The Christmas story is full of surprises. This year near Bethlehem, a parable occurred to me. Like many parables, it raises questions.A question for all you men out there: when’s the last time you were pregnant?Was it because some woman—who can’t be responsible for her urges—didn’t take proper precautions?Isn’t this the way God punishes people for having the sexual intercourse he created?Since God gave you an anatomy just like his, you certainly have priority in the cosmic scheme of things, but this pregnancy of yours—what are you going to do with it?Oh, and don’t look to Onan for answers to your own urges; God stuck him dead for that kind of thing.But that troubling “what if”… What if Mary had had a choice?According to the Good Book she did.“Be it unto me,” Mary said.She could’ve said “No.”Many men in your *ahem* delicate condition did not.The problem with virginal conceptions is that people will talk.
Many people don’t remember at this time of year that Mary and Joseph were immigrants to Egypt.Had the Nativity occurred today in these States that follow God’s word, Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus would’ve ended up in separate cages.Wasn’t he born in a cage?Oh, cave!That’s definitely an improvement.One wonders how the Gospel might’ve gone from there.And what of those annoying buzzing creatures overhead calling for peace on earth?Shoo!Trade wars!Tariffs!Nuclear threats!These were the gifts of the three wise men, were they not?Or perhaps we should get biblical and follow Herod’s mandate.Killing two-year-old boys isn’t abortion, after all.After giving birth they’re your problem, not God’s.You’ve got to get them born—that’s the most important thing.And since women can’t possibly know what it’s like to be pregnant what are you going to say when they walk out and tell you, “It’s not my problem”?“Be it unto me,” said Mary.
Shepherds, it should be noted, were the poor.Ironically that first Christmas the good news was first revealed to them.Herod, half-insane, kept shifting members of his government around.He had put away his previous wives—perhaps because they made him pregnant—and assassinated all his rivals.Unless that’s fake news—the old fox was known for that.So the immigrant family thought it was safe to return after Herod was removed from office.Jesus grew to espouse the message of love and acceptance—extending it even to foreigners.The state, believing itself established by divine right, had him put to death.It’s Christmas, and we’ve seen all this before.If only those with eyes would see. But parables, it seems, have gone out of style.
Okay, so this gave me a scare.I mean, I know our government keeps secrets, but sun outages seemed pretty major to me.Like maybe we ought to make a run on bottled water and other supplies.I guess you can leave sun screen off the list, though.How long would we even last with the sun gone out? Then I read on.“Sun outage” in this case means that the sun will be directly behind the satellite providing your service and it may cause outages, not go out itself.Such is the world in which we live.Just the other day I was having a conversation with a fellow thinker who indicated that I should be writing on clay tablets (since I know how) because they survive longer than any other form of media.I have to admit the idea has appeal.
In these days of fake news and alternative facts, though, I wonder if there’s something about the sun they’re not telling us.A few months back, before I ever saw this dire warning, I was worried about the earth’s rotation slowing down.You see, I had tops as a kid.No matter how hard you pulled that string, the top would always eventually stop.Now, it may have been a very big bang that started all of this, but it was still a finite bang.It stands to reason that eventually our spin will run out of steam.Then I read that yes, indeed the earth is slowing at a measurable rate.Infinitesimal, but still measurable.I often bemoan how short the days are, but knowing capitalists like I do, when the days grow longer so will work hours.So what other secrets are they keeping from us?
Compared to all this, the fact that only television service might be disrupted seems strangely inconsequential.The sun is directly responsible for life on this planet.At least in its physical aspect.We need it for warmth, light, and food.And it helps with lift one’s mood too.How you say something matters.Not only is precision in language important, but, being social creatures, how you say it counts.Perhaps it’s news to those used to texting, but curt emails are often read as angry emails.I know people who claim to be too busy to respond with social niceties.I secretly wonder if such people should be held up as the shining examples they often are.Perhaps if we said “please” or “thank you” we won’t face any sun outages at all.
March has been designated as Women’s History Month.Since history has been written, well, historically by males, women have frequently been excluded.History as a serious attempt to describe “what actually happened” is a fairly recent phenomenon.Yes, men (mostly) have been writing their views of what events meant from the days of the Bible and the Classics on.A few females had made their way into the narratives, but reading history often makes it seem like males were the only people of consequence.I was thinking about this the other day after I read a reference to the Red Queen in Lewis Carroll.Chess, I realized, is a game with a message.Now I don’t often have time for games, but this felt important.
I’m not a good chess player, but I know that if you lose your queen you’ve got to be far better than I am at it to win the game.In fact, the queen is the most powerful piece on the board.Now if you plan to come back with something like “using the bishop, knight, and rook you can surpass the power of the queen” it suggests two things.One, you’re better than me at chess, and two, you’re missing the point.The queen can move in both perpendicular and diagonal lines.She can land on either color.The range of her motion is limited only by the size of the board.The bishop is limited to one color square only and the rook takes two moves to equal the queen’s diagonal skills.
Think about the king—he moves one space at a time, and mostly only to avoid capture.The queen is out there defending the realm.Even as a kid learning to play chess, it was obvious that the queen did far more than a bishop limited to his ecclesiastical domain, or the rook with his brute force.The knight makes a move the queen cannot, but his range in limited.If a player retained only a queen the opponent’s king could still be captured, in my mind.Chess should be a queen’s game.
History is a way of looking at things.Although it involves facts—and this is where the government narrative goes off the rails; the denial of facts is an autocrat’s game—it’s not the same as facts.History is an interpretation of facts.The fact is that male history of the world just could not have been possible without women. It’s time not just to acknowledge it, but to celebrate it.
“If you want truth,” Indiana Jones famously said, you need to go to philosophy class. The sad fact is most people have little practical training when it comes to such issues as discerning truth. Some time ago I read an article about how fake news travels faster and is more deeply believed than actual truth. I suspect that’s because the truth is hard. The age-old trope used to be a wizened elder sitting atop a mountain in the lotus position. A lifetime of thinking through the labyrinthian corridors of wishful belief to get to what is finally and unassailably true. Our president, with the full complicity of the Republican Party, is out to dismantle the concept of truth once and for all.
Indiana Jones was contrasting facts to truth in this scene from The Final Crusade. The idea was that facts sometimes make you question truth. In GOP University, however, facts have alternatives. He who bellows the loudest is the harbinger of truth. Never mind that still small voice that comes after the raging wind. The voice that can stop a fiery prophet in his tracks—a man who could raise the dead, for crying out loud—but even his successor called Herod a FOX. In the culture of the shrug, who really cares? Finding the truth is so much navel-gazing. There are real enemies to bomb and somebody has some money that I can take away and claim as my own. To do so we can make up facts as we go along and lies will see us through. With the Evangelical seal of approval.
Even with rumors of a fifth film swirling, I miss Indiana Jones. In his formative days fascists were the enemies, even of the Republicans. Although he was showing his age in Crystal Skull, Jones still couldn’t countenance oppressive regimes. Scientific studies show people would rather believe fake news. We’re hopelessly prone to fantasy, I guess. Even as I volunteered on the archaeological dig at Tel Dor, although I had little money a fedora was required. There was a difference, however. I knew I really wasn’t Indiana Jones. I was digging for facts so solid that they could be held in my hand. Unlike Dr. Jones’ students, I did go down the hall to Dr. Trammel’s philosophy class. Surrounded by the young Republicans of Grove City College, none of us doubted that truth was spelled with a capital T. Now Truth is apparently an artifact buried in the sand, awaiting a hapless archaeologist to bring it to light. Amid all the forgeries that non-specialists can’t tell apart.
1692. The Enlightenment is reaching toward full swing. In what will become blue Massachusetts, women are condemned for being witches. The proof to make such a conviction is difficult to obtain without resorting to “spectral evidence.” The Republicans of the era, who would otherwise reject such obvious speculation, greedily swallow the fake news by the mouthful. This is just the kind of smoking musket they’ve been seeking. Spectral evidence can’t be reproduced in court because it’s supernatural. Anything can be fake news if you bluster loudly enough. Even the judges, one can imagine, could put the accusations made against their own wives and selves into that category. The Devil, they say, is a shape-shifter.
Menelaus had Proteus pinned. The water god also known as “the Old Man of the Sea” could change shapes at will. Shifting from tree to snake to lion to water, Proteus couldn’t escape Menelaus’ grasp. At last the Old Man had to reveal the truth. Such is the nature of evidence. Speculative ideas are as easily built as walls to separate countries—easier, in fact. With a certain amount of braggadocio anything is believable. They say there are still mammoths roaming in the Russian steppe. Did Watergate really happen at all? Isn’t this evidence just spectral? Meanwhile we’ve got all these women here waiting to be hanged—shouldn’t we just get on with it?
The rule of law, I heard in a discussion in Jeff Bezos’ boathouse one summer, is inevitable. Once the concept takes hold it won’t be undone. At the far end of the table I disagreed. Nobody liked what I said, and I took my solace with Cassandra. Who reads Greek mythology any more anyway? The greatest minds of Massachusetts Bay Colony, even those with Harvard educations, admitted that what was seen in adolescent visions of the night was just as real as what happened in the cold light of day. What do you think we are—gullible or something? Meanwhile the Old Man of the Sea gave his name to an adjective most useful for white men in authority. The rule of law, indeed the concept of Truth itself, is a most protean entity. Like water it can be a man or it can be a god. It all depends on your perspective. A fox can be as dangerous as a lion. Proteus even changed into a pig when the need became great. What say you, judges of Oyer and Terminer? Do you accept the evidence or not?
One of the more obvious transitions to adulthood involves Christmas becoming less of a holiday for receiving gifts. As we get older we learn that very few things in life are actually free, and that gifts often have some kinds of obligations involved. My favorite gifts have always been books and movies. Each comes with a required investment of time. That doesn’t mean I’m not grateful, or that I don’t want these things—quite the opposite! It simply means that time is required to enjoy them. Or benefit from them. In the workaday world, time is the rarest gift of all. The gifts I received fell mostly into these genres, so I’ll be sharing a number of these books and movies with you over the next few months.
A knowing relative gave me a refrigerator magnet. Our fridge is covered in these, mostly from places we’ve visited. We do have one of the more colorful iceboxes around. This magnet is red and reads “Make America Read Again.” If anything can combat the evil spewing from our nation’s capital, reading can. Those who’ve decided that rhetoric from documented lying lips is more Christian than compassion for the poor need to learn to read again. The election of Trump has ushered in an era of attempted murder of the truth. The tactic of calling any news you don’t like “fake news” so that your own distorted version of reality rules is among the most dangerous in the toolbox of autocracy. Sacrificing truth on the altar of expediency seems like a very strange means of promoting the evangelical message, at least in my opinion. If people would read, they’d know when they were being lied to.
Reading forces you to confront the mind of another. This exercise is unique among human beings, as far as we know. It’s a kind of telepathy, involving the considered contents of another person’s thoughts coming directly to you. Lying is a possibility, of course. Even liars write books. The more widely you read, however, the greater likelihood of discovering the truth. Reading requires investment. It takes time and mental energy. Other activities must be laid aside. The potential benefits, however, are beyond measure. If we could make America read again, the results would be the greatest gift anyone could hope to find under any tree. It’s time to begin reading through the books that made their way to me this holiday season. This is a gift whose costs I gladly accept. It’s an investment in the future. Even Christmas trees require daily watering.
I sign a lot of petitions. That’s because the job of prophet doesn’t pay well enough to support a family any more. What it does mean is that I get a lot of emails from causes looking for supporters. I don’t sign blindly. That was brought home to me the other day when I had an email from the “White House.” A more obvious effort at trying to scramble for table scraps of respectability I cannot imagine. Already since January our government has swooped to new lows of deception and now false news comes right to your inbox. This email informed me that Neil Gorsuch has overwhelming bipartisan support for his Supreme Court nomination. Being an individual with a working brain, I know that’s not true. The “White House” wanted me to sign a petition supporting Gorsuch when I’ve already signed several protesting his candidacy. It’s clear that our government wants a court prophet.
Isn’t it odd, I mused, that a government that has no intention of listening to the majority is sending a petition to support one of its own? We know that the Russian Party (formerly known as the GOP) will support anything Thurston Howell the President hands them. Such a petition is only a way of saying “I told you so.” I miss the days when Isaiah could walk right into king Hezekiah’s bedroom and say “Thus saith the Lord…” These days the Lord tweets and the chirplings in the nest beg for more worms. You see, court prophets know which side their palms are crossed on. This isn’t Ash Wednesday, it’s Ash Administration.
Court prophets, in ancient times, were those paid by the government to support what the king wanted to do. It was a cushy job. What the reigning Trump wants at the moment he or she (for the modern court prophet can double-cross her own gender) proclaims it as God’s will. No experience necessary. The thing about the Bible, though, is that court prophets are pretty roundly condemned. The real prophet could generally be told by the fact that he (less commonly she in those days) was dead. Or soon to be. Those in power seldom care for criticism. Especially when skeletons are fighting each other for elbow room in their closets. Even so, Holy Writ says, figuratively, that it’s better to be a living politician than a dead prophet. If that doesn’t sound biblical, read the words of the prophet: “Nevertheless the sun hides not Virginia’s Dismal Swamp… and break the green damp mould with unfathomably wondrous Solomon.”