What Will Happen in 2025?

In Which I Make A Whole Lot of Predictions

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Happy New Year! I tried really hard to stay awake but fell dead asleep by 11 and had to be hustled upstairs by my children who were all enjoying themselves ringing in 2025. Now they’re all asleep and I am contemplating the wreckage of my living room. We intend to eat a Roast Beef before the boys go to work later this afternoon so there is a lot to do.

While I wait for them to roust themselves and help me, I thought it might be fun to make some predictions for the Forthcoming—may God have Mercy on All Our Souls.

Here is what I think we can expect will happen in the next twelve months.

January—The United States will attempt to inaugurate a new/old president. There will be much drama and much punditry. It will happen, though there will be lots of anxious moments and people will speak very unkindly to each other on both sides. Afterwards, MSNBC will be bought by someone rich but no one will watch it and Scott Jennings will spin off from CNN and become even better at the eye-roll. No one will download Chris Wallace’s podcast. I will get another cold and my computer will run even slower and my office will pile up with junk and yet I will labor on in the usual way.

February—A large mega-church will sponsor an embarrassing Valentine’s Day sermon extravaganza where a lot of Hershey kisses dance around on a stage. A politician will do something untoward and everyone will freak out. I will remember that even though this is the shortest month, it is also the worst. My youngest child will turn 14.

March—Some natural disaster somewhere will grip the world’s attention for about ten minutes. Many experts will declare that the American President can’t accomplish any more of his agenda because it’s too late now. The campaign for 2028 will begin. Drunken packs of college students will wander around my neighborhood “celebrating” that great Saint, Patrick. I will stand around in the basement of my church slewing crepe batter around for Shrove Tuesday and then will finally feel properly comfortable about the world for roughly the next six weeks of Lent.

April—Easter will come upon me before I’m ready. The twenty-year-old child will turn twenty-one and we will all panic because his wedding will be just around the corner and there will be So Much To Do. For a while, I will forget about politics but will still be scrolling on the internet far more than I desire because of anxiety and stress. The governor of New York State will do something stupid and everyone will get mad about it. America will still be talking about Immigration. I will forget about it all because of Tenebrae, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, the Easter Vigil, and because some daffodils will be poking their heads above the ground and hope will be creeping up from the dark earth.

May—I will graduate one child from high school, one child from college, and will, according to the plans being made now, marry off a third. I will be frantic. The rest of the world will have leisurely garage sales and putter in their gardens. I will be so annoyed with myself for not starting any seedlings and will go rage buy a lot of tomato plants that produce lots of tomatoes late in August that I will forget to harvest. I will probably cry a lot but not because I’m unhappy. Maybe other people will care about what’s happening around the world but I won’t and that will be a good thing.

June—The peonies will bloom up here, and I will think I should clean my house but will lie on my couch and stare at the wall because that’s all I’ll be up for. This will be the best month. The Episcopal Church will change its shield for Pride Month and some people will put out flags but no one will notice because that ship is sailing away into the distance. The United Kingdom will change its government again and the French will be thrown out of yet another West African country.

July—The twenty-two-year-old will turn twenty-three and the eighteen-year-old will turn nineteen. You’ll be able to find me in my garden.

August—All the children of the South will go back to school while I’m still in my garden. Lots of political things will be happening but no one will care too much because there’s still time to travel and time to post pictures and time to sit by the lake and stare at the far hills. Much argumentation about the price of gas and Immigration will continue apace. Some pastor somewhere out there will behave badly and everyone online will get mad. Three of my kids will go back to college.

September—The last two of my offspring will start their second year of high school. I will think I should have all the time in the world, but I will nevertheless feel like I’m running crazy and have no time for anything. Politicians will continue to say ridiculous things. A Megachurch pastor will be photographed wearing some very ugly sweater that costs 10,000. David Platt will post online about how nobody loves Jesus as much as him. Someone will Tweet something outrageous. A lot of podcasts will be recorded about how certain kinds of Christians are the wrong kind and associating with them is the worst thing ever. Three more scholars will come out for gay marriage but no one will care.

October—My fifteen-year-old will turn sixteen and want to learn to drive. My seventeen-year-old will turn eighteen and will finally get her license. I will post multiple lengthy pieces about how it’s not fair that I have had to teach six children to drive. I will also buy lots of birthday presents and anxiously stand at my window looking at my big tree to see if the leaves will change in the way I most desire. People will put out their blow-up Santas before Halloween next to their skeletons and creepy demon babies and I will be so angry. Immigration will continue to be “discussed.” Nancy Pelosi will get another facelift.

November—A few people will wake up on the second Tuesday and bless God that this wasn’t actually an election year. Someone, somewhere, will write something about Global Warming. A plane will fall from the sky. A famous person will die. There will be a light sifting of snow. I will celebrate Thanksgiving and Christ the King instead of Christmas because I’m an Anglican. I will feel smug and also guilty because the new Archbishop of Canterbury will say something so trite and stupid as to make everyone’s theological soul shudder. Megan Markle and Harry will finally split up and we’ll find out their children really were fake after all.

December—A lot of the world will “have” Christmas, though some will defiantly “celebrate” it. I will be in the latter camp, wandering the highways and byways looking for things to give people and trying not to curse the darkness. Politics will continue apace. I will write up my theological Fatheads for 2025 and they will be all the people you expected plus a few more. I will have reviewed Rachel Hollis’ next terrible book, and be ready to freak out about the year to come.

Happy New Year!