"Ho, Ho, Ho"
So says the Christmas clown.
I must admit that I am to Santy Clause what Christopher Hitchens is, oops...was, to Christ. I am an anti-Clausiest.
Ok, Ok....it's just a fun fib we tell our little elves. I shouldn't be so serious minded about this myth.
Secularism in practice is atheism...albeit with a smile. Or a grin. Most likely a smirk. A knowingly, condescending, elitist smirk. Those of us who have the audacity to believe in the virgin birth of the Son are pitied and mocked. Our opinions, whether culturally or politically, are marginalized... as if we all get up early in the morning, check the tires on our trailer, play with snakes on Sunday, work our way to the fourth letter of the alphabet on Monday, inundate our cerebellum with reality tv on Tuesday, play with snakes again on Wednesday, spend our free time at Wal Mart, marry our cousins and try to disprove the existence of dinosaurs to our friends. One invective is barely breathed out before another one is formed in their gizzards. Like little bitty girls they cry over a fake baby in a horse trough, surrounded by a fake mommy and daddy dressed in sheets, with maybe cute little animals strewn here and there. If some of these sobbing little secular humanoids would just stand by the trough we could say, "Look at that jackass!"
But I should mind my politically incorrect manners and muzzle up. Boo Hoo.
I posted on my facebook recently this question, "Dear Santa, why do you hate the poor?"
My point was that the myth of this North Pole fatty needs to be work shopped a little more, because he's not near as generous as he should be. Or maybe he just gets too tired to really make it the poor side of town? Or maybe the rich bribe him? Of course I'm being really facetious here, for we all know that Old Saint Thick doesn't really exist.
Of course the reason for the season is the Logos sarxe egenetos...Word became flesh.
Though that night may have been silent, the times were not. Big bad King Herod looking for a little baby...and even committing the atrocious act of slaughtering innocent children when he realized he was duped. Ah...the glories of secularism. He was threatened by a little infant "tender and mild". This donkey even gathered the "theologians" together to find out where this threat to his fiefdom was to be born.
“But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for out of you will come a ruler
who will shepherd my people Israel."
Sexy !
Couldn't find a room. Just a barn...with goats.
Philippians 2 speaks about the Son "emptying" Himself when He became flesh...but this is a humbling of extremes. In a barn...with goats and all sorts of smelly critters. I think God appreciates irony.
A king goes looking for a king who nurses...in a barn.
The secularist will never get it, for they're ever on the look out for pomp and circumstance.
The story of Jesus, His birth, life, death, and resurrection offends them deeply. That's why they are rabid about manger scenes in public places. Get a grip, unbeliever...just think of it as a chance to remind yourself of what you don't believe. Kind of a teaching moment... Chill, go smoke something that will ease your nerves.
But alas, the secularist or the atheist is left in a vacuum without meaning. Nothing means nothing. No justification for allowing the existence of such trivial things as love, morality, forgiveness....His worldview is as empty and gaseous as Santa Clause's stomach.
Santa Clause, the big fat replacement Jesus, is typical of the myth that unbelief is left with. Nice and cuddly but impossible to believe...such as "Chance got up one morning, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and as the eye crust fell it coagulated into matter and...VOILA ! well here we are."
Now let me end this drivel by saying, drunks dress up as the big, fat replacement Jesus (i.e. Bad Santa), in every mall there's a big, fat replacement Jesus, multitudes of such appear in the Santa gear at drunken parties...so forth and so on...
But in a horse trough, the unique God became a....baby
So says the Christmas clown.
I must admit that I am to Santy Clause what Christopher Hitchens is, oops...was, to Christ. I am an anti-Clausiest.
Ok, Ok....it's just a fun fib we tell our little elves. I shouldn't be so serious minded about this myth.
Secularism in practice is atheism...albeit with a smile. Or a grin. Most likely a smirk. A knowingly, condescending, elitist smirk. Those of us who have the audacity to believe in the virgin birth of the Son are pitied and mocked. Our opinions, whether culturally or politically, are marginalized... as if we all get up early in the morning, check the tires on our trailer, play with snakes on Sunday, work our way to the fourth letter of the alphabet on Monday, inundate our cerebellum with reality tv on Tuesday, play with snakes again on Wednesday, spend our free time at Wal Mart, marry our cousins and try to disprove the existence of dinosaurs to our friends. One invective is barely breathed out before another one is formed in their gizzards. Like little bitty girls they cry over a fake baby in a horse trough, surrounded by a fake mommy and daddy dressed in sheets, with maybe cute little animals strewn here and there. If some of these sobbing little secular humanoids would just stand by the trough we could say, "Look at that jackass!"
But I should mind my politically incorrect manners and muzzle up. Boo Hoo.
I posted on my facebook recently this question, "Dear Santa, why do you hate the poor?"
My point was that the myth of this North Pole fatty needs to be work shopped a little more, because he's not near as generous as he should be. Or maybe he just gets too tired to really make it the poor side of town? Or maybe the rich bribe him? Of course I'm being really facetious here, for we all know that Old Saint Thick doesn't really exist.
Of course the reason for the season is the Logos sarxe egenetos...Word became flesh.
Though that night may have been silent, the times were not. Big bad King Herod looking for a little baby...and even committing the atrocious act of slaughtering innocent children when he realized he was duped. Ah...the glories of secularism. He was threatened by a little infant "tender and mild". This donkey even gathered the "theologians" together to find out where this threat to his fiefdom was to be born.
“But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for out of you will come a ruler
who will shepherd my people Israel."
Sexy !
Couldn't find a room. Just a barn...with goats.
Philippians 2 speaks about the Son "emptying" Himself when He became flesh...but this is a humbling of extremes. In a barn...with goats and all sorts of smelly critters. I think God appreciates irony.
A king goes looking for a king who nurses...in a barn.
The secularist will never get it, for they're ever on the look out for pomp and circumstance.
The story of Jesus, His birth, life, death, and resurrection offends them deeply. That's why they are rabid about manger scenes in public places. Get a grip, unbeliever...just think of it as a chance to remind yourself of what you don't believe. Kind of a teaching moment... Chill, go smoke something that will ease your nerves.
But alas, the secularist or the atheist is left in a vacuum without meaning. Nothing means nothing. No justification for allowing the existence of such trivial things as love, morality, forgiveness....His worldview is as empty and gaseous as Santa Clause's stomach.
Santa Clause, the big fat replacement Jesus, is typical of the myth that unbelief is left with. Nice and cuddly but impossible to believe...such as "Chance got up one morning, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and as the eye crust fell it coagulated into matter and...VOILA ! well here we are."
Now let me end this drivel by saying, drunks dress up as the big, fat replacement Jesus (i.e. Bad Santa), in every mall there's a big, fat replacement Jesus, multitudes of such appear in the Santa gear at drunken parties...so forth and so on...
But in a horse trough, the unique God became a....baby
