The Pittsburgh Press (December 24, 1942)
Editorial: Christmas 1942
In the midst of war, we pause again to celebrate the birthday of the Prince of Peace.
Some see bitter irony in the fact. There is so much of sorrow in the world, so much of hatred, so much of suffering, so much of distrust – so little, it seems of goodwill.
It has always seemed thus.
Each Christmas, from the first, has found human hearts bowed down by loneliness and grief, human spirits corrupted by selfishness and malice, human aspirations mocked by enmity and defeat.
If that were all, the celebration would be a travesty indeed.
But Christmas – this year, as in other years – finds most of us honestly wanting to be unselfish and king; most of us genuinely trying to be better than we are; most of us sympathizing with others’ sorrow and seeking to add out mite to others’ happiness.
Christmas has never been all we could wish tit to be. But our very longing for a perfect Christmas, never realized yet never quite suppressed, is the best answer to the cynics.
Our minds tell us that, for most of humanity, it is a day of anxiety and woe. Our wiser hearts persist in saying–
A Merry Christmas to you all!