Too Much Information

Too much information

    A friend’s mom left her senior living facility and moved into an apartment because of “too much information.”  She said residents conversed only on two topics:  health problems and neglectful children.

  After the third colonoscopy conversation, I can see that she might be ready to move out.

   “Too much information” has become a popular catchphrase to use when conversations become too gross, too personal or too uncomfortable.

  A friend describes ancient gallbladder surgery and goes into detail about the incision? Too much information!

 A relative gives mushy particulars about intimacy with her boyfriend? Too much information!

  Someone tweets on bodily functions? #TooMuchInformation.

  We can now listen to Justin Bieber, while watching Dr. Who, while reading Jane Austen and playing Halo IV. Why we’d want to, I don’t know. But we can.

  Recently, I tried to watch my son’s college concert online. Though I could hear the music (Handel’s Messiah) I could not get a clear picture.  A “low bandwidth” warning popped up. Too much information at once clogged and slowed the connection.

  The choir was broken into horizontal lines of constantly-moving squares. We could almost make out Michael. Was that his forehead?

  Foreheads of tenors slid left while their chins moved right. Occasionally, a clear picture emerged, but then the squares shifted again.

  Despite the information overload, words from The Messiah broke through the slow connection in clear, crisp and strong refrains.

  The libretto included information passed down through the ages: not only from Handel in 1742, but from Old Testament prophet Isaiah around 700 B.C.

  “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulder and his name shall be called wonderful, counselor, the mighty God, the everlasting father, the prince of peace.”

  Isaiah’s information was not always wanted in his time. He wrote uncomfortable words about the direction of his nation. He condemned the popular practice of idolatry. He lambasted child-killing, gross financial exploitation and widespread injustice.

  His information made people uncomfortable. Seven hundred years later the message itself was still not always wanted. Though welcomed by shepherds, by senior citizens in the temple, by wise men “traversing afar,” the good news of a savior coming to reign was sometimes greeted with the response: “Too much information!”

  King Herod tried to stamp out the message early. Other tyrants followed suit. Even church leaders had a part in snuffing out Christmas joy.

  Now, we still hear complaints about too much information.

  Really! Must we hear about Mary and Joseph and Bethlehem? Can’t we just contain Christmas to those secular themes that don’t offend anyone? Reindeer and mistletoe?

   Too many school music programs bypass words of wonder and instead opt for cheap, easily forgotten songs about how cute children’s greed is.

  City councils, schools, businesses and organizations get nervous when the message of Christmas shines out.  We want to coat Christmas in secular glitz. Insulate it. Contain it.

  The good news is too confrontational and too demanding, to be allowed free reign. Quick, smother it!

  Thing is, it won’t stay contained. It was meant to waft freely over starry skies and settle like snowflakes on a waiting world. Attempts to silence a not so silent night prove futile.

  People keep telling it on the mountain; proclaiming it with angelic hosts; singing in exultation; telling the great, glad tidings; rejoicing with heart and soul and voice. Weary souls rejoice; raise their songs on high; proclaim Messiah’s birth.

  And why not? There can never really be too much information when it comes to the good news of Christmas.