January 5: The condemned good
When Stephen King was writing The Green Mile, he eventually changed the name of the condemned but innocent man to John Coffey. He granted that having his initials be JC was a bit cliché, but a nice tip of the hat to the most famous condemned innocent of all time.
Christmas is over and once again, I was overwhelmed with the commercialization of it. Santa Claus and snowmen to the left, pleas to come shop at Best Buy or Wal-Mart to the right. Churches everywhere - well, the evangelical ones anyway - urging me and you to remember that Jesus is the reason for the season.
Yeah yeah, I know. Jesus most definitely was not born on Dec. 25 and Christmas is nothing but a holiday the Christians stole from the pagans etc etc blah blah blah. Same thing with Easter. Yes yes, Mr. Very Smart Non-Christian. I hang my head in shame.
But Christianity isn't about Christmas Day. More specifically, Christmas is to Christianity what plate mail is to a hockey game. You can go to a hockey game dressed in plate mail if you want to, but you can still be a hockey fan if you leave your armour at home.
Ain't nothing in the gospels about Santa Claus or Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Ain't no grinches stealing Christmas in Matthew, Mark, Luke or John. Tell you what there is, though. There's a sermon on the mount. Talk about goodness. Talk about me not measuring up. Talk about some bold new commands and some good old fashioned common sense, all from the lips of the creator of the universe.
For a while, everyone thought Jesus was pretty awesome. Once he rode a donkey into the city and everyone was screaming out praises and laying palm branches in front of him. I've no idea what was going through his mind but I bet he wasn't enjoying it. He knew that within a week, those same people would be calling for his crucifixion.
The gospel narrative tells us that Jesus lived a sinless life, that no evil can be found in him. Pontius Pilate wanted to let him go. I wonder what I would have said had I lived back then. Would I have denied him three times before the cock crowed? I shudder to think that I would.
As I type this, my ten-month-old son is curious about what is inside my filing cabinet. I must go rescue him.
I'll pray with him later.
Christmas is over and once again, I was overwhelmed with the commercialization of it. Santa Claus and snowmen to the left, pleas to come shop at Best Buy or Wal-Mart to the right. Churches everywhere - well, the evangelical ones anyway - urging me and you to remember that Jesus is the reason for the season.
Yeah yeah, I know. Jesus most definitely was not born on Dec. 25 and Christmas is nothing but a holiday the Christians stole from the pagans etc etc blah blah blah. Same thing with Easter. Yes yes, Mr. Very Smart Non-Christian. I hang my head in shame.
But Christianity isn't about Christmas Day. More specifically, Christmas is to Christianity what plate mail is to a hockey game. You can go to a hockey game dressed in plate mail if you want to, but you can still be a hockey fan if you leave your armour at home.
Ain't nothing in the gospels about Santa Claus or Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Ain't no grinches stealing Christmas in Matthew, Mark, Luke or John. Tell you what there is, though. There's a sermon on the mount. Talk about goodness. Talk about me not measuring up. Talk about some bold new commands and some good old fashioned common sense, all from the lips of the creator of the universe.
For a while, everyone thought Jesus was pretty awesome. Once he rode a donkey into the city and everyone was screaming out praises and laying palm branches in front of him. I've no idea what was going through his mind but I bet he wasn't enjoying it. He knew that within a week, those same people would be calling for his crucifixion.
The gospel narrative tells us that Jesus lived a sinless life, that no evil can be found in him. Pontius Pilate wanted to let him go. I wonder what I would have said had I lived back then. Would I have denied him three times before the cock crowed? I shudder to think that I would.
As I type this, my ten-month-old son is curious about what is inside my filing cabinet. I must go rescue him.
I'll pray with him later.
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