The Ghost of Stephenesque Past

This morning I received a Christmas card depicting the three Kings of Orient who, after riding their groaning camels across vast deserts following yonder star, have dismounted outside the lowly cattle shed and are delivering their gifts to the new born Prince of Peace: three bags full of gold, frankencense, and myrrh.
Now, perhaps I didn't pay as much attention to the Sunday school nativity story as I ought to have done, but I don't seem to recall what happened to all that gold.
I mean, if my wife is giving birth in a bloody stable, and someone presents me with enough gold to provide all the rappers in the world with all the gold teeth they could ever desire, well then, I don't know about you, but I'm taking a stroll back around to that Inn with no vacancies:
"No room at the Inn, eh?"
"Nope. No room at all. Fully booked. Sorry."
"Well, you know what, I've just bought the bloody Inn and so from now on there's no room for you either. You're fired. Get out."
I don't know. It seems to me that after the arrival of the three kings and their gifts, the holy family really needed a visit from the three wise financial advisers rather than having a bunch of shepherds stumbling through the door with absolutely no understanding of high yield investment strategies. If all that gold had been deposited in a really aggressive portfolio and Jesus could really have lived the high life to the max.
"Mr.Jesus. It's so very nice to see you here again, sir. Your usual table?"
"Naturally ... oh and Geoffrey, I'm expecting another guest for supper so you'd better bring a thirteenth chair."
"Certainly sir."
Just think, all those Catholics could be quaffing champagne at communion instead of sipping cheap red wine: "And this mountainous serving of cavier and patum peperium shall represent my body ..."
The possibilites could have been endless.

This morning I received a Christmas card depicting the three Kings of Orient who, after riding their groaning camels across vast deserts following yonder star, have dismounted outside the lowly cattle shed and are delivering their gifts to the new born Prince of Peace: three bags full of gold, frankencense, and myrrh.
Now, perhaps I didn't pay as much attention to the Sunday school nativity story as I ought to have done, but I don't seem to recall what happened to all that gold.
I mean, if my wife is giving birth in a bloody stable, and someone presents me with enough gold to provide all the rappers in the world with all the gold teeth they could ever desire, well then, I don't know about you, but I'm taking a stroll back around to that Inn with no vacancies:
"No room at the Inn, eh?"
"Nope. No room at all. Fully booked. Sorry."
"Well, you know what, I've just bought the bloody Inn and so from now on there's no room for you either. You're fired. Get out."
I don't know. It seems to me that after the arrival of the three kings and their gifts, the holy family really needed a visit from the three wise financial advisers rather than having a bunch of shepherds stumbling through the door with absolutely no understanding of high yield investment strategies. If all that gold had been deposited in a really aggressive portfolio and Jesus could really have lived the high life to the max.
"Mr.Jesus. It's so very nice to see you here again, sir. Your usual table?"
"Naturally ... oh and Geoffrey, I'm expecting another guest for supper so you'd better bring a thirteenth chair."
"Certainly sir."
Just think, all those Catholics could be quaffing champagne at communion instead of sipping cheap red wine: "And this mountainous serving of cavier and patum peperium shall represent my body ..."
The possibilites could have been endless.

Comments

[Anna]

You are so naughty. Say ten rosaries, my son, and go and sin no more.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Mr. Fez...really...champange in the chalice? Why, it will go flat before the last pews reach the chalice.