A Christmas Message

This is a world without hope. That is a strange way to start an upbeat message, but it is the truth. All our highest hopes are illusions. No matter what we do, we are going to individually, as a race, as a biosphere, as a universe, die. Tomorrow is temporary and man cannot defeat death. We can cheat it and we can hold it off, but sooner or later it will win out. Cryonics, life extension, rejuvenation, etc. are only short term solutions to a permanent problem.

And man himself. Look at us! Even the best of us are far more greedy and hedonistic than anyone needs to be. Educational conditioning designed to lessen this does not work and only turns us into a mockery of humanity. Even if we could live forever, would we want to in the condition we are in? Eternal life with an evil heart is only eternal misery and the evil in our hearts would have forever to grow.

Yet there is hope. Hope was born in Bethlehem roughly 2000 years ago in the form of a baby, long foretold, who grew to be the greatest man ever. The perfect blend of the human and divine, He challenged sin and death and defeated both. He is the promise of Eternal Life and Freedom from sin. In Him and Him alone is hope. All this world offers is little more than dust in the wind; our lives are complex sand castles on the edge of a roaring ocean. He, and He alone, offers something substantial that will outlast time itself.

Hope was born on the very first Christmas.

Celebrate Christmas. Celebrate Hope.

Merry Christmas.

It Came Upon The Midnight Clear
It came upon the midnight clear, that glorious song of old
From angels bending near the earth to touch their harps of gold
Peace on the earth, goodwill to men, from heaven's all gracious king
The world in solemn stillness lay to hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come with peaceful wings unfurl
And still their heavenly music floats, O'er all the weary world.
Above its sad and lowly plains they bend on hovering wing
And ever o'er its Babel sounds the blessed angels sing.

O ye, beneath life's crushing load, whose forms are bending low
Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow
Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing
O rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.

For lo the days are hastening on, by prophets seen of old
When with the ever circling years shall come the time foretold
When the new heaven and earth shall own the prince of peace their King
And the whole world send back the song which now the angels sing.