December 21: Long Winter's Night, Classic Saint Marty, New Cartoon

It is the Winter Solstice.  The shortest day, longest winter's night.  There has been no sun in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan today.  It's been dark, dreary.  The light already seems to be fading from the sky, and it's only about three o'clock in the afternoon.  Tomorrow, the world will start tipping away from snow and ice to mud and blossom.

Rebirth is what the Christmas season is all about.  A reaching out, grasping, for hope.  Four more days.  This Fourth Sunday of Advent, I have a friend who's in the ICU, seriously ill with sepsis.  He's a young guy.  Just in his twenties.  Since this is the time for abundant hope, I pray for him, hope for him.  He will be well.

Today's episode of Saint Marty first aired on the Winter Solstice two years ago.

December 21, 2012:  Tough Snore, Snow Storm, "Jesus Freaks"

Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Scrooge had no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the stroke of One…

Scrooge is always waking up in the nick of time to meet the next Christmas Spirit.  He never sleeps through the appointed hours.  He has some kind of internal alarm that goes off when something paranormal approaches.  Perhaps it’s fear.  Perhaps it’s annoyance.  Perhaps it’s an enlarged prostate.

This morning, I woke at 3:58 a.m.  I was pissed.  I hate waking up just a couple minutes before my alarm sounds.  I just lie there, in bed, waiting for that buzz that tells me it’s time to drag my butt from my warm bed into the cold, dark work day.

Today, I stepped out onto my front porch first, to check the weather situation.  The forecast was for high winds and near blizzard conditions.  The wind was there.  The snow was there.  And across the street was my sister, trying to dig her car out of the drifts.  My wife got up; we got dressed; and we went outside to get my sister’s car unstuck.  I could hear the snowplows roaring up and down nearby streets, but my street was still thick and white.  It took about ten minutes of pushing and rocking to get my sister moving.

I did not get stuck on my way to work.  In fact, I was barely late.  Then I cleaned.  I filed.  I typed up surgical schedules.  Each time I thought I was done with my work, some other task presented itself.  I left the office over an hour later than I planned.

The snow storm was pretty much over by the time I headed home.  To make a long story even longer, we are going to have a white Christmas.  A really white Christmas.

For P.O.E.T.S. Day, I have a poem for my disciples from the poet Carl Dennis.  It’s from his Pulitzer Prize winning collection Practical Gods (which you’ll hear more about tomorrow).  It’s about belief and doubt.  It’s about passion and resentment.  Mostly, it’s about the human need for companionship.

Saint Marty is going to be getting a lot of companionship this weekend.  Music rehearsals.  Worship services.  Christmas programs.  He’s going to have companionship coming out his wazoo.

Jesus Freaks

The approval they get from above is all they need,

So why should they care if they offend me

Here in the parking lot of the Super Duper, my arms full,

By stuffing a pamphlet or two in my pocket?

No point in shouting at them to keep back

When they’re looking for disapproval.  No reason

For them to obey the rules of one of the ignorant

Who supposes the perpetual dusk he lives in

Sunny noon.  Their business is with my soul,

However buried, with my unvoiced wish for the truth

Too soft for me to catch over the street noise.

Should I rest my packages on my car a minute

And try to listen if I’m sure they really believe

They’re vexing me in my own best interest?

To them I’m the loser they used to be

When they sweated daily to please themselves,

Deaf to their real wishes.  Why make it easy for me

To load the trunk of my car with grocery bags

When they offer a joy that none of my purchases,

However free of impurities, can provide?

Their calls to attention shouldn’t sound any more threatening

Than the peal of a church bell.  And if I call

On the car phone to lodge a complaint,

Jail will seem to them the perfect place to bear witness

In this dark dominion where Herod rules.

In jail, but also guests at a banquet, while I,

They’re certain, stubbornly stand outside

Shivering in the snow, too proud

To enter a hall not of my own devising

And warm myself at a fire I didn’t light

And enjoy a meal strangers have taken pains with.

Yes, the table’s crowded, but there’s room for me.

Some of the best people I know are Jesus Freaks

Confessions of Saint Marty

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