On Christmas Music

I'm embarrassed to admit it. I love the Thanksgiving to Christmas Day 768 hour Christmas music marathon on my satellite radio. When it is over I will be glad but in the meantime, if I'm awake I'm listening to Christmas music. A friend wants to put sharp objects in his ears at the sound of the constant Christmas clamor. Not me. I have come to love Madonna's stylized "Santa Baby"; Ray Charles and Edie Brickel make me smile; my current favorite, "The Man with the Bag" will probably end up in an Advent sermon next year; any Marsalis family member puts me in the spirit of the season; "Walking Round in Women's Underwear" makes me laugh till I pass a little pee; I get perverse pleasure from forcing my visitors to listen to "I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Klaus" (So you won't "ask or tell" Santa turns out to be Mommy); and I still (since 1953) love to listen to the diminutive voice of Gayla Peevey singing "All I want for Christmas is a Hippopotamus cause I love hippopotamus and hippopotamus'uz love me."



Should I be embarrassed? Or is it possible to enjoy the schmaltzy, commercialized, and absurd bottom line driven season without losing the rich, historic and religious context. I really do know the difference between the two but I also find the first to be a conversational bridge to the second. It really is not so far from "The Man with the Bag" to a gracious God who brings gifts even when I have not been "extra specially good."