crèched by the weight of tradition

I read yet another op/ed piece, this time in a local newspaper, bemoaning the prohibition of crèche displays on public property. I honestly have no dog in this fight. Or, more accurately, I am betting on both dogs. Yes, I think the nativity scene, despite its wildly inaccurate theology (the magi never consorted with the shepherds), is a nice little touch. Not because it reminds me to be moral or compassionate. (It doesn’t.) But because it reminds me of an idealized Christmas, a mélange of memories cobbled together to create a near-perfect, Bing Crosby, White Christmas. It feels good. It produces nostalgia which, in its Greek origin however, was not necessarily a good thing. Literally, nostalgia means “ache” or “pain” for home. It is, technically, well ... a sickness. That said, I like nostalgia as much as the next person. As for the argument against the use of public land, 100% in favor. The founding fathers got it right: no official religion. Official religion leads to an official god and the next thing you know, Glenn Beck is using Thomas Paine to promote his vision of an official Christianized America. (Paine was an atheist and would have been thrown in a pauper’s grave if not for George Washington.) But back to nostalgia. While the ache of nostalgia may be sweet, it is a dead-end emotion. That is: the only action it leads to is going backwards, grabbing for shards of the past that, no matter how hard you try, you can never glue back together again. And Christmas, despite the gravitational pull of tradition, is about going into the unknown. It is about a birth. And a birth is always risky, fraught with danger. A birth makes one want to do something. For example, to be compassionate, to clothe, to feed. I don’t think plaster figures, no matter how brightly colored, have ever moved anybody to an act of mercy.