for this holiday.
Any of you out there with murdered trees in your home, just remember, you've got blood on your hands
(or at least sap). How do you sleep at night?
At least consider buying a potted tree that you can plant outside after this silly holiday (that was stolen from the pagans, mind you) is over. Anyone out there hear about global warming?? We've got a CO2 problem, we need all the live trees we can get to counteract things. Be nice to Mother Earth, its our home, we've got nowhere else to live!
Anonymous 2 - trees are a renewable resource, and each year for the last 50 years more trees in the US were planted than were harvested. Also, many pine tress are planted specifically to be harvested as Christmas trees, so without this tradition we would not have the benefit of the trees for the years they took to reach maturity.
Coral music?
You must have very good hearing.
Last time you pulled the wool over our eyes. Now the balls. Living is easy with eyes closed, as John Lennon once said. Living is even easier with Pinecliff Network Life understanding all you see. Thanks.
The Catch 22 you face is, for you to have any hope in an Afterlife, God would have to have a real sense of humor. Then again, if God has a real sense of humor, you're screwed.
#;^)
i plan on seeing rick in the afterlife just so i can say "see? told ya so!"
I didn't know Al Fanken had died! Bummer news, but great coloumn! --USCE
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