Most Americans are in a state of shock this week. Our country is full of people--on both ends of the political spectrum--that did not see this coming. Whether we blame the polls or the media or both, many of us woke up Wednesday morning surprised.
Before Christ came lowly into Jerusalem and riding on a donkey, he came lowly into the world, born in the manger of a donkey.
It is Advent now. And nativity scenes display the paradox of Palm 8 on tables and lawns. In that image the cosmos gathers around a baby, where praise and strength are ordained out of the mouth of the infant Christ, where stars shine and angels sing, where men high and low give gifts, and where “all sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field” typologically attend the birth of the Lord.
As best as I can tell, the longest chapter in Augustine’s City of God is the eighth chapter of Book XXII, which is about miracles Augustine either saw personally or heard about from reliable sources. After the hardships of Books XIX, XX and XXI, which largely deal with hell and judgment and what an awful place the Earth is, Book XXII delivers us through the pearly gates and into the beatific vision.
You’re a pacifist and you have to teach The Song of Roland. You’re a cessationist and you have to teach the City of God. You’re a conservative and you have to teach The Social Contract. You’re Catholic and you have to teach the Reformation.