Liturgically we now exit Ordinary Time with its color green, and move into the Extraordinary time of the Advent-Christmas season. The Roman liturgical calendar of 1969 states that Advent isn't a penitential season anymore. Its new mood is one of joyful expectation. Unlike the old Advent, we may party now and celebrate in the new Advent. Even the color of the season, in some places, has been changed from penitential purple to blue in honor of Mother Mary and Baby Boy Jesus. What's not new is the division of the Advent into a first and second part.
The first part of Advent gazes into the future to
the Second Coming of Christ. The liturgical readings for this first part are
from the prophets, especially Jeremiah and
Isaiah, who speak to us of the Divine Promises. All the verbs are in the
future tense because that’s the tense of promise. In fact, this first part practically stones us to death
with the future tense: //”The days are
coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the House of
Israel and Judah” (Jer 33:14). //"And they shall melt down their swords
into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. One nation shall not raise
the sword against another. Nor shall
they train for war again" (Is
2:4-5). //"Then the wolf shall be a guest of the lamb, and the leopard
shall lie down with the kid"(Is 11:6).
//"On that day the deaf shall hear the words of a book. And out of
the gloom and darkness the eyes of the blind shall see" (Is 29:18). //And
then from the Book of Revelation: ”And God will dwell with them and they shall
be God’s people. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and there
shall be no more crying and no more dying” (Rev 21:3-4). Etc., etc.
The second part of Advent, called "Late
Advent," begins on the 17th of December with the Novena of Christmas.
Suddenly everything changes. The first part of Advent gazed into the future, to
the Second Coming of Christ. The second part looks backward into the past, to
that first coming of Christ, to that moment of history when in Bethlehem Mary
bore a son "with love beyond all
telling."
From the 17th on, the scripture readings tell us
one story after the other. So the verbs now are in the past tense (because
stories are about past events). //Once
upon a time there was an old priest offering incense before the altar, and
behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him and said: "Zechariah, your
ancient wife, who has been sterile all her life, is to conceive and have a
child..." (Lk 1:5 etc.). //Once
upon a time there was a maiden at prayer, and behold, an angel of the Lord
appeared to her and said: "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with
thee..." (Lk 1:26 etc.). //Once
upon a time there was a man named Joseph and he was puzzled about his espoused
wife being with child. And behold, an
angel of the Lord appeared and said:
"Don't be afraid to take Mary as your
wife for what is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit" (Mt 1:18 etc.).
This second part delights us because we love
story-telling. The second part delights us because it brings us closer to his
birthday, and we all like birthday parties. The second part delights us because
it triggers in us the sense of expectation which we used to have as kids when
Christmas Eve was drawing near.
But there’s really nothing exciting or
delightful about this first part of Advent. If it is anything, it is somber. The first part is all about the Divine Promises made us. But
there’s nothing delightful about
Promise. For Promise is about something delightful that we don’t
have but wish we did. It is
about something delightful that we don’t have now but have to wait for, and have to believe (take it on
faith) that we one day will have it. Promise is about “the best that yet to
be” because what we have at present is
by no means the best.
Year 2000,
soon to leave us, was by no means “the best.” Last New Year’s Eve, we
hailed it in as a new born babe bathed
in light. But Year 2000, like every
other year, has grown dark and cold on us. Palestinians and Israeli kept “training for war” and refused to melt
down their tanks and machine guns, and turn them into “pruning hooks.” Democrats and Republicans were and are
(more now than ever before) right up there with the Palestinians and the
Israeli, refusing as “wolves and lambs
to be the guest of one another,” and
refusing as “leopards and kids to lie down with each other.”
Year 2000, like every other year, has had its share of tragedies: sunken submarines, airplane crashes, and burnt-out mountain passes. It has had its share of bereavements and losses for all of us: Some have lost a loved one: a child, a parent, a spouse of 30, 40, 50 years, and yes, even a pet “of human estate.” So there’s going to be a hollow feeling in the heart and an empty chair at the Christmas table this year. Some have received a chilling verdict from their doctor or some other bad news.
And Year 2000 has had its share of all those other negatives of life that have the taste of death about them: loss of job, loss of limb, loss of property, loss of friendship, loss of reputation. -- Yes, indeed, this very sad world is by no means the very best. If it were, there wouldn’t be anything to promise. But sad it is. And the sadder it is, the more we cry out for the divine Promise “to wipe away all tears from our eyes, and to put an end to all crying and all dying” (Rev 21:3-4). This is true whether we are aware of it or not.
I
guess the point is this: we should not turn
Christmas into an orgy of things and fun. Do that, and we destroy
Christmas. (We do do that, and we do destroy Christmas.) Let me explain. At
“this time of the rolling year,” I
always find myself going in opposite direction of the flow. I find myself asking, where do we get this
idea that Christmas is all fun? It wasn’t fun for Joseph and Mary: En route to
Bethlehem, the city of David, they are overtaken with the pangs and labors of
childbirth, and they have to take refuge in a stable because there is no room
in the inn. Where did we get this idea that Christmas is all fun? The red of
the Christmas season isn't just the red
of the Poinsettias. It’s also the red of
blood: The very next day after
Christmas, Dec. 26th, we commemorate the blood of St. Stephen, the
first martyr of the New Testament. Then on Dec. 27th, the blood of
the Holy Innocents, those baby boys, two years and younger, slain by King
Herod, causing “a loud cry in Rama --
Rachel weeping for her children because they are no more” (Mt
2:16-18). Then on Dec. 29th,
the blood of Thomas A Becket, archbishop of Canterbury murder in his cathedral
1170 by King Henry II of
England.>>
Turn Christmas into an orgy of things and fun, and we exclude all those who weep (that’s a
lot of people). We exclude them, and
eventually we have them excluding themselves. We’ve heard a spouse, bereaved of a life-long partner,
say, “There won’t be any Christmas for
me this year.” Where did we get this idea that Christmas is not for those who
weep?
For me the really profound Christmas cards
are the sad ones: pictures of the
Infant shivering in the cold and warmed by the breath of beasts? Or sketches of
deer and birds seeking shelter from the blasts of winter in the compassionate
arms of an evergreen? For me the really
profound Christmas carols are the sad ones: songs about wanting to be home for
Christmas but there are too many miles to go, or verses about poor drummer boys
who have nothing to offer but themselves.
For me the really profound
Christmas stories are the sad ones: stories about lonely Ebenezer
Scrooge and lame Tiny Tim.
On
being profound
Garrison Keillor, author of Lake Wobegon, tells of
the great Thanksgivings spent at his
grandparents' farm. He writes of the
piping-hot kitchen stove, of the steaming pots and pans, of the heavenly aromas of pies and pudding,
and of turkeys and trimmings. The
kids were all turned lose into the snow
outside, and weren't allowed in until the turkey and the trimming were ready.
Once when they were waiting to go in,
all the kids huddled together in an old farm car, and there sang sad
songs. Then Keillor makes the profound observation: "You know, it is the
suffering, the sorrow, and the sadness that makes the holiday." Profound. Turn Christmas into an orgy of things and fun, and we destroy that holiday
and holyday.
Turn Christmas into an orgy of things and fun, and we exclude all those who weep. That’s a
lot of people, with most of ourselves included. Most of us weep, if not now, later for sure.
Turn Christmas into an orgy of things and fun, and
we end up with that familiar depression that hits us when the curtain goes down on the season, and the
lights are turned off, and the
Christmas tree has been defrocked and thrown out there on the curb, together with our orgy.
This isn’t some crusade against the “consumerism of
Christmas;” producing, selling and buying is the way people make a living. This
is against orgy. This isn’t a crusade
against the fun celebrations of Christmas.
This is against orgy. Better yet, this is all about being profound; it’s
all about going in search of the joy
that no body and no thing can take from us, not even the sun as it sets on our
Christmas day.