For fear of debauchery and suspicion of lunacy I will not quote the ‘Kenyan’ version of Isaiah 9:6. I am quite certain of rattling that whom I should seek forgiveness from and I am more than certain that I do not want to be Waigurud. The verse clearly depicts who was born and I fail on all accounts to see the name Brenda, Ochieng and Nafula appear in the context. So why are you all exceeding merriments like you are wonderful counsellors?
Christmas is no longer Christmas. It’s a season to pour coins on food, clothes, vacations and other shenanigans that have no Jesus in them. Jesus was not born in Mombasa, Dubai nor Kempinsky unless you are gathering there in the name of the Lord, let’s kindly stick to the manger. We use Jesus’ birthday to engage in activities that are far off from the scripture as teachers are from their pay. No one quite remembers what encompasses this recurring tradition or maybe 310 steered us so far that we no longer care.
Christmas is always so much miscalled. A celebration framed by extreme atrocities that bear no image nor remembrance of the king Himself. Then soon after memories become aberrations as the ‘New Year New Me’ motto is appraised. My words however hold little gravity as I participate and indulge in all these affairs. Furthermore, I might just catapult it to the next generation and the ones following. But who is responsible? Who shall we hang by the noose of blame?
This string of thoughts may arouse emotions but bless your heart. Devour that chicken, mob that Versace, trod that white sand and wake up in that Bugatti. Felis Navidad.
Forgive Us Oh Lord For We Have Sinned.
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