Yesterday I wrote (in essence) that this whole coronavirus fiasco is going to clarify a lot of things. For one, we’re seeing the lethal consequences of open borders thinking and political correctness. We’re not allowed to say that it’s China’s fault, even though we all know it is. Every prudent person knows that, for better or for worse, you should avoid Chinese people who are fresh from China. Similarly, people are going to realize that throwing open our borders to anyone is a bad idea.
What I most fear, though, is what will happen if things get really tight. Right now there’s a run on toilet paper. That’s ultimately more humorous than dangerous; there’s always Kleenex, paper, or—if it comes to it—leaves and a hot shower.
But what if people can’t get food? Or medicine? The latter is far likelier, given our dependence upon China for ingredients and raw materials necessary for many medicines (a degree of autarky isn’t such a bad idea after all). But the former could be a possibility if supply chains are seriously disrupted. Again, I don’t think it will come to that, but it makes sense to prepare for the worst.
It’s Labor Day Weekend, which means a glorious three days of rusticating for yours portly. The school year is back in full swing, but I’ve been slowly recovering from an extended cold that began as a sore throat, morphed into days of nose-blowing, and metastasized into a hacking cough. The cough should—God willing—be the final phase, and it seems to be getting better with a combination of Mucinex, expired cough medicine, and rest.
The plan this weekend is—aside from some light grading—a lot of rest. I’m also excited to watch the South Carolina Gamecocks play their season opener (kick-off is tantalizingly close as I write this post). My girlfriend has come up to my little adopted hometown, and is feeding me all sorts of delicious things. It’s a fairly idyllic weekend, minus the cough.
It’s these sorts of things—resting after a week of hard work, enjoying a good meal, reading interesting books, and watching college football (all with good company, of course)—that make social peace such a coveted prize, and so worth preserving. There is so much hatred and insanity in the public square now, and I fear that the socket wrench of revolution is ratcheting up with ever-greater intensity.
The carol was originally written as a poem in the aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars by a village priest, Joseph Mohr, in the village of Oberndorf, Austria, in 1816. Two years later, Mohr approached the town’s choirmaster and organist, Franz Xaver Gruber, to set the poem to music. Gruber agreed, and the carol enjoyed its first performance to a small congregation, which universally enjoyed its simple sweetness.
Since then, the humble hymn has spread far and wide, and is probably the most recognizable Christmas carol globally today. It’s been covered (likely) thousands of times; it’s certainly become a staple of my various Christmas performances.
This simple, sweet, powerful carol beautifully tells the story of Christ’s birth, as well as the import of that transformative moment in history, that point at which God became Flesh, and sent His Son to live among us.
President Trump was nominated by two members of Norway’s Progress Party, a conservative party that supports lower taxes and limited immigration, so it’s no surprise on that front, and it’s still a long way from winning the coveted Prize itself.