Skip to main content

Grumpy Garrison Keillor

Grumpy Garrison Keillor wrote in Sunday’s Op. Ed. that people who aren’t Christian should leave Christmas alone. He is tired of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Unitarians and people who rewrite, “Silent Night”. In his most astounding comment, he scorned, “. . . all those lousy holiday songs by Jewish guys that trash up the malls every year”. “Christmas,” he wrote, “does not need any improvements”.


It is probably best not to try to figure out the “Jewish guys” comment. I do not know what their religion or ethnic identity has to do with the music they wrote. I thought they were probably just trying to earn a buck, something like writing Op. Ed. pieces.

What is really puzzling is the notion that “Christmas”, as Garrison Keillor likes to celebrate it, is something without a history. Not simply Christmas, but every celebration in the Christian Church, and every hymn and doctrine and custom, is something that has taken shape gradually. Christmas, originally, wasn’t even at Christmas time. Jesus likely was born in the springtime, not at the winter solstice. They weren’t any Christmas trees at Christmas until perhaps the middle ages. Nobody sang “Silent Night” in Bethlehem when Jesus was born.

What people believe about the importance of Jesus has changed just as much as the trappings about his birth. Keillor writes, “If you don’t believe Jesus was God, OK, go write your own damn “Silent Night” and leave ours alone”. The plain fact is that the formulation that Jesus is God is an idea that took centuries to develop. The first Biblical affirmations about Jesus is that he was a prophet of the last times who denounced the sins of his people, and who warned that judgment time was near.

We should not be surprised that people who are Christian continue to think about the importance of Jesus for their lives, and continue to find ways to express, in the worldview of our own time, what earlier generations of people expressed within the framework of their own particular worldviews. They even write, and re-write, hymns to reflect their thought.

Christmas has always had “improvements”, which is just a way of saying that if the tradition has real meaning today, it will be expressed within the framework of how we think today. That is what contitututes a living tradition, and not just a museum piece.

Merry Christmas, Mr. Keillor!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Friends-- My step-father of 35 years died this morning. His name was Conrad Royksund. He was 86 years old. He was born into poverty on a farm near Puyallup, WA. He was the first member of his family to attend college and earned a PhD from the University of Chicago. He paid his way through all of that by fishing in Alaska. He spent his professional career as a college professor. I met him when I was just 3 years old and don't actually have any memories of my life befor e he was in it. He was intimidatingly smart, funny as hell, and worked his ass off. He taught me to meet people with kindness and decency until I was certain they could not be trusted. He taught me to meet ideas with carving knives until I was certain they could. I will remember him as one of the bravest, most curious, and funniest people I have ever met. He left this world with a satisfied mind. We are so grateful. Dan Hubbard

Caliche Busters and Government Work

When I was young and both stronger and smarter than I am now, I put my might and brain to work doing nothing useful, unless it might be thought that hand/foot/eye coordination might come in handy.  Those were skills to be learned and practiced.   I found an iron bar our grandfather had shaped in his blacksmith shop.  He took old car, truck, or wagon axles, and made tools from them for digging post holes.  He sharpened one end to a tip, and the other to a blade.  Washington State, like many places, had a hard layer of soil, probably created by water and limestone, or some such materials, that made digging holes a miserable chore.  The bar chipped through the natural concrete so that a shovel could take it up.   I found Grandpa's iron bar, and since I was young and dumb and strong--or so I thought--decided to punch a hole down to hardpan and ultimate truth.  I knew how to do that.  Raise the bar vertically with both hands, and then slam in straight down.  On the second try, aimi

The Sea is Rising

Let us just step back:  two hundred and fifty years ago, or so, the ships of England and Spain had drifted onto a whole new continent, as they saw it, from far north to a savagely cold south; pole to pole, as if there were such things. Millions of people already lived here, some of them still hunters and gatherers; some of them very wealthy, indeed!  Gold and silver stolen from the southern Americas funded Spanish and English dreams. There was land, lots of land, under starry skies above, rich land, and oil and coal and iron ore.  The whole western world learned how to build industries not on simple muscle power, but on steam and oil.  We farmed, too, of course.  All we needed was cheap labor--slave labor from Africa, mostly, so the ships came with slave labor.  Chinese labor built railroad beds where there had been rock cliffs. Europeans, long used to killing each other for good, religious reasons, brought their religious savagery with them.  Even when all they wanted to do w