Let the light of heaven shine on me I’m ashamed that I imagined the Supreme Court might overturn the election. It goes to show how far down the river of unreality a man can go, even a man who has authored books. (Okay, fiction, but still.) I imagined they might go on to overturn Newton’s first law of motion but instead they turned the president upside down and held him by his ankles until, despite powerful spray-on adhesives, his hair hung down. I confessed my self-deception in church Sunday, which now I attend in my pajamas, sitting in the kitchen, watching on a screen as clergy in vestments process around the sanctuary and ascend into the pulpit. It makes me feel more like a penitent than when I dressed up as a bank vice president to attend in person — here I sit, O Lord, unwashed, uncombed, undeodorized, in a T-shirt and sackcloth pants, cup of black coffee in hand. I live in a prosperous and civilized land and I thought that four men and one woman in black robes might bring democracy to a shuddering halt. Forgive my cynicism. The rector stood in the pulpit and reminded us that it is Advent, not yet Christmas, a time of waiting and repentance, a full about-face U-turn if necessary. The Gospels are not secretive. “Love your neighbor as yourself” suggests that no child should go hungry or suffer lousy schooling, the sick should be tended to, the trash-talkers should think again. Pajama Man, who doubted the Supremes, is resolved to be hopeful. Change is possible. The newspaper lands in my Inbox now, and there is oat milk in the fridge. My phone lights up and a friendly face appears, my daughter is FaceTiming me from London. We never had that verb before, just two-timing and mistiming. Read the rest of the column >>> | 