I need help figuring out who sings a song. Do you know this track? The one that’s like, “Last Christ-mas…I gave you my heart. The very next day you gave it away. Next year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone spe-shal.”
I can picture the lead singer but just can’t find the name!
He’s got an athletic build, sometimes grizzled face, very tender demeanour.
Wait, oh yeah, that’s it…it’s Jesus!
It’s unbelievable isn’t it? Take those lyrics in. Our Lord and Saviour is heartbroken. We have whammed this man’s emotions, stringing Him along like a cat with a mouse, a priest with an altar boy.
Why does Jesus sing this song and not, say, a sexually confused British boy duo? Good question. But the point is that He does. And, as the environment shrivels and the world economy crumbles, we need to focus on religion and fix this thing. (Vote Republican!)
Jesus hasn’t been much of a talker for the last 1,980 years so it’s pretty unfortunate the one time He reaches out it’s in a pop song. Pop lyrics are never too specific. In fact, finding the meaning of this one is like trying to break into a locked closet. And it smells like a truckstop bathroom?
Nonetheless, I have an idea what this is about. So please stay tuned. The following may seem like it’s my opinion but, trust me, it’s Jesus’. I’m not the most religious, but in many ways I’m on His side. I do believe that if it weren’t for Christ, the world would be unruly, people would be savages and I would be circumcised.
Lastly, I always capitalize His, Him and His. What further proof do you need? (Capitalism justifying Jesus — everyone’s favourite.)
So hark this shit, bitches, hark.
I (Jesus) am sad because you have Christmas all wrong.
Many people would agree with me here and say I’m right. Mostly, they’d say, because we’re letting political correctness bastardize our holiday. You know what I’m referring to: “Happy Holidays!” The argument goes happy holidays are never such because that phrase is a lie – we all know the holidays exist because it’s Christmas so let’s stop pretending.
But to those people I say ‘No! That’s not why you have it wrong!’ Then another group would chime in and say, ‘Of course, that’s because it’s the opposite! We have gotten greedy and are unwilling to share the joy of the times. We must be general and say Happy Holidays!’
But to those people I also say ‘No! That’s not why you have it wrong!’ Then a third populous would pipe up and say ‘Of course, that’s because this doesn’t matter and you, Josh, are the sexiest!’ And to those people I say ‘Yes! But even that is not the point! And this is Jesus talking, remember?!’
What we have wrong is this obsession with the public perception of Christmas. We treat it like a walking, talking celebrity. Who’s going to show up today? Christmas, the nation’s sweetheart, all warm and jolly? Or that slut, Xmas, who just leaked its cock-guzzling porno tape? (Wouldn’t Christmas in Paris be interesting…)
It doesn’t matter what you think about Christmas or what people call it. For a huge contingent of the world, December is a spiritual time. While some religions do believe in society’s uniformity, at the end of the day we all go home to our own personal version of Allah, God or Kim Kardashian. This debate over the public name of the holiday has nothing to do with your spirituality, which is a private experience unique to you.
“Happy Holidays!” “Merry Christmas!” The semantic choices of society somehow affect the quality of so many peoples’ Christmas Day, Christmas meal or Christmas watch-Uncle-Brian-find-a-way-to-drop-the-N-bomb-into-grace.
It’s as if calling it Christmas lets people pretend the time has returned where families sat around the fire and felt vague yet magical emotions. I want warm chestnuts just as much as the rest of you, but that’s just as delusional as thinking “Happy Holidays” makes anyone feel special. Both options are awful. (But if you find a way to warm my chestnuts regardless… by all means.)
Most of us can agree on the uselessness of “Happy Holidays”, but if you need more convincing on the farce that is today’s Christmas, look no further than Boxing Day. I get excited by the spectacle too, but it’s a shining star over the holidays’ denigration. (Uncle Brian loves that word.) We have an Advent calendar of rife consumption, where Christmas jolliness lasts a mere day and then we’re back to shopping like it’s the best part. Yeah, sure, honour My birth, but don’t honour how I spent weeks avoiding King Herod trying to kill Me.
Just listen to the lyrics in My song: “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, the very next day, you gave it away.”
When Boxing Day is so casually part of Christmas, it’s regretfully clear the Christmas Spirit and Holy Spirit are at odds. Calling Christmas Christmas in public, which is where Wal-Mart lives, isn’t going to get your god back. And “Happy Holidays”, no matter how passionately proclaimed, simply doesn’t touch anyone’s heart. These two arguments are wrong. The entire premise is wrong.
In other words: Christmas – in the media, in the public – isn’t what it should be, but the solution isn’t in the name. Obsessing over its moniker is a defence mechanism, a lazy way around the true issue of a broken holiday. Be concerned with your private Christmas, not your public one: Enjoy and/or be spiritual with your friends, family, pets and lovers. And lovepets.
Isn't this so much better?
As this is Jesus talking, let’s conclude this with a story. A parable, if you will.
So a Muslim, a Buddhist and a Jew walk into a bar…Wait. Sorry. That’s a joke for select company. Mother Teresa loves that shit.
I apologize. Here we go:
There were once three men who lived in the same land. Each was given his own seed at birth, all were identical, and the men would have to nourish these seeds if they wanted it to grow into a beautiful flower – a poinsettia, in fact.
As their identical seeds began to sprout into identical flowers, it was clear these flowers were going to be most beautiful in all the land. The men shared profound joy in how rewarding and fulfilling having such a beautiful flower was, and would often celebrate publicly in their town square – when the square was not occupied by dirty, unshaven hippies.
But these poinsettias were still young, and needed continued care so not to be spoiled. Unfortunately, as the years went on, the men let weeds creep in that marred the beauty of their plants. Like the stems of the poinsettias, the weeds were green – they loved their green more than anyone in the land, actually – so they could easily camouflage themselves and pretend they were an integral part of the poinsettia.
It was easy to be fooled, but these men still should have been more careful. Like Kim Kardashian, they were reckless with their flowers.
Then, instead of tending to the plants, or buying an effective weed-control product one could get at Canadian Tire, the men were sentimental and instead chose to remember how great the plants used to be. The men were so good at this nostalgia they practically lived in their memories while their plants got uglier and uglier. These men were also Leafs fans.
At the same time, men and women with other plants moved to their land. They had plants that were just as beautiful as the other three’s, but their plants had different and exotic looks and names. When together, they were often mistaken for Angelina Jolie’s children.
"I saw mommy rubbing Santa Claus' belly in front of the kinara" just doesn't have the same ring to it.
Shortly after, the first two men got into an argument about the presence of different beautiful flowers. The first man argued that, now, when appreciating flowers in the town square, they should always acknowledge that all flowers in the land are equally great. He wanted everyone to be included. The second man disagreed. He felt that his flower was there first, so the men’s poinsettias should still be the standard among all flowers.
Not only were these two men sentimental, they were stubborn (still Leafs fans, still men). They argued about how to honour their plants publicly for years, decades and so on, not realizing even more weeds were ravaging their beloved flowers. Eventually, their poinsettias grew so unsightly they were barely recognizable from the days that earned their lustre. But the men never noticed; they argued for the rest of time, alive only in their sugarplum memories…
Meanwhile, the third man decided not to worry about how his flower was spoken of. Instead, he took it home where the weeds could no longer reach. He shared his poinsettia’s beauty with his friends and his family but, justly, not his cat.
And over time, the flower not only returned to its spectacular original form, it became even more dazzling than before.
Note – You probably noticed but, for once, “seed” was not a metaphor for “ejaculate”.
Hi guys, it’s Josh again.
Would just like to thank Jesus for sharing His word. It seems He does have some answers, but whether they’ll acted upon is a great mystery. A lot like the Bible. Yeah, you could totally see the similarities between how He speaks and how the Bible was written.
There’s not much more so say about such a perilous topic. You just gotta have faith.