(For Ranger, who asked ‘Can you please write something happy?’) Last week I spent too long arguing about God with a Marxist in the pub after work. Politically I am on his side, and after we had berated the Tories in our midst he held his position strongly, and as he drank became angrier in his defence of rationalism. I told him I was a believer, and he challenged me to logically defend this. He told me that, really, I knew there was no divine presence, no deity, I knew that the world is governed only by rational laws of science. And that I only clung on to the old ways for sentimental, psychological reasons. And how could I, as an individual educated, intelligent, who believes in reason, submit to something as ludicrous as religion? And in response I tried to express the wonder of the divine, but I failed, because I do not have the words, I wanted to say: One in twelve days is a day of December, a day heavy with the promise of the coming of the Lord. That God so loved the world He gave his only son, who died for all our sins and to save us from death. I wanted to speak of the glory of a cathedral, the beauty of a hymn, the wonder of creation, the miracle of a loving God. All this I feel each day, especially in December. My opponent, of course, would have dismissed all this as an emotional spasm, a psychological illusion, and would have discounted it all with one simple syllogism. He could, of course be right. And Christ knows I'm nor sure, But still I do not mind: I have my own vision of the world Which may be wrong but is wondrous.