CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith and Life for the Years of Winter…
‘Tis the season for… flash mobs.
I’ve never been part of a flash mob, although I’ve always wanted to be. But they involve singing—like people popping up in a mall food court to do the “Hallelujah Chorus”—or musical instruments, like the viola flash mob the IU School of Music did at the Bloomington farmers’ market a few years ago. We didn’t live here then, so I didn’t see it live, but I have watched it on YouTube. There are very few places where there are enough violists that you can have a whole flash mob of them—or dancing. Unfortunately, I don’t qualify for any of those kinds of flash mobs. [Those are the same disabilities that keep me from being a backup dancer in a music video, another unfulfilled wish. Yes, I have regrets.]
I guess I could be part of a preaching flash mob, but that would be too much like Rev. Jeb and Sister Cindy, who travel around to college campuses and convert students by calling them sluts and whore-mongers.
So I’ll just go to malls and hope for the best, which means a flash mob of Christmas carolers rather than some NRA-sponsored cretin with an automatic weapon killing us all.
I guess it is no surprise that flash mobs happen mostly in the Advent season, that season of hopeful waiting, getting ready for Christmas, for the first flash mob was when the angels appeared to the shepherds to announce the birth of Jesus. “Fear not…”
I tweet occasionally as yooper1721.
Still looking for a Christmas gift for someone who reads, or ought to read, YA literature? Katie Kennedy is the rising star in YA lit. [She is also our daughter.] She is published by Bloomsbury, which also publishes lesser authors, like JK Rowling. Her latest book is, What Goes Up. It’s published in hardback, paperback, audio, and electronic, from B&N, Amazon, etc.
I stopped writing this column for a while, for several reasons. It wasn’t until I had quit, though, that I knew this reason: I did not want to be responsible for wasting your time. If I write for others, I have to think about whether it’s worthwhile for you to read. If I write only for myself, it’s caveat emptor. If you choose to read something I have written, but I have not advertised it, not asked you to read it, and it’s poorly constructed navel-gazing drivel, well, it’s your own fault. Still, I apologize if you have to ask yourself, “Why did I waste time reading this?”