The Anchoress

O Antiphon for December 19

O Root of Jesse, which standest for an ensign of the people, at Whom the kings shall shut their mouths, Whom the Gentiles shall seek, come to deliver us, do not tarry.

Fr. James Martin, SJ has - since last year, at least, been searching for a way to save Christmas from the hype and over-commercialization which lately almost buries the Incarnation - and all it means - beneath the tinsel, and drowns out the herald angels with joyless refrains of “buy now, buy now, buy now.”

This year he once again urges moving Christmas to June, writing:

Christmas Eve services could be held on a warm summer’s night—perhaps even at sunrise–with believers better able to ponder God’s coming among us as a human being. Certainly better than now, when they’re more focused on fighting the flu, wondering how they’ll pay off their January credit card bills, and worrying about slipping on the ice as they race out of the church parking lot. Best of all, more people would actually go to Christmas services, since they’ve saved time from not having to open all those presents.

Then just a simple summer meal with the family—and pretty soon the Christmas barbecue would become a beloved tradition. “Happy New Christmas, Dad! Any burgers left?”

I have to say, it doesn’t really do it for me. While Martin is correct, and we do not know - precisely - when Christ was born, I rather like the December Christmas simply because it does jibe so well with the pagan observances of diminishing light. What better time to celebrate the coming of the light of the world than when we are in deepest, chilliest night?

I like that Christmas and Easter, celebrated in the springtime, both take off from pagan celebrations. In both cases, they are “something new” to an ancient world, and they “make all things new.” The pagan connections bring added truth and meaning to the idea of “bringing all things together in the fullness of Christ.”

Anyhow, since Martin is once again pushing a June Christmas - here is what I wrote in response, last year:

…I don’t know that we need to give up the battle just yet, maybe simply turn it inward. Speaking only for myself, I have found that praying at least Vespers of the Liturgy of the Hours each day has helped a great deal in keeping me “Advent focused,” as have some of the early feastdays of Advent, and even simple chats with family members.

Being attentive to little things throughout this season has kept me Christ-centered, and all of that has made the rest of it feel almost other-worldly, and so I can bear it with good humor. And not everything being thrown at us at Christmas is laughable or annoying, if only we can remember that - marketing aside - much of what makes this an endurance test of a season is rooted in love. The people rolling their eyes as you take too long to load your car and get out of their chosen parking space may be obnoxious, but they’re crowding the mall along with you because they love someone. The mother-in-law who calls you 7 times from The Gap because she wants to be clear about the hoodie she’s buying can try your patience, but she’s trying to get it “just right” because she loves your kid, who is too old and fussy to be satisfied with an Easy Bake Oven. She loves. At her root, she loves.

And that’s what Christmas has always been about, under all the hype and tinsel. That’s what it was about under the stars and angels.

Over and over this Advent what the Incarnation has been teaching me is that it’s the little things we barely notice that often carry huge weight and have far-reaching consequences. And I think Christmas teaches that to all of us in different ways, as deeply as we will allow it to be taught.

The other night I went to Kohl’s - one of my rare forays into the shopping whirlwind - and as I was heading back to my car a woman and her teenage son followed me, asking if they could take my wagon-cart thingy after I had unloaded it. “You could probably sell that thing for a bar of gold, tonight,” she joked.

“Sure,” I agreed, as I packed my car and - noting another empty cart thingy near my headlights - I said, “why don’t you take that one back, too, so someone else can use it?”

She looked at me for a second as though I had two heads. I could see the brain working - shifting modes, as it were - from “incessant me-and-mine” thought to “others.” “Wait…” her brain processed, “bring back a second cart…for someone else…not…me? Think of…strangers?” It was like watching a slow-motion gear-shift on a giant clock in an Orson Welles picture, but when the lumbering move was fully engaged, the woman smiled broadly, “oh yeah, spirit of the season and all that!” she said. She directed her son to take the second cart back to the store and we wished each other Merry Christmases.

It was a little thing. The intense work of Christmas - intruding on life which is already stressful enough - had simply turned her focus too far inward, had rusted up her gears and sensors a little bit, so that turning her attention elsewhere had felt a little like work. But because it’s Christmas, my suggestion about the second cart was greeted with an “oh yeah,” instead of the usual “this is New York - I don’t take carts back for anyone, and screw you, too,” one might otherwise expect.

I confess, I was also in a “me-and-mine” mode that night, and had that lady and her son not come skulking after me for my cart, I might have left both carts out there, in the dark and far-off hinterlands of the parking lot, and no one would have benefited from that. So, in a sense, this lady and I helped each other. We each looked up from our fog of self-interest and because we did, someone else got carts.

It’s a little thing, I know. Very, very little. But a million of those little moments occuring all over the place, are part of something much bigger. And that keeps Christmas new.

At Spiritual Things Matter, Viola remembers Christmas in the Orphanage.

Related:
The Psalm of the Common Man
Anchoress Crashes and Burns; Film at 11
Advent and Antiphons Through the Years