I’m on holidays at the moment, beginning with a few days by the beach between Christmas and New Year. Lovely!
Yesterday, we were having afternoon tea with friends when the topic if the twelve days of Christmas came up. One of their children, a delightful young woman, realised from what we were saying that the twelve days came after Christmas, and not before as she had always thought.
It seems to suit commercial interests to have them before, as they can then be linked to something called ‘shopping days’. But Christmas is a season, and it’s only just begun.
When Shakespeare wrote ‘Twelfth Night’ everyone knew when that was; in these days of the loss of stories, it could be anytime.
This may be a small issue in view of issues like climate change. But it seems to me that now ‘commercial realities’ seem to have become the story we live by, they become a powerful impediment to just action.
The story is of a God who is one with us—to save the whole creation, not squander it.