The dissension swirling around a green fir tree, Christmas or Holiday greetings, lights beginning at winter solstice as done years ago, the reason for the season and much more are mere quibbles. And much of the folderol we attach to our religious exercises depends more on our self concept than fact. The music we entertain at Christmas illustrates the rational theology we will tolerate or consider politically incorrect. The need for a divine child is accepted with humility or rejected with pride.
Anne Porter, one of my favorite poets, pens her view of our situation preceding Christmas.
None of the animals feared me, I’d given them all their names,
At night I fell asleep with my head on the lion’s flank,
All day I did nothing but sing, there was an abundance of fruit,
I had only to hold out my hand,
and the Lord would fill it with bread.
But when I woke up this morning there was no garden around me,
I was lying alone with Eve on the hard ground
And we were hungry, but there was nothing to eat.
The animals wouldn’t come to us anymore,
And where the door to the garden had been, there was nothing
Anne Porter. Living Things: Collected Poems. Steerforth Press, LC.