It's too hot for Christmas. Something's wrong when you hear "Sleigh Ride" and "Silver Bells" playing in the mall, only to step outside to a 70-degree day. The inflatable penguins with scarves wrapped around their necks look sillier than usual, and the snow men should simply remain in the attic.
I thought I might find the Christmas spirit yesterday afternoon at Duke Chapel where the Choral Society of Durham performed its annual concert. The music was beautiful indeed, but I couldn't help notice the aging white crowd, and I wondered about the fate of Christmas itself. Not so much the secular Christmas, which long ago deteriorated into consumerism, but the Christian Christmas, with its fantastic story of angels, wise men, and a virgin birth. It seemed quaint and out of touch.
Messiahs are hard to come by, I've decided, at least for now. I'll set my sights a bit lower and hope that we mere mortals can chart a saner course. After all, our wish for a messiah is part of our problem; thinking that someone will magically appear lets us off the hook.
Meanwhile the planet heats up, the rich are too rich, and the sick are still sick. We've got work to do, messiah or no messiah.
It's what Jesus taught, after all.
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