Advent: I am sure that all readers deplore the vulgarly commercial aspects of the pre-Christmas season as much as I do. But over the weekend, a quietly Christian friend made a gentle accusation of hypocrisy. I had been talking about a couple of festivities, evoking the ghost of bottles past, while looking forward to other imminent events and relishing the spirit of the bottles to come. Was this all that the glorious festival meant to me? my friend enquired. On the eve of the great event in Bethlehem, the great dramatisation of splendour and pathos, of hope and renewal, of joy — but also of foreknowledge that the road from the manger would lead to the Cross — was the Christian message nothing more than Nunc est bibendum? If so, what, apart from snobbery, differentiated me from the plastic music of Oxford Street?
I had no ready answer. There was one obvious retort: that anything that leads to the castigation of fake music deserves a less tainted name than snobbery. I also tried to defend myself by citing the first miracle, but had no easy reply when asked if it was the only miracle that I acknowledged. I accepted a fuller rebuttal needed more thought — and fewer bottles? Well, certainly more thought. I promised to raise my mind above the glass at regular intervals over the next few days.
It also occurred to me that consumerism has its charm, at least when indulged in by small children. Christmas is about renewal and recurrence, including the messages that parents preach to their offspring. For littlies: ‘Be careful: Santa Claus won’t come to greedy children’s houses.’ For slightly bigger, post-Santa monkeys: ‘If there’s any more of this nonsense, the only presents you’ll get are Bibles and prayer books.’
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