Of course, this is open to interpretation by others besides Calvin, especially if I were to include verse 17 * , which I didn’t, because it would have spoiled Calvin’s fun.
Now listen, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.’ Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, ‘If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.'” — James 4:13-15
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* Verse 17: If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.”
Calvin has struggled with his sin all year. He knows that he doesn’t deserve anything from Santa for all the grief he has given his parents, his teacher, and Susie next door. Santa has every right to ignore him this year and fly on by with his reindeer.
And yet, presents for Calvin appear miraculously under the tree. Note Calvin’s relief at not getting left out. He knows that it could have been otherwise, and he’s thankful almost unto tears for the second chance (He also may look just a little bit triumphant, and this worries me. It suggests that he may take this as license to pelt Susie with snowballs after the toys are unwrapped).
Notice also that the source of the presents, presumably his mom or dad, stands just outside the frame of the cartoon. I have no doubt that Watterson meant it as a metaphor for God (you may interpret Santa Claus, but you’d be wrong) and the presents a metaphor for grace. A free gift, not coming from one’s self, lest anyone might boast (Ephesians 2:8-9). Whatever Calvin does next, the offer of Grace is still on the table.
Bill Watterson didn’t name Calvin and Hobbes by accident. The Protestant reformer/theologian John Calvin and the philosopher Thomas Hobbes live on in the form of a boy and his stuffed tiger-come-alive.
Here Calvin struggles with the existence of God, thinly veiled in a discussion of Santa Claus. What I love about Calvin is that he is always asking the right questions. Oh, he may arrive at, uh, inappropriate conclusions (manifested in his sinful actions such as plastering Susie Derkins with snowballs) but he at least asks the questions. It’s a start, and I have great hope for Calvin.
If you’ve had enough of the commercialism already, and with Christmas yet a week away, be assured that you’re not the only one. Try to keep your cool. Keep it simple. Sing traditional carols with family and friends. Eat some chocolate, pour whipped cream with cinnamon into your fair-trade coffee, and read the nativity stories in Matthew and Luke. In short, insist upon your sanity.
And stay away from the malls.
To further our “any excuse to play Joni Mitchell” commitment, her song “River” flows along every year at this time to help put Christmas into perspective for those of us who really do have sensitive antennae against the desecration of the holiday.
I’ll include this post in the categories of “poetry” and “literature” too. I often point out, when talking about writing in a workshop or in conversation, that Joni demonstrates the proverb “Show, don’t tell,” when describing her feelings. Instead of saying, “I get depressed around the holidays,” she paints a picture:
It’s comin’ on Christmas,
They’re cuttin’ down trees.
They’re puttin’ up reindeer,
Singin’ songs of Joy and Peace.
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on.”
Me and Joni are gonna lace up our spiritual skates. Join us! Boycott the frenzy, overturn the tables in the Temple and try to save Christmas for yourself before it’s too late. Others may follow.
Ludwig von Beethoven was born on December 16, 1770. We know this from reading Peanuts by Charles Schulz. The young pianist Schroeder makes sure that everyone knows the date, and how many shopping days remaining until. But he probably doesn’t care if Lucy knows, because he’s trying to ignore her.
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And because no birthday is complete without music, watch and listen to Ivo Pogorelich play the very piece that Schroeder played, in spite of Lucy’s distraction: Sonata #11 in B-flat major, Opus 22, allegro con brio. Does he remind you of a grown-up Schroeder?
Christy? Are you watching? This guy is good.
update: The embedding has been disabled, so click on this link:
No Christmas can be complete without the “Hallelujah Chorus” from Handel’s Messiah. Here is a surprise from a “flash mob” at the food court of a shopping mall. The people munching at Arby’s don’t know what hit them when random people break out in “Hallelujah! Hallelujah! For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” But by the time it’s over the spectators are really getting into it.
The “mob” is clearly a trained chorus, probably in rehearsal for a stage performance, because the date is November of this year.
Jeri and I will be in Massachusetts again this weekend. Two weeks ago we attended Christina’s piano recital (works by Ravel, Schubert, Ives and Schumann), and this Sunday her art exhibit, “Portraits of an Island”.
Both are part of Christina’s senior year projects. She will graduate this month with Bachelor degrees in music and in art. Oh, yeah.
We have seen only a few of her recent paintings, and the ones I’ve included here are a few years old, so don’t assume she’d be pleased that I’ve included them. More later!
The snow tires are on the Toyota, Gracie and Little Sal have a sitter, and we’re off.
The fourth and final in the series: This tune is so simple that it’s probably the most powerful of the four. It’s quintessential rock, and this ahead-of-its-time performance at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965 turned a page in musicology. It also made him some enemies: Should Dylan go electric or stay folk? As it turned out, he could do any darned thing he wanted.
Notice the booh-ing from the crowd as Dylan leaves the stage, and the frazzled Peter Yarrow coming forward to smooth things over.
Oliver Wendell Jones is at it again. Or, he was at it back in the 1980s during the Reagan years, and has never been more relevant.
In these Bloom County episodes, Oliver has hacked—not into American diplomatic communications—but into the Soviet newspaper Pravda. The outcome is about the same as this latest round of WikiLeaks exposés: very little of substance, and much of it nonsense. Then: “Gorbachev sings tractors!” Now: “Italian prime minister Berlusconi parties too much.”
Yet in either case, there is much embarrassment at the realization that national security isn’t what it should be.
And we’re back to the old question: If Oliver can hack into it with his Banana Junior 6000, who else can?
To view cartoon better, click on it, and again if necessary.
From Offshore 