That’s the English version, anyway. And yes, Christmas. I’m not a fan of the holiday, and share Jon Meacham’s (absurdly maligned) view of its origins. But I see no offense in wishing those who do not share my faith (as well as those who do) a message of peace and joy and new beginnings. The incarnation is a bewildering notion. To think that the force behind the entire universe would actually become a single human being in a particular place and time is an astonishingly bold item of faith. The love and intimacy of the divine is nowhere better illustrated. The child Jesus was a speck in a sea of humanity all those years ago – wherever and however he was born. But he altered the trajectory of our souls. That is my belief. It transcends all the fights over sexuality or marriage or stem cell research or faith-based programs or creches in public spaces. Which is why, for me, Christmas is a time to reflect on mystery beyond politics and culture, on what we cannot understand even as we believe, on the potential for unimaginable events in the future, and the holy spirit that guides us in the face of them. Does that sound pretentious? I hope not. Writing candidly about Christian faith is not easy. But since I have spent much time this year criticizing those whose faith demands partisan political agendas, or the disparagement of minorities, or the fusion of politics with religion, it behooves me to restate my own belief. That belief is inconstant and human and faltering. But it somehow endures. Another gift, like the first one two millennia ago. And as I grow older, and the gift looks more tattered, I somehow feel gladder for it. From one human speck to another: the possibility of contact with the divine. Peace. Joy. Love. Happy Christmas.
FACE TO FACE WITH JIHAD: One man lived to tell the tale.
— Andrew
The Dish 