Tag: Advent

here, you have a tissue…

… and I’ll just be over here having an epiphany during Mass

One of the purposes of penitential seasons is to simplify, gain clarity, grow closer to Christ. And here is my confession, borne from clarity, that materialized this past Advent season: I am having a crisis of identity. Not my own identity, but of God’s identity. And maybe struggling to see God clearly would naturally muddle my own identity, or vice versa, since I was created in His image. There’s a thought.

January 1 of this past year, 2022, opened with a surgical Confession, the kind that cuts open the chest, takes your heart out, flips it over, sews it back in the right way and you come out a different person. But I didn’t walk out of the church waltzing with Christ into a sunset. I left struck dumb, paralyzed yet free, wondering what was next.

There was a whole lot of “next”.

While in the confessional, the priest had me speak to Christ (like at him, towards the monstrance, inches away from my face) and tell him how my heart had been broken. I said things I didn’t even know were inside of me. It was like I was watching myself, gaping, she just said WHAT? You don’t tell God you’re angry at Him. At yourself, sure, because you deserve every tear you shed. But to cry at God, to ask Him why He wasn’t there, didn’t stop things, etc., was… life-changing, yes… but so f-ing terrifying. The priest, in persona Christi, gently listened, offered wisdom, and assured me how much God loved me.

A few years ago, during the consecration to Jesus through Mary, was the first time I realized that I had a messed-up image of God. I had distinctly separated out the persons of the Trinity in my head, and I didn’t really like talking to God. Jesus, yes. Holy Spirit, yes. But Father-God was terrifying. This awareness had been present, but dormant in my mind until that confession when the damn was broken. I was swimming in it now, the full consciousness of my distorted perception of Father-God.

But what to do with that?

The rest of the year is a longer story, but fast-forward to this past Advent of 2022. I was sleep-walking through it in many ways, but maybe that was a grace: I think I was able to receive what God wanted me to hear.

It was Gaudete Sunday, when you can expect the readings to be hopeful and comforting certainly, but I wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t paying as much attention this year. The church was packed, and our family of nine was sandwiched in a pew between a smaller family of four, and a young woman. We were only a few minutes into Mass when I realized the young woman beside me was weeping. I felt an overwhelming, maternal/sisterly love for this stranger and I wanted to give her comfort. We heard the words of the prophet Isaiah:

The desert and the parched land will exult;
the steppe will rejoice and bloom.
They will bloom with abundant flowers,
and rejoice with joyful song.

Such hope for this suffering young woman! I wanted to proclaim to her, with Isaiah:

Strengthen the hands that are feeble,
make firm the knees that are weak,
say to those whose hearts are frightened:
Be strong, fear not!
Here is your God…
he comes to save you.

The readings continued, and into the Gospel we went where Jesus tells John’s disciples to report to him in prison about what is actually happening: the blind see, the lame walk, the dead are raised. Yes, yes, yes, Christ offers not just promises, but actual healing! I was singing this with my heart as I offered her the only comfort appropriate in the middle of Mass towards a weeping stranger– a tissue.

But this sobering thought hit me soon after: with what enthusiasm I wanted to offer Christ’s tender mercy, comfort, and miraculous healing through the passing of a tissue to a complete stranger, someone I was certain God loved. Why couldn’t I believe that for myself? I believed that God was a healer, a good Father– that’s what I’ve been taught in my twenty years as a Catholic, that’s what I’ve read, that’s what I’ve told others.

My mind wandered back to Isaiah 35:

Those whom the LORD has ransomed will return
and enter Zion singing,
crowned with everlasting joy;
they will meet with joy and gladness,
sorrow and mourning will flee.

Those whom the Lord has ransomed. That’s me.

{Allow me this brief tangent that will connect, I promise: in marriage, you say your vows, you say “I love you” and you mean it. But then something happens, difficulties arise, you quarrel or whatever, and you say “I love you” but it means something even deeper than before in a way you couldn’t have foreseen the first time you said it. And this keeps happening, again and again, until you realize you love your spouse more deeply than ever before, even though you loved them as much as you were able fifteen years before.}

That’s the best way I can think to describe what’s happening to me, only in media res, stuck in the hard part. I said, “I believe, amen”. And I really did believe in God and salvation and Divine Love. But when the damn broke in that confession, all the mucky soil from underneath rose to the top and now I’m swimming in refuse and it’s harder to imagine that I will “bloom with abundant flowers and rejoice with joyful song”. I believe, but it’s a tired “amen”.

This weeping stranger in Mass was a reminder of myself. Offering her one tissue just made her weep more. I persuaded her to take the whole pack. A small gesture of tenderness broke her a little more open. And just as I had wanted to draw her close, comfort her, assure her of God’s love for her, so I must remember that God feels that way towards me. Even when I come to Mass or present myself to Him in prayer weeping, parched, enraged, weary, He wants it all. He takes it all.

Gaude, Gaude; Pivot, Pivot

Usually, St. Nicholas’s feast day is a big deal in our home. Usually, we open stockings before breakfast. Usually, these stockings have the traditional chocolate coins, clementines, maybe a small gift or two, and a striped candy cane. Usually, we feast on a supper of Greek roast, mashed potatoes, and broiled vegetables. Usually, we enjoy delicious gingerbread for dessert. Usually, we read The Miracle of St. Nicholas, and I do the voices. Usually, it’s magical.

But this year was different.

This year, for the first time, I have three teenagers in away-school, as opposed to home-school. Sure, they come home every night, but they’re tired and people-saturated, and after a quick debriefing, they retreat and complete homework. They’re also in band and theater and board game club and sports and they have a peer group that appropriately takes up a lot of their social energy. AND they have to GO TO SCHOOL on the feast of St. Nicholas.

With younger children still at home– and it’s already been hard for them to adjust to a quieter house with their siblings away– I refused to let these Advent feasts pass by. We had a family meeting, we rearranged expectations, we set the date for our St. Nicholas celebration this weekend. I shall not be moved! Family feasting shall prevail!

But… (sigh)

I forgot that three of my children were going to birthday parties, and one had closing night of the high school play which was followed by a cast party, and inevitably, we ate Greek roast and gingerbread in shifts. Lame.

But… (sigh)

I asked for this. My teenagers were depressed a year ago, desperately wanting more of a community, hungry for peer affirmation, bored with home-schooling. And around this time last year, I started pleading with God to do something: make me ready to do whatever I need to do to help them through these difficult years, open my ears, move mountains, part waters, heal their wounded hearts.

Remember that scene in Friends when they’re moving the new couch up a flight of narrow stairs and Ross keeps shouting, “PIVOT! PIVOT!” That is the secret sauce to parenting that no one ever tells you. You never arrive. You never do it perfectly. People change, times change, communities change, and so we PIVOT-PIVOT. And sometimes that damn couch is never going to get through the narrow stairway. I think in this new age of parenting I’m going to have to let go of a lot of traditions or expectations I hold onto which I love in exchange for something that looks different but might just be better.

It happens to be Gaudete weekend, the third weekend of Advent, the rose candle, the we’re-almost-there-so-rejoice Sunday. This St. Nicholas feast wasn’t quite what I wanted it to be, but damn, I’m so happy. My kids are busy! Dudes, they are going to birthday parties! In an alternate version of my life, I could have easily resented today with all its driving around and having all of us in different places, but my kids are feasting socially with wonderful peers. They are becoming more confident in who they are through performance and music and sports and peer affirmation. I am rejoicing.

Advent & Christmas Children’s Book List

The Donkey’s Dream by Barbara Helen Berger

From the viewpoint of the donkey, we learn about the symbols of Mary as he imagines carrying each on his back: the city, the ship, the fountain, the rose. It’s a good conversation-starter with older children, and good for younger children to let the imagery sink into their minds and hearts.

St. Nicolas by Demi

Demi has written and illustrated several beautiful books, a few about saints, but this was the first one we purchased. Her style is reminiscent of Byzantine iconography, which fits the story of St. Nicholas perfectly. She includes all the stories of the real St. Nicholas, even when the boys get boiled and brought back to life, so it might need to be read under supervision. But one thing I appreciate is at the end she has a page of illustrated Santas, which puts the whole St. Nicholas/Santa Claus thing into perspective for kids.

The Miracle of St. Nicholas by Gloria Whelan, illustrated by Judith Brown

So this book makes me cry. Every time I read it. It’s about a small village in Russia that is in spiritual hiding. That’s all I can tell you. It’s not really about St. Nicholas, but he’s important to the story.

Lucia: Saint of Light by Katherine Bolger Hyde, illustrated by Daria Fisher

This story takes place in the Nordic countries where the feast of St. Lucia is uniquely celebrated. It begins with a family preparing for the feast, but later explains the real story of the martyr St. Lucy. I love that the reader learns both about the traditions established up north, and about the saint.

We Three Kings by Gennady Spirin

We have many books illustrated by Gennady Spirin. Her art is a visual feast of detail and color. The text of this book is simply the traditional song, We Three Kings, but each verse has its own elaborate illustration.

Legend of the Poinsettia by Tomie de Paola

Anything by Tomie de Paolo is worth reading until the binding wears thin. Several of his books I’ve had to buy two copies of as they’ve been beat up over the years. He has a few Christmas books, but Legend of the Poinsettia is a lovely, sweet story that takes place in Mexico. Another one of de Paola’s Christmas books that our younger kids love is The Friendly Beasts.

The Huron Carol by Ian Wallace

St. Jean de Brebeuf, a Jesuit missionary who lived and died among the Huron tribe in eastern North America, told the Christmas story to these first peoples in a culturally appropriate way. It has a beautiful tune when sung, and the sheet music is included in the back of the book.

The First Christmas (National Gallery London)

Taken from the Gospels, the text is simply the Christmas narrative, but with classic paintings by Gossaert, Reni, Boticelli, and many more.

The Three Snowbears by Jan Brett

Jan Brett is a favorite in our house; we love the detailed, but folky style. There are so many great wintry Brett books, but this one has always been a favorite: a retelling of Goldie Locks and the Three Bears.

The Nutcracker by Susan Jeffers

This book is a solid re-telling of Tchaikovsky’s ballet with pretty illustrations.

The First Noel: A Christmas Carousel by Jan Pienkowski

And last, but not least, this book is a beautiful pop-up sort of book. It’s not for little hands, but it’s still worth having. It tells the Christmas story. We just tie ours permanently open and it sits visible on a shelf in a star-shape for the kids to look at.

Advent Books

{a limited, but worthy list}

Advent of the Heart: Season Sermons and Prison Writings 1941-1944  ~ Alfred Delp

Our hearts must be keenly alert for opportunities in our own little corners of daily life. May we stand in this world, not as people in hiding, but as those who help prepare the way of the only-begotten Son of God.

On February 2, 1945, three men were hanged within Tegel Prison in Munich on grounds of treason. Fr. Alfred Delp was one of them. He had been convicted and tried for preaching against the Nazi regime. During his time in prison, he wrote reflections and sermons on little bits of paper, which were providentially smuggled out. Those reflections were gathered along with his previous sermons during Advent and published in a collection entitled Advent of the Heart.

The first time I read this book, it opened my eyes to the meaning and purpose of Advent. I’ve come back to it every year, and every year I find something new to meditate upon.

Fr. Delp’s fortitude and courage is communicated through his preaching. He writes about being shaken awake in Advent, about spending one’s life as a candle does for light. He writes about figures in Advent, like St. John the Baptist and the Blessed Mother. Knowing the situation he was in— of close monitoring by the Gestapo as a priest, followed by imprisonment, torture, and death— at the time he wrote these insights, adds more gravitas to his words, “All of life is Advent.”

The passion of the infant christ ~ caryll houselander

The best way I can think to introduce this book to you would be to quote from Houselander directly:

This book is mainly concerned with Christ’s infancy and childhood, and His infancy and childhood in us, not because this is the only way in which He can be in us, for that it certainly is not, but because, however else Christ is manifest in our souls, His life in them must start by being simply the infant life, the small, miraculously helpless life trusted to them to foster, that it may grow.

In Houselander’s unique style, she relates theological truths to life experiences, patterns in nature, and broad social issues. This book reminds me in its style of Way of the Cross in how she reveals the face of Christ in different people of different circumstances in life. It draws the reader out of themselves and asks them to re-examine their life in relation to others, but mainly in the way that “others” should all be the Christ-child to us.

Remember Jesus Christ ~ Raniero Cantalamessa

Disclaimer: I haven’t read this book YET, but my husband has and, though you don’t know him, I do and I tell you he’s a good resource for books. It’s split into two halves: the first for Advent, the second for Lent.

In order to bring people to Christ today, the Church needs to proclaim as simply and succinctly as the Apostles did, that “Jesus Christ is Lord!”

Jesus of Nazareth: The infancy narratives ~ pope benedict XVI

What I enjoy about this book are all the particulars– the scholarly details that lead to contemplation. Pope Benedict writes extensively on the genealogy of Jesus and what it means, the social and historical context of Roman-occupied Judea, while jumping to and from each Gospel account. I personally love when he compares in detail the annunciation of John the Baptist’s conception to Zechariah, and the annunciation of Christ to Mary.

Also, consider for Advent reading the sections pertaining to the Annunciation and Christ’s birth in Romano Guardini’s The Lord, Fulton Sheen’s Life of Christ, and Adrienne von Speyr’s Handmaid of the Lord.

the advent of Advent

Advent is a heart that is awake and ready.

Fr. Alfred Delp

Advent is a season of preparation, but in these last few days preceding Advent, I am in a period of preparing for the preparation by uncovering boxes in the garage that house the Advent wreath, candles, Jesse Tree and ornaments, books, etc. It’s much like that excitement I felt as a child in preparing for Christmas Eve after winter break had begun and Christmas seemed palpably near. The whole season is different for me now as an adult, and as a Catholic, but that stirring of the heart in anticipation of something mysterious and beautiful is familiar and comforting. Advent is my favorite season, even more so than Christmas.

I remember somewhere in adolescence when the magic of Christmas had waned. It was depressing. I tried to drum up the feelings of Christmas, whatever that means, the kind of sentimental nonsense I absorbed from department stores and Christmas movies, or something. But after entrenching myself in the liturgical year as a Catholic, the magical quality of Christmas was restored, but not just as a sense of wonder, but as reverence, a holy awe at the prophecies of Christ’s coming and the mystery of the Incarnation. Suddenly, life comes to a point; the purpose of everything is narrowed down to an incomprehensible moment when God becomes man. Yet, it’s not just about a sweet little God-man baby, but about the final coming of Christ. We see that our whole existence is one great Advent, a brief preparation for uniting with God.

Over the years, we’ve developed family traditions during Advent. We’ve added on, stolen ideas from other families, altered them, and every year is a little bit different. But our kids have come to depend on these little feasts and practices to make the waiting bearable:

  • the Advent wreath- candle lighting, reading, and/or hymns
  • the Jesse tree, its ornaments and stories
  • the Créche
  • feast of St. Nicholas
  • feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe
  • feast of St. Lucia
  • feast of St. John of the Cross
  • feast of St. Hildegard of Bingen
  • books!!! so. many. books… for Children and Adults
    {There are a great many worthwhile books to read during Advent, several of which are on my List of Books I Will Read Someday In A House By The Sea When My Kids Are Grown, but follow the links to my personal favorites}

My aim in describing what we do as a family is to demonstrate that it doesn’t need to be perfect. It really can be thrown together. I’ve been surprised that scrambling for a little celebration one year is expected the following year as an established tradition. These little traditions provide a drumbeat on the march toward Bethlehem.