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You simply come to dread some questions at Christmas.
One is the question ‘Have you had enough?’, or, possibly even worse, ‘Would you like some more?’
After all, for many in this country at Christmas, this is a time of excess. Loads of food, lots of drink, and, naturally, mountains of stuff. Sometimes the excess isn’t simply in terms of quantity, but having quality: not just Asda Smartprice port with a downmarket mass-produced stilton, but something rather more for the port connoisseur and the discerning cheese palate. But excess, all the same, whether of quantity or quality.
This isn’t surprising. For we live in a culture which is a culture of extraordinary luxury: even a Roman emperor would envy our sanitation, our baths, our food, our hangover treatments and our entertainments. And not just not a culture of extraordinary luxury, but a culture of mass extraordinary luxury, not all of us maybe, but very many of us in this country living better than any king of old.
And for just a time we may feel sated. Just for the moment. But come next year we will want more and indeed will be encouraged to want more, because ours is a consumption society and a consumption economy. Being insatiable is something in the nature of a patriotic duty. Forget the war on terror: what about the war on recession?
We must strive to consume to excess to defend our way of life, one might cynically say. To that extent, we can never have enough. Isn’t that the thought that quietly runs through our passion for excess? When can I say ‘Enough! Satisfied!’?
To that extent, it’s remarkable that our culture still finds it sensible to acknowledge proverbial wisdom such as ‘Money can’t buy you happiness’, because it certainly behaves as if it does. More poignantly, the character King Osric in the swords and sorcery film Conan the Barbarian catches the unsatisfying nature of wealth and power in these words:
‘There comes a time… when the jewels cease to sparkle, when the gold loses its lustre, when the throne room becomes a prison, and all that is left is a father’s love for his child.’
So where else can I look to say ‘enough’? Some, perhaps, settle down for an ultimately unsatisfied life, giving their all for things that will not satisfy and which will rust and corrupt. For some it might be the work of charity and good works. Things that are certainly fine in themselves, but you do find yourself asking ‘Is this enough? Have I given enough? Could I do more?’
At that point, we do have to ask, ‘Enough for what?’ Enough to give me the illusion of meaning and significance and goodness? Or enough actually to achieve real meaning, significance and goodness?
The trouble with opting for an ‘enough’ which rests on being content with the illusion of meaning and significance and goodness is that deep down I know this is a made-up ‘enough’ and not a real one. It can’t ultimately satisfy. And the trouble with trying to achieve real meaning, significance and goodness by my own actions is that I can never really say ‘good enough for God’. For he is holy and perfect, and a true Christian knows and recognises that his or her own actions cannot properly be described as holy and perfect.
That was, you might say, precisely Martin Luther’s point: when are our actions even as Christians truly good enough for God?
So how do I get enough? Buying? Making it up? Relying on my good works? Actually, Christmas emphasises receiving, not in greed, but in humility. Recognising that Christ alone satisfies us, to give meaning, significance and righteousness. Because only he can say, ‘He who comes to me shall not hunger, and he who believes in me shall never thirst.’ That really is enough.
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