THEME 2: Short Stories and Commentaries for 2021

IT WAS ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS

A Christmas Pageant Story of Love

Prelude:

A Toronto church’s warm and comforting Christmas Pageant is underway. It is an ages old story about the dangerous journey to Bethlehem for Mary and Joseph, leading to the imminent birth of Baby Jesus. Now clearly God
loves Mary, her unborn child, and Joseph, and God holds them close, keeping them safe.

Outside the cathedral, however, a parallel story is unfolding.
This one involves the dangerous reality of living on the streets of Toronto for Marie, Joey, and a much younger abandoned street kid whose name is Manny. Does God love Marie and Joey and possibly even Manny? Does God
hold them close? Does God care for their safety, on this cold and rainy midDecember night?

It was on a night like this, two thousand years ago. The winter’s cold had settled in, and the darkness of night crept over the land a little sooner – as it would with each passing day for the rest of their journey.

“2 In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census
should be taken of the entire Roman world. 3 And everyone
went to their own town to register. 4 So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea to Bethlehem the town of David because he belonged to the house and line of David. 5 He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child.”

Luke 2: 1 – 5

New International Version Bible

And it was on a night like this outside St. James Cathedral, Toronto. A cold winter wind was blowing, and there was a hint of bad weather settling in for the night before the Christmas morning. Three street kids shuffled down Adelaide from Parliament. Their night was dragging on, and with it the hunger of the day lingered cruelly in their bellies.

Food was usually easier and fresher to find at the end of shifts and the 8edge of the business day. On wet and windswept December nights such as this, the downtown streets of Toronto were largely emptied: the tide had receded, no one was watching – no one cared. Joey and Marie both
understood from experience that you just had to know where to look to find tossed, uneaten food. Finding safe shelter ’till morning was a much harder thing. … Sleep would have to wait for the new day and a
public place to curl up in a known hidden corner or familiar stairwell and the safe light of day.

It was a long and difficult journey on foot for Mary and Joseph. They had only the aid of a donkey to transport their essential supplies and to
give Mary some respite from the hours of walking while carrying her unborn child. Mary had packed small, dried, wheat cakes, some unleavened bread, a small bunch of figs, and a few dried fish to do for food over the next few days. They had a small skin of water to drink and to moisten their food during the journey.

It would be safer travelling during the early mornings and early evenings: fewer bandits
in the early morning and fewer soldiers in the evening – essentially for the same reasons of drunkenness and fatigue. Mary and Joseph kept out of direct line of sight, each midday, to briefly eat and to graze the
donkey. They had no room for oil or a lamp, but neither did they want to attract the attention of strangers or bandits as the nights settled in. Their sleep would always be cold, guarded, and hidden by total
darkness.

Manny seemingly had no festive memories of Christmas, and Marie really was not sure why. He never uttered a word, making it even harder to know why. Marie had noticed his unresponsive gaze or his
apparent lack of interest. Bustling shoppers – some even with sparkling gift-wrapped packages, … and any of the suited sidewalk Santas were all utterly meaningless to her little friend. Marie had even shown Manny the Christmas card she had found lost or thrown away.
It was a card no longer clean, crisp, and ready for the giving. Soiled and stained with street grime, worn and warped by abandonment in the harsh elements, the card seemed no longer to be of any value to anyone – perhaps only valued by Marie, alone, in the whole wide world. That one hope for a card that she alone valued was why she kept it safe and protected – closest to her each day and night. And that’s how she felt about Manny, too. Joey understood; he was a good man, and Marie loved him because he really helped her take care of Manny.

Bethlehem was a small town with few available lodgings for the night; many visitors were there, due to the census. Arriving late in the evening of the fourth day, just before night descended upon them, Mary
and Joseph were tired, and Mary – a woman of deep faith – knew her time was at hand to give birth to her child: God’s Son. Desperate to find shelter and warmth from the cold night air, Joseph finally found an offered space in an old stable behind the very last inn, on the edge of
town. It wasn’t much but it was enclosed and dry and warm from the breath and body heat of the animals tethered there for the inn’s paying guests. And there was light – light from a lamp, lent to them by the
compassionate inn keeper. The precious light pushed back the
darkness in the enclosed and hidden safety of that very lowly stable.

“8 And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby,
keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9 An angel of the Lord
appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them,
and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, “Do not70 be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. 11 Today, in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

Luke 2: 8 – 1

New International Version Bible

A blast of icy rain in that blackness of Toronto’s night suddenly signalled a greater danger for the three street kids, as they approached the darkness of a deserted St. James Park. They cut across Jarvis,
down the paved pathway and ran up onto the park bandstand that was there. Cold, and now wet, they needed to find immediate shelter and at least some warmth on this perilous night or there would be no
morning. Joey pulled out his two garbage bag ponchos from his jacket pockets and wrapped one around Manny and the other around Marie. He would have to wait, and the cold seeped deeper into his bones.

Catching his breath, Joey looked up and saw the lighted stained-glass windows of St. James Cathedral, across and just to the west of the park – lit up for a Christmas Eve service. He pointed towards the light streaming out through the darkness and the rain. The light shone through the windows that were normally darkened and grey during daytime and most nights, but now they shone with a promise of warmth and refuge just beyond the massive stone walls and the heavy wooden
doors. He shouted to Marie above the rising fury of the wind and rain sweeping down on them.

“We’ve got to go in there! It’s too late to find somewhere else!
We just have to get out of this wind and the rain now, Marie, or we’ll freeze to death out here!” Marie looked up and saw the shining windows, as well, and she felt the card nestled beside her skin. She thought of the light and the warmth shining out from a distant lowly stable and her beautiful card then opening … revealing safe shelter, an enveloping warmth and precious light for Mary and Joseph and a little baby. “What if…”, Marie wondered, as she reached into her shirt to touch her precious card for
reassurance. Together with Joey, and holding Manny’s hands, they all ran for the shelter of the old church doorway, heaved ajar the heavy slab, and entered directly into the main aisle of that towering church.

Wonderment, warmth, and the sounds of singing displaced their fear and trembling. Manny, followed closely by Marie and Joey, started slowly and
inexplicably walking up the centre aisle, clearly oblivious of the hcongregation seated in the stained and pitted pews. Manny was captivated by the scene up at the altar, and Marie and Joey were as well, but they were mainly watching what Manny was doing. They very slowly proceeded and stopped just beside an older woman and her husband, who together, always sat in the same pew over the years, and who were joyfully engaged in singing “Silent Night”.

“Oh, my dear God! …You’re soaking wet! Jack, hand me my
coat…and yours, as well”.

“Right! Let’s get those wet jackets off! Here, put these on; they’ll
warm you up. Trevor, pass me your coat, dear, for the little boy.”

“His name is Manny”, Marie shyly offered.

A third smaller child’s winter coat made its way to the flurry. Suddenly, Manny was warm and being held close. He looked up towards the end of the great aisle, still captivated by what he saw. It was Marie’s card! It
was warmth and light! It was safety and belonging! It was joy and thanksgiving! … And it was … the baby. All this, as he made his way solemnly up to where the pageant had been unfolding at a crudely fashioned cradle near the great altar. Manny, followed by Marie, Joey,
and the wife and husband, all started to slowly approach even closer to the wondrous Pageant Scene, compelled by some seemingly unseen force.

The church had fallen totally silent. Manny was transfixed by
Mary and the baby. Marie and Joey were transfixed by Manny, with only fleeting glances towards the nativity scene. The two adults were transfixed by the street kids reverently approaching the nativity scene
that they, themselves, had always viewed from a distant church pew. Joey and Marie had followed Manny without a word, as had the two faithful who had just helped the rain-soaked children. They had all stopped together, behind Manny, very near the scene of the manger –
all held in that moment by the enactment displayed there before them.

And then, in a voice both gentle and sincere, Manny spoke… and asked the young mother in the nativity scene:

“May I please come closer to see the baby?”

“Yes… Please come and sit down right here beside me, and you
can hold him close to you”.

Manny moved and sat down beside Helen, the pageant’s mother of Jesus. Marie and the two parishioners remained standing slightly beside Joey and Helen’s Richard – Josephs, both, of this night’s pageant story.
The congregation rose as one, on cue, as a gifted introduction for the next hymn resounded. And suddenly “Joy to the World” was shaking the very beams and rafters of that solid great church cathedral.

Jim Davis

Twenty-eight Questions Regarding Faith and Fear

In these very uncertain times, is it reasonable to propose that human expressions of faith and fear have been a consistent part of our social journey for at least the past 100,000 years? When considering anthropological artifacts that clearly served purposes beyond utilitarian tools and weapons, what would cause hunter-gatherer humans to produce apparently non-essential items? For example, were ochre depictions of human figures, prey images, and dangerous predators simply decorative cave “enhancements” or was there a more essential application? Similarly, what of shell and stone beads? Were they just made for body adornments or did they, in another context, justify the intensive labour required in their making? More recently (from up to 43,000 years ago), did representative figurine carvings and functional bone musical instruments simply fill a wanderer’s restless hours in their production and then constitute “frivolous excess kit” to be stoically carried on the endless migration trail? Couldn’t such artifacts potentially (and logically) play a supporting role in a rudimentary collection of “beliefs” that were of purpose and value to a small hunter/gatherer nomadic group? Is it conceivable that these artifacts would have been important in processing and managing existential and debilitating fears through their use by hunters, women, elders, or group-accepted “shamans”? If remediation of fears, through the use of such objects, was indeed the catalyst for their production; is it not logical to now propose that the “faith and fears” relationship has really changed only in one respect over, the last 100,000 years?

Despite social groups being much larger and more complex today, is it not true that humans still fear utter darkness and still experience chronic loneliness and unmanageable vulnerability – even within the most “connected” social settings of modern life? Isn’t the total uncontrolled darkness of unlit storming seas and of subterranean caverns still totally terrifying for most, if not every single one of us? Don’t we still desperately need that fragile flickering flame of light to remain lit? Do we not only need the hope that the light brings but also the illumination of any threat looming on the edges of that light’s precious reach? More terrifying than even total darkness; are we not universally vulnerable when we are totally alone?

In our total aloneness, is our vulnerability derived from the deprivation of all human communication that seems to afford us meaning and a purpose? Without communication and interaction with other people, how do we sustain our sanity devoid of ongoing endearing relationships with others? Lacking all such relationships, can we not concede that we typically quickly lose our sense of personal context, our ability to be rational, and our perception of a purpose for existing? …And then, are we not in mortal danger of losing all our hopes for our tomorrows and our will to press on through the present day’s adversities?

Is PTSD, in view of such questions, only a modern incarnation of a dark abyss of total aloneness and debilitating vulnerability arising from deep within the human mind – as it did in truly ancient times? That question answered, should our premise be that we would best help treat this ubiquitous and complex condition of depression with more than the predominant first-line medications and psychotherapies administered solely and appropriately by highly trained and qualified practitioners? All such medicinal and cognitive behavioural therapies are carefully tailored for the individual patient, based on their identified symptoms and unique situations; however, is this spectrum of therapies the most complete regimen we can offer? For a lifeform that questions personal context, relies on ability to reason, and specifically reflects on our purpose or reason for existence, could a “faith and beliefs” therapeutic component possibly play a crucial role in remediation of the PTSD condition, in particular? When our self worth and our importance to others is in doubt; … when our ability to focus our reason, ask the difficult introspective questions, and find a firm footing is overwhelmed; … and when existential questions concerning our specific purpose for existing and “soldiering on” go unanswered, … are these not matters that a personal faith (i.e. beliefs) may help to address?

Is it now time for medical and behavioural professionals to consider the value of “Faith Reaffirming Therapy” – to augment CBT, CPT, and other first-line therapies: perhaps referring consenting patients to highly trained, often similarly qualified, and demonstrably dedicated and experienced pastoral practitioners? Could the consternation of our PTSD, our unfathomable minds, and our most destructive self-perceptions all be potentially calmed by structured introspection through prayer – just as fears may be faced through structured exercises, CPT, or WET? Could self-reaffirming learning through knowledgeable theological instruction also be as useful an exercise in healing as are the structured applications of other therapies? And, most importantly, would not the carefully guided nurturing of the “belief” that we are not only inherently important to other human beings but also to our God (… or our gods) be of great value to one who is alone and afraid? Regarding faith and fear, is it truly unreasonable to consider that not much has changed in the last 100,000 years; … EXCEPT, perhaps, that faith is now a reason for existing and not an archaic remediation for fear of dying?

Jim Davis 2021

FACING FACEBOOK

Rather than facing the unending Facebook hosted advertising, the algorithm driven Facebook tentacles, and the seemingly inevitable periodic hacks, I have returned to being a conscientious objector of Facebook. I have returned to quiet, purposeful, and truly relationship-building communications through a dedicated personal website.

It is true that 500 Facebook friends can be more quickly garnered than even just 5 personal referrals to visit an artist’s virtual studio. It is also true that 500 “thumbs up”, “likes”, and “love this” clicks flow quickly by on Facebook, while more laboured, meaningful, and relationship-building comments are, sadly, a comparative trickle. Why do we apparently accept and even prefer the Facebook social media platform that is the champion of “likes” but – let’s be honest – the bane of meaningful personal relationships?

I would rather forego Facebook altogether than accept it’s not so subtle psychological premise, its crass commercialism and its self propagating suggestions. Feel invited to visit my site. Follow my site, only if you want to see and read future content. Share a link to my site with friends or family, only if you think they may enjoy and value what you found enjoyable and of value to you.

It is true that some of my art pieces ARE for sale, and my publications ARE listed at a price. Commissions DO have a monetary cost. But know this, dear reader: my art, poetry, and commentary are as precious to me as the air I breathe, the hopes I harbour, and the beauty I see all around me. I simply want to share that preciousness with others in a more meaningful and less distracting venue than that offered by Facebook.

Thank you for taking the time and effort to access, read and consider this post and this site. Feel welcome to send me a direct and personal comment using this website’s Contact the Artist menu feature. I will personally respond to all such comments, as quickly as possible, using the email address you provide.

Peace and blessings,

Jim Davis

TO ALL THOUGHTFUL AMERICANS,

We Canadians are now in need of being even more Canadian than ever before in our history. The War of 1812 was an unprovoked attack on Canada that pales in comparison to this economic attack and serious societal bullying by, apparently, a flailing dystopian world superpower. America was appalled at Hitler’s imperialism. America was appalled at Stalin’s imperialism. America was certainly appalled at Japan’s attack of Pearl Harbour. And America was just as certainly appalled by 911. When Canada stood beside America during all those defining latter moments in American history, who was the Donald Trump of those injustices?

Jim Davis 2025

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