Every year it comes in some form- one year I obsessed over Keikegaard, on another Carter and I attended the local UU church. Sometimes it only manifests itself through insane amounts of cinamon candy and decorated cookies. This year I think it started with the Tuba Santas after all, I did get teary listening to Harvey Phillips lead us in Silent Night, but that could be because I was also watching Archie pull the money out of the tuba “bell” jar.
It’s hitting me harder this year than last, and I haven’t even started making the candy. (Last year, I posited that it was the fumes). I’ve discussed it with friends, avoided it with Kevin (he listens to it every year, it’s possible that it gets old). One friend told me I either had to choose a “Jesus” church, or return to the Unitarian one. I don’t like my choices so far. I sort of wish there were a Santa church. I could get behind that idea. Bravely facing the snow and fog to express love.
What I want is church that thinks Jesus was inspired, had a valuable message, one that we can interpret on our own. I don’t want politics, I don’t want hellfire, I don’t want exclusion. But the idea that there’s a God who could love me as much as they say Jesus does? No matter what? Wow. That gets me every time. But then I run into the exact same problem- someone that could offer me such acceptance would have to be insane. I couldn’t join a club that would have me as a member.
