As Usual, There Was Quite A Lot Of Snow In Africa This Christmas

The Zoomtard Christmas was spent with my two 2 year old nephews, ONE singing Razorlight, the other pretending to be Diego or Mr Plod or Scoop Truck or a snake who devours chocolates or a fireman extinguishing a black doctor who is on fire. There is nothing quite as entertaining, yet discovered, than watching a two year old with a West Cork accent sing, “Everybody just looks the same but then last night was so much fun and now your sheets are dirty the streets are dirty too but blah blah childish murmuring IN THE MORNING!” while dancing around like a more flexible Thom Yorke and air guitaring as best he can.

For not very happy reasons we had to drive to Belfast and then make our first ever trip to Jaybercrow’s Coleraine and then on to Sligo to visit the dreaded in-laws. Cue funny in-law joke.

Q. What do you do if you miss your Mother In Law?

A. Reload and try again!

Excellent. Now that is out of the way, I can tell my story. All that driving meant we had to have some music to drown out the silence of our sham marriage. For whatever weird and festive reason we ended up listening to every album Jenny Lewis has ever released and all of Bright Eyes. Not only is this very definitely a Zoomtard-centric music selection (Neuro would only ever to choose the Gorillaz mashed up against Sarah Brightman) but it gave me an opportunity for an epiphany.

Yes. That is seasonal. An epiphany. I realised while listening to the complete works of these two fine people why I do the work I do. I am a missionary. I want to explain the story of God to people so they can find out their own story. When I listen to these two great honest musicians I hear for myself better than I could ever have said it, what lies at the heart of a life that doesn’t know what its for. They say the things I would have said if I had been perceptive and skilled enough to back when I was an angry atheistic teenaged socialist. It was a great wake up call to me now as an angry Christian immature socialist.

Both musicians have a catalogue that wrestles with meaninglessness. A sense of rebellion mirrored by a sense of inadequacy. A desperate desire to satisfy the hunger they feel even if it harms. The sense of impending doom that permeates their life when things get quiet. There is barely a song that Bright Eyes has written that doesn’t reference God, or ethics, or aesthetics or any of the things that Christianity claims to be all about. Listening to them, I was not just awe struck by his poetry or her stunning voice but by the God-shaped hole, the yearning for the ultimate, the desire to love and to be loved, the pain at not being loved and not loving, the sheer God-hunger of it all. They are both rejecting a god that no one ever claimed existed but missing the God they need and want.

At one point, desperate, Oberst sings, “won’t somebody please explain it?!” That’s what I want to do. That’s what I’d love my life to be about. I am not an expert. But I think I can explain it. Or at least, I can introduce you to the explanation. He’s a good friend of mine.

Your Correspondent, An Internet buffoon

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