“Oh, Kristmus is for kiddies.” Thus he piously intones while laying in the beer and wine and grub and maybe cones. He smiles anticipation of the coming Kristmus treat of warbling ‘Winter Wonderland’ in summer searing heat and singing songs of sleigh bells where the snow was never seen.
And there’s no heathen custom that could be quite so obscene as guzzling pud and turkey while the temperature is soaring, collapsing then as from every pore the perspiration’s pouring!
I try to point out to him that learned scholars say Jesus wasn’t born in winter. There is not a way that shepherds fed their flocks at night in freezing cold December.
It was the time for taxing by the Romans, you remember and they weren’t quite so stupid as expecting folk to travel in winter’s bleak conditions and on roads of roughest gravel.
The scholars know what time of year each sundry course of priest their duties in the temple kept, so there is not the least small shred of doubt that Christ was born (your patience thus permitting), September – Feast of Trumpets Day – so faithful, apt and fitting.
But ev’ry Yuletide custom is as pagan as can be. I’d shock you if I told you all about the Kristmus tree.
I tried to tell him all of this. Alas he isn’t listening, he is living in a dream world
Thinking what he does is Christian.
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