Welcome to the First Secular Church of Our Lady of Anomie. Let us meditate on the un-sacred mystery of Christmas.
Remember, there's no need to be afraid as we let in light and we banish shade. Spread a smile of joy by spending money you don't have on things nobody actually needs. Throw your arms around the world by exchanging dozens of meaningless cards with people you either speak to every day or never speak to at all. Then say a prayer, pray for the other ones who have larger or more annoying families to pretend to get along with.
Perhaps your own bodyweight in meat and booze isn't taking the edge off and the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears? Is that the Thuggee sacrifice scene in Indiana Jones & The Temple of Doom or just the clanging chimes of doom? When the sugar rush of material consumption has faded, who will draw us back to the spiritual life and save the world from the powers of darkness? Well tonight, thank God it's Bono instead of you.
Still, here's to Uncle Frank and Auntie Madge underneath that burning sun on that off-season special in Dubai. Do they know it's Christmas-time at all? Thanks to Brothers Bob and Midge.
And so we find ourselves, flukes of evolution, confined to a sliver of light in an infinite abscess of nothing, our short lives defined by mercurial joy, dependable pain and unending strife, flailing for hope and meaning, usually finding only disappointment and trinkets to occupy our simian hands while those of us who read too much and are free to do so thank fortune daily that our already benighted lives aren't about to be ended by the megalomaniacs, wars, disasters and tortures that are humanity's birthright. The universe drowns us in an immensity of time, space and indifference. Still, never mind: only one more sleep 'til Christmas!
We all know what happens then. Benign supernatural entities bless the Christian and pseudo-Christian world with joy, peace and cool presents. A trinity of fictional characters, Father Christmas, God and Bob The Builder, is believed in briefly before they go back into the attic for another year. Rogue angels or Victorian ghosts should be busy drawing me towards a tearful epiphany which will unacceptably inflate my hospitality budget. 'Neath the cosy lights of town-centre hostelries, glassings and sexual offences will proceed to the festive tones of Slade and The Pogues, perhaps ceasing for a blessed moment of peace outside the kebab shop while Jona Lewie incisively reminds us of the total irrelevance of Christmas to industrialised warfare.
Exceptions tend to prove rules. If Christmas is supposed to be a time of peace and goodwill to all men, does that mean the rest of the year is fair game for misanthropic strife? By force-feeding the nation emotional syrup, is it intended to make the poor feel poorer or the lonelier feel more alone? Isn't the whole thing just a fabulous barometer for our civilisation, dependent on ersatz spirituality and greed?
I hope I've spread some cheer. Your Majesty, if you're reading, feel free to use this.
