Advent in Miniature: a sermon (Isaiah 64: 1 - 9)

In many ways, there is frequently a certain confusion to our celebrations of Advent within the Christian church.

• For some of us, caught up in the frantic pre-Christmas busyness of our wider community, our faith life mirrors this busyness. Advent becomes merely a series of carol services and nativity plays.
• For others of us, some churches try to make Advent so austere, so solemn, so penitential, … almost so Lenten … that there is no sense that the joy of Christmas will soon follow. For example, there are some congregations where you’ll never hear a single Christmas carol until Christmas Eve.

Given that these two conflicting tendencies – and the resulting confusion - co-exist within denominations, congregations, families, and even within some individuals. I believe that Advent can well be regarded as a season in search of a theology.

But there is a rhythm to Advent, a rhythm that we see in the pattern of our four Sundays of Advent. This pattern is seen in our lesson from Isaiah. From the 64th chapter of the Book of Isaiah, verses one through nine, we read:
 

O that you would tear open the heavens and come down,

so that the mountains would quake at your presence—

as when fire kindles brushwood

and the fire causes water to boil—

to make your name known to your adversaries,

so that the nations might tremble at your presence!

When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect,

you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence.

From ages past no one has heard,

no ear has perceived,

no eye has seen any God besides you,

who works for those who wait for him.

You meet those who gladly do right,

those who remember you in your ways.

But you were angry, and we sinned;

because you hid yourself we transgressed.

We have all become like one who is unclean,

and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth.

We all fade like a leaf,

and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away.

There is no one who calls on your name,

or attempts to take hold of you;

for you have hidden your face from us,

and have delivered us into the hand of our iniquity.

Yet, O Lord, you are our Father;

we are the clay, and you are our potter;

we are all the work of your hand.

Do not be exceedingly angry, O Lord,

and do not remember iniquity forever.

Now consider, we are all your people.  (Isaiah 64:1-9, NRSV)

 

Now, I have to make a brief note of caution here. Whenever we read a Christian meaning into an Old Testament text, we need to remember that these writings were first written in a Jewish context, rather than a Christian one. 

• The Christian meaning of any Old Testament text is not the only meaning of the text.
• Neither is the Christian meaning of an Old Testament text the original meaning of the text.
• The Jewish meaning of any Old Testament text must always be regarded as the text’s original meaning. 
• Christians have no right to impose the Christian meaning of any Old Testament text upon Jewish people.
• While it is legitimate for Christians to read a Christian meaning into an Old Testament text, it must always be seen as a creative re-interpretation of the text, sitting alongside the text’s original – and primary - Jewish meaning. 

Nevertheless, this text reflects the rhythm of Advent as the Christian church observes Advent. Thus, it’s a good text for us in our Advent celebrations.

1.   The reading begins with the words:

O that you would tear open the heavens and come down

so that the mountains would quake at your presence …

… so that the nations might tremble at your presence.

(Isaiah 64:1, 2b, NRSV)

This expresses the profound hope – held by many people of faith – that God will sometime intervene decisively and dramatically in human history.

• For Jews at the time of Jesus – and for Orthodox Jews since then – this was a hope for a Messiah.
• For many Christians, this hope was traditionally expressed in a hope for the second coming of Jesus.

For many other people of faith:

• for many Christians who do not take the Second Coming literally,
• for Jews outside the Orthodox communities,
• and for others;

for many people of faith this hope can be seen as an expectation of the reign of God -- as the profound hope for that time (in God’s good time) when God’s values of peace and justice, of love and mercy; of generosity, hospitality, and integrity will become the governing principles of human life. 

Traditionally, Christians have called this inbreaking reign of God the “Kingdom of God”. Some Jews have called this reign the “Messianic Era”. Throughout the gospels, this inbreaking reign of God – this “Kingdom of God” – was the great governing theme of Jesus’ own teaching.

This profound hope – however we express it – this profound hope of God’s decisive intervention in human history is the theme of the First Sunday of Advent.

2.   But then, on the Second and Third Sundays of Advent, we move from this sense of expectation and hope and we encounter John the Baptist and his austere message of repentance. John’s austere message echoes much of what we hear in this passage:

We have all become like one who is unclean …

We all fade like a leaf,

and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away.

There is no one who calls on your name …

(Isaiah 64:6a, 6c-7a, NRSV)

And this in-your-face message of confrontation was the same message adopted by John the Baptist. And for the two weeks in the middle of Advent, this is also the message of Advent. 

Perhaps the fact that we spend the middle two weeks of Advent on the receiving end of John the Baptist may well be one reason why these weeks are also the prime time for many churches to have carol services and children’s nativity plays. (It’s very easy to feel that we've overdosed on John the Baptist.)

3.   And then, on the fourth Sunday of Lent, we move away from confrontation and hear of examples of hope-building. Mary and Joseph step out in faith and in radical obedience to be God’s hope-bearers in the midst of the world, allowing themselves to be shaped and re-shaped by God.

And this radical obedience and this willingness to be re-shaped by God also echoes language from this lesson:

Yet, O Lord, you are our Father;

We are the clay, and you are our potter;

We are all the work of your hand.

(Isaiah 64:8, NRSV)

And it in is this willingness to be shaped and re-shaped by God, in which we find Mary and Joseph enabling the arrival of the infant Jesus into the midst of the world.

4.   And that arrival is profound good news for all people. In Luke’s story of Jesus’ birth, we hear the angel telling the shepherds that this birth was “good news of great joy to all the people” – not “good news of great joy to some of the people” but “good news of great joy to all the people”:

• not just “good news of great joy to particularly religious people”,
• not just “good news of great joy to particularly moral people”,
• not just “good news of great joy to particularly intelligent people”,
• not just “good news of great joy to particularly nice people”,
• not just “good news of great joy to people of a particular racial, national, cultural, socio-economic, political, or denominational demographic”,

but “good news of great joy to all the people”. 

And this message is also an echo of words from this passage. As we hear the writer address God: “Now consider, we are all your people.” (Isaiah 64:9b, NRSV).

So, in this single passage, we have a quick overview, perhaps a quick tour, of the whole of our Advent pilgrimage. In a sense, we have Advent in miniature, moving from the general hope of all people of faith for God to dramatically intervene in human history to the celebration of “good news of great joy to all the people” that we find in the story of Jesus’ birth.

And may this Advent pilgrimage be a time for us all to experience God’s closer presence, now and always.

"... You did it to me....": a sermon for Christ the King / the Reign of Christ (Matthew 25: 31 - 46)

St. Patrick’s Anglican Cathedral in Dublin has a stained glass window honouring the Guinness family, a family known throughout the world as master brewers and throughout Ireland as generous philanthropists.  Given both the brewing and the philanthropic activities of the Guinnesses, the appropriate scripture text to put on the window was rather obvious.  It comes from today’s gospel lesson:  “I was thirsty and you gave me drink.”

In our gospel lesson, Jesus gives us a powerful and poetic image of the climax of human history.  And many of us may find it more helpful to treat this material in Jesus’ teachings as being poetic in nature, rather than something we must necessarily interpret literally.  In today’s lesson, Jesus tells about a great scene of judgement, a great sorting-out of humanity.  And this scene can speak to us about all the little judgements we face every day of our lives as well as it can to any great future event. 

Let’s enter the scene as set by Jesus.  The ruler of the universe is about to pronounce judgement.   A rag-tag group is asked to move forward.  As they shuffle to the front, a few sneering remarks can be heard:

• “A bunch of bleeding heart leftie do-gooders,” one voice snarls.
• “Heretics. Theologically unsound.” intones another voice.
• “Hoi polloi.  Not our sort at all,” a third voice brays.

A shocked silence results, both from the scoffers and from the rag-tag company, as the verdict is read out:

Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world, for:

• I was hungry and you gave me food,
• I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink,
• I was a stranger and you welcomed me,
• I was naked and you gave me clothing,
• I was sick and you took care of me,
• I was in prison and you visited me.

And the response from the rag-tag group to the verdict was a stunned “Did we? . . . Did we really?”

Truly I tell you, just as you did it to the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

As the next group is called up, many observers have their fingers crossed.  If the first group was given great joy because of their active generosity and hospitality, perhaps the next lot would be condemned because of their active evil.  Perhaps the active “bleeding-heart do-gooders” would be followed by some active “do-badders”.  Perhaps many waited to hear something like this:

• I was hungry and you stole my food.
• I was thirsty and you polluted my water.
• I was a stranger and you tried to ban my headscarf.
• I was naked and you paid money to stare at me.
• I was sick and you made my medication too expensive.
• I was a prisoner and you said, “Throw away the key!”

But the prosecution case was not focused only on the active do-badders.  Of course, they were there, and they were there in droves.  And they got theirs. 

But there were also many ... ordinary people brought up to answer the charges alongside the Pontius Pilates and the Neros; alongside the Hitlers and the Stalins, alongside the Pol Pots and the Idi Amins.  These people were “ordinary’ in two of the ways we use the word “ordinary”.

• They were “ordinary” in the sense that some politicians and talk-back radio personalities use the word “ordinary”, as in the sentence “I represent the views of many ordinary people in the community.”
• They were also “ordinary” in the sarcastic sense that many Australian sports commentators use the word “ordinary”, as in the sentence “Both sides played some really ordinary football this afternoon.”

Alongside the Pontius Pilates and the Neros; alongside the Hitlers and the Stalins, alongside the Pol Pots and the Idi Amins were many ordinary people.... And the case against them was based on some really ordinary behaviour:

• I was hungry and you ... did nothing.
• I was thirsty and you ... did nothing.
• I was a stranger and you ... did nothing.
• I was naked and you ... did nothing.
• I was sick and you ... did nothing.
• I was a prisoner and you ... did nothing.

And that was the case for the prosecution. ... And it was enough.

For those of us who are heirs of the Protestant Reformation, this passage of scripture sits uncomfortably with much of our religious upbringing. 

• We were taught in Sunday School, in confirmation class, in some hymns, and in far too many sermons that our good works ultimately mean nothing in terms of our status before God.  
• We were taught that our status before God is a matter of “by grace we are saved through faith”, which for far too many Christians merely means “getting our theology right”. 

As a result, there are those who believe that people who “get their theology right" are OK with God whatever they do and that those who "get their theology wrong” are in eternal trouble, however actively they reflect God’s love in their lives.

For some Christians, this is the sort of passage that there is great pressure to “explain away”, almost as if Jesus had said something like this to those who were blessed by God:

• I was hungry and you preached to me about the bread of life, even if you forgot to offer me any bread to eat. 
• I was thirsty and you lectured me on my drinking habits,
• I was a stranger and you examined me on my theology of the atonement, biblical inspiration, infant baptism, and sexual ethics before allowing me to become a church member,
• I was naked and you expressed your disapproval of my appearance,
• I was sick and you told me that my illness was a sign of a lack of faith,
• I was in prison and you debated the shortcomings of liberation theology.

Of course, we need to affirm the importance of God’s radical grace over and above our religious busy-work.  It’s not a question of how many hours we clock up in our prayer time.  It’s not a question of how many “justwannas” a minute we can pack into our prayers.  We are called to trust God’s radical grace rather than our religious busy-work.  This is what Paul, and Luther, and the Wesleys, and Karl Barth were all really getting at.  And, in this light, we need to continually emphasise the importance of God’s radical grace in contrast to our religious busy-work.

The problem is that many Christians take this emphasis on grace to mean that “getting our theology right” is more important to God than the ethical quality of our lives.  Neither Paul, nor Luther, nor the Wesleys, nor Karl Barth ever said that.  And let’s be honest here:  any people who believe that “getting our theology right” is more important to God than the ethical quality of our lives have really got their theology wrong … dead wrong.

 

Here, in this climactic passage in Matthew’s gospel, we hear a challenging message

• that our good works actually mean a lot in God’s sight;
• that our reflecting God’s mercy, hospitality and generosity is far more important to God than  “getting our theology right”.

This is a challenging message we hear in many other places in the scriptures:

• in the Sermon on the Mount,
• in the Parable of the Good Samaritan,
• in the Letter of James,
• in many sections of the Hebrew Prophets,
• and, very dramatically, here in Jesus’ poetic vision of the climax of human history.

As Sydney Carter’s hymn, which we’ll sing in a moment, asks:

When I needed a neighbour, were you there? ...

... the creed and the colour and the name won’t matter, were you there?

“... just as you did it to the least of these ..., you did it to me.”

A talk given at an ecumenical service of prayer for peace in the Middle East

This homily was given by the Rev. Dr. Bob Faser at an ecumenical service of prayer for peace in the Middle East, on Thursday, 20th November 2014, at Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Launceston, Tasmania.

***

We’ve gathered today to pray for peace in the Middle East, and to affirm our conviction that the people of that frequently-troubled region where Asia, Africa, and Europe meet have the same right as we do to live their lives
·        free from violence,
·        free from oppression, and
·        free from fear,

We gather in the commitment that the God whom we worship is passionately concerned for the well-being of all the people of that region, as this same God is passionately concerned for the well-being of all of us.

And that region is a region where people of many faiths live, and a region where many faith communities see the origins of the life together of their community. 
·        In many places, people of the different faiths live together in peace.
·        In other places, there are serious tensions - including active violence - between the faiths.
·        In yet other places, the tensions within any single faith far overshadow any tensions between the faiths.

And we pray for peace for all in this region.

We are advised in the Psalms to “pray for the peace of Jerusalem”, and we do so.  And, as we pray for the peace of Jerusalem, we also:
·        pray for the peace of Tel Aviv and for the peace of Ramallah,
·        pray for the peace of Haifa and for the peace of Gaza,
·        pray for the peace of Bethlehem and for the peace of Mecca,
·        pray for the peace of Nazareth and for the peace of Medina,
·        pray for the peace of Damascus and for the peace of Beirut,
·        pray for the peace of Baghdad and for the peace of Mosul,
·        pray for the peace of Cairo and for the peace of Teheran.

And, as we do so, we hear words from scripture calling us to be people who practice peace and who live love. 

In our lesson from the First Letter of John, we’ve heard a simple statement which, for many people, may have been the first words of scripture they learned as a child, those three brief words:   “God is love.”  It’s an excellent Christian statement. 

But as well, I also know that, in its ideas if not in its origins, it’s:
·        equally an excellent Jewish statement,
·        equally an excellent Muslim statement, and
·        equally an excellent Baha’i statement.
And I also suspect that it’s probably also equally an excellent statement for members of the other communities of faith in that region:  for the Mandaeans, the Druze, and the Yazidis.

For all people of faith, and for all people of good will, God is love. ... And, whatever a person’s formal religious identity, if their focus of worship is not love, neither is it God.  For God is love.

And now may
·        the Shalom,
·        the Salaam,
·        the peace
of the Eternal One keep us ... and all people ... in peace,

now and forever.

Secret Bridesmaids' Business: a sermon (Matthew 25: 1 - 13)

There was an Australian play that toured a number of cities a few years ago, with the title “Secret Bridesmaids’ Business”.  Today’s lesson from Matthew’s gospel is also about some “secret bridesmaids’ business”. 

Jesus told a story about a wedding.  It must have been a big wedding because there were ten bridesmaids. 

It was at a time when bridesmaids had different tasks than they have today, because one of their jobs was to wait for the bridegroom at the head of the path to the bride’s house.  When the bridegroom and his entourage arrived, the bridesmaids would greet the groom and his mates and lead them along the path from the road to the house, singing and (if it was at night) carrying brightly-lit oil lamps.

Night fell and there was still no bridegroom.

At midnight, word came that the bridegroom and his mates were nearby, but the oil was giving out in the lamps of five of the ten bridesmaids.  They tried to borrow some from the other bridesmaids, but were told to go and buy some.  On their way back with the extra oil, the bridegroom and his entourage arrived, to be led into the wedding feast by five bridesmaids, rather than ten.  By the time the other five had returned from their oil run, the doors of the bride’s home were tightly locked.

Now, looking at all the aspects of the story, there are a lot of people who could have been criticised.

• If this were primarily a story about consideration for the well-being of others, we could criticise the bridegroom and his friends for arriving at such an inconsiderate hour.
• If this were primarily a story about generosity, we could criticise the five bridesmaids with plenty of oil for not sharing their oil supplies with their friends.
• If this were primarily a story about hospitality, we could tear strips off the brides’ family for locking up the house when it was obvious that five bridesmaids – five vulnerable young women – five vulnerable young women in a culture that was very much “a man’s world” - were still outside, in the middle of the night.

Of course, Jesus told many other stories, and he made strong points about compassion, generosity, and hospitality in his stories.  But, this is a different story.

• It is not primarily a story about consideration for the well-being of others.
• It is not primarily a story about generosity.
• It is not primarily a story about hospitality.

This story is a story about preparation.  “Be Prepared,” as the Scouting movement says.

• In many ways, this story is about preparation for the realities of life in a world where individuals, let alone nations, do not regard the well-being of others as a factor in their decision-making ... but where we are called to be the people of God in that situation, nevertheless.
• In many ways, this story is about preparation for the realities of life in a world where individuals, let alone nations, are not prepared to share their plenty with those who live with scarcity ... but where we are called to be the people of God in that situation, nevertheless.
• In many ways, this story is about preparation for the realities of life in a world where individuals, let alone nations, are compelled by fear to tightly lock their doors, their gates, their borders ... but where we are called to be the people of God in that situation, nevertheless.
• In many ways, this story is about preparation for the realities of life in a world all too similar to our own ... but where we are called to be the people of God in our world, nevertheless.

Jesus said, “Keep awake, therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”  While this passage has been traditionally interpreted by the Christian Church as referring to Christ’s appearance at the end of human history, this passage is also relevant to those of us for whom the “Second Coming” isn’t really a theme within our beliefs.  I believe this passage can also refer to the many times we find Christ appearing to us in the needs of our neighbour.

• We know neither the day nor the hour when we will be challenged to exercise our own gifts of compassion, generosity or hospitality.
• We know neither the day nor the hour when we will be challenged to exercise these gifts in a setting when the movers and shakers of the community around us will regard these ancient virtues of compassion, generosity or hospitality as suspect and outdated civic vices.

This passage can also refer to the many times we find Christ appearing to us in the needs of our neighbour.

“Keep awake, therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.” 

Advent is not Lent. (I'll repeat that. It's important.) Advent is NOT Lent!

If I said one thing to you about worship in Advent, it would be this:  

Advent is not Lent.

I’ll repeat this.  It’s important.

Advent is NOT Lent.

During Advent, the Christian church progressively “grows into” the brightness of the Christmas celebration.  The trajectory of Advent moves in the direction of Christmas.  The visual image here is the Advent wreath, on which an additional candle is lit each Sunday of Advent:  one on the first Sunday, two on the second, ... and so on.  The light of Advent grows, until it is absorbed into the light of Christmas.

In contrast, Lent moves in the direction, not of Easter, but of Good Friday.  Throughout Lent, we move deeper and deeper into the shadow of the Cross.  Easter comes afterwards, not as part of the basic trajectory of Lent, but as God’s great reversal of the pain of the Cross.  The basic inner logic of Lent leads to Good Friday, with Easter following as God’s great Reversal, as God’s great vindication of the Crucified One.  There is a marked discontinuity between Lent and Easter.

The relationship of Advent with Christmas is radically different from the relationship of Lent with Easter.  The discontinuity is not there.  Advent flows organically into Christmas.

As a result, any attempt to remake Advent as a penitential season in the image of Lent is incompetent liturgy.

Some things which make perfect liturgical sense in Lent which, when transposed into Advent, become faintly ridiculous.

For example, the hymns of Lent/Holy Week and the hymns of Easter do not overlap.  It makes no sense liturgically to sing Resurrection-related hymns on Good Friday (or earlier in Lent/Holy Week).  Neither does it make sense to sing Crucifixion-related hymns on Easter Day (or later in the Easter season).  When we begin to sing “Christ the Lord is risen today” or “Yours be the glory”, we’ve already put “O sacred head sore wounded” and “When I survey the wondrous cross” to rest at least until the following Lent.

My “liturgical fundamentalist” friends will not be happy when I say this, but I believe that one of the ways the Church “grows into” Christmas during Advent is in our music during worship.  The hymns of Advent and the hymns of Christmas should be able to co-exist for much of Advent, with a growing use of specifically Christmas music each Sunday, just as we light more candles on our Advent wreaths.

For example, in a congregation that sings four hymns in worship on a typical Sunday,
·        On the First Sunday of Advent, it’s appropriate to sing four Advent hymns and no Christmas hymns.
·        On the Second Sunday of Advent, it’s appropriate to sing three Advent hymns and one Christmas hymn.
·        On the Third Sunday of Advent, it’s appropriate to sing two Advent hymns and two Christmas hymns.
·        On the Fourth Sunday of Advent, it’s appropriate to sing one Advent hymn and three Christmas hymns.

Of course, this pattern may be interrupted in some congregations because, on one or more of the Sundays in Advent, the worship service is taken over for a children’s Christmas pageant, a youth group musical, or the Sunday School’s annual extravaganza.  Nevertheless, the idea of Advent being a time of “growing into” Christmas is still useful in a congregation whose Advent involves only three functional worshipping Sundays.

And, in the words with which I began this post, if I said one thing to you about worship in Advent, it would be this:  

Advent is NOT Lent.


And, if you'd like some of my reflections on Advent and Christmas sitting on your bookshelf as well as on your computer, you may want to buy my book  Christmas Lost and Christmas Regained from Amazon.

Santa's Snubbing Bigots This Year: a song parody

(to the tune of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”)

Chorus

It’s time to accept some Christmas advice.
You’d better make sure your attitude’s nice,
for Santa’s snubbing bigots this year.

Verse:

If you’re into bigotry,
your Christmas Day will flop.
And if you holler “Stop the Boats!”,
the reindeer just won’t stop.

Chorus

It’s time to accept some Christmas advice.
You’d better make sure your attitude’s nice,
for Santa’s snubbing bigots this year.

Verse:

If you yield to prejudice,

Santa's no one's stooge.

He'll subcontract your presents

to Ebenezer Scrooge.

Chorus

It’s time to accept some Christmas advice.
You’d better make sure your attitude’s nice,
for Santa’s snubbing bigots this year.

Verse:

The lists of “nice” and “naughty”
are getting rather thick
But bigots should prepare to get
bupkiss from Saint Nick.

Chorus

It’s time to accept some Christmas advice.
You’d better make sure your attitude’s nice,
for Santa’s snubbing bigots this year.

Verse:

Headscarf-banning’s not OK
way up at the North Pole,
and Mister Kringle has prepared
some stocking-loads of coal.

Chorus

It’s time to accept some Christmas advice.
You’d better make sure your attitude’s nice,
for Santa’s snubbing bigots this year. 

Verse:
Santa can’t stand prejudice.
He thinks it isn’t funny.
He's even sold his blacklist
to his friend the Easter Bunny.

Chorus

It’s time to accept some Christmas advice.
You’d better make sure your attitude’s nice,
for Santa’s snubbing bigots this year.

Verses:

Don’t think that port and biscuits
will make dear Santa linger.
If you're an antisemite,
you’re sure to get the finger.

Chorus
It’s time to accept some Christmas advice.
You’d better make sure your attitude’s nice,
for Santa’s snubbing bigots this year.

Verses:

There's gifts for ABBA tribute bands

and Elvis impersonators.

But this year, you just have to know

there ain't no gifts for haters.

Chorus

It’s time to accept some Christmas advice.
You’d better make sure your attitude’s nice,
for Santa’s snubbing bigots this year.

Verse:

I'm told he even has some gifts
for hookers, pimps, and madames.
But racist, sexist, homophobes
will get "sweet Fanny Adams".
 
Chorus
It’s time to accept some Christmas advice.
You’d better make sure your attitude’s nice,
for Santa’s snubbing bigots this year.

Verse:
Unless you want to have a home
where reindeer dare not go,
if you dream of a "White Christmas",
I hope you're thinking snow.

Chorus
It’s time to accept some Christmas advice.
You’d better make sure your attitude’s nice,
for Santa’s snubbing bigots this year.

Verse:
There’s no way he can change his mind.
It isn’t just to tease us.
The order came straight from his Boss,
direct from Baby Jesus.
 
Chorus
It’s time to accept some Christmas advice.
You’d better make sure your attitude’s nice,
for Santa’s snubbing bigots ...
(I hope that you can dig it!)
Santa’s snubbing bigots this year.

***

Notes (from 2014)

I wrote this song parody when I was reflecting on the increased prominence this year of those whom I call "professional bigots" in politics, the media, and other forms of public life here in Australia.  In the midst of these reflections, I somehow couldn't get the tune of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" out of my head.  I thought WWTLD ("What would Tom Lehrer do?") and wrote this song. 


And, if you'd like some of my reflections on Advent and Christmas sitting on your bookshelf as well as on your computer, you may want to buy my book  Christmas Lost and Christmas Regained from Amazon.