Final Thoughts on Advent

It's Saturday the 26th. Boxing Day. I'm at my mother-in-law's house and I got to sleep in. It's Christmas Part IV, I think, at this point here. More aunts are here, there's more casseroles in the oven, and I'm about to make the transition from coffee to wine.

I should write daily meditations for myself, if for no one else, always. I felt, for the first time in a long time, really connected to the season. I had to pay attention because I had this blog poking at my brain every evening. I had to read something--either a prophecy or daily reading or O Antiphon--every day so I could roll it around in my mind and think of something to say. I don't know, though, if I could keep up this pace. It's about to be ordinary time again and maybe I'll think about it before Lent gets here. Another season of preparation.

I've often said, somewhat flippantly, that my faith life would be a lot easier if I weren't an OblSB and instead was an OSB. If I spent every day in the monastery, if it were in my face at all times, it would be harder to stray, harder to not pay attention to God. And yes, that's probably so--but as every choice, there are negatives with the positives and I am sure I would find the depths of the negatives with all that time not spent shuttling kids to dance class and school and so forth. My view of the monastery is one of a retreatant and it's always so nice to be a welcomed visitor, wherever you go. But day to day is always different.

The thing is, my faith like would be better if I just paid more attention. It sometimes got away from me (camping with girl scouts) but for the most part I did what I set out to do here. I'm not in my year of searching or novitiate anymore. I'm here and in the long stretch of adulthood in my faith life and in my actual life. It's time to develop a more internal locus of control and take charge.

But for now, for this moment, I need to go fill kids' plates with ham and casseroles and candy apple salad. I need to make the transition from coffee to wine and engage in life here. I hope your Christmas has been lovely. Peace!

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

Some thoughts from the old testament reading for tonight....

The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light

It's the first prophecy we present in the Atrium. Such a basic earthy image. In darkness, and then a light. A match struck when electricity goes out. The flashlight shining into a cave. Utter blackness replaced with a focal point. Therese, my atrium partner, says that this is the one children come back to most often and becomes one that they repeat in their heads long after they're out of the Atrium. One older child came back to her later and repeated those words as the thing he remembered most.

upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom
a light has shone.

This time of December after an autumn of rain and chill, the gray skies and dull sunset all day long. To suddenly have a sunrise that makes you blink, makes you focus and see again.

You have brought them abundant joy
and great rejoicing,
as they rejoice before you as at the harvest,

Nothing more satisfying than bringing in a harvest of something you've grown or produced. Canning strawberry jam, picking apples in the fall sunshine, slicing pumpkins up to bake and then freeze. Being amazed by how many jalapenos grew in that shady spot in the backyard or putting up 45 quarts of green beans in a basement kitchen. Biting into that first tomato you've nursed into being, standing in your kitchen smiling at your husband, oh, you have to try this.

as people make merry when dividing spoils.

Take whatever you want, I don't need any of it anymore. Whether it's 18 boxes of wool yarn or classroom shelves of manipulatives or books from deceased relatives I've never met or...I've never had spoils of war but I have divvy'ed up lots of things received through no work of my own.


For every boot that tramped in battle,
every cloak rolled in blood,
will be burned as fuel for flames.

How to say no to war in a jingoistic culture of "freedom isn't free"? How do we hear these words and reconcile them with the idea of living in a nation that has been at war or in some sort of occupation or police action pretty much my entire lifetime? Burned as fuel for flames.


For a child is born to us, a son is given us;
upon his shoulder dominion rests.
They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero,
Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.

Again, in the atrium, we ask the question, "what sort of names are these, for a newborn baby? What does this mean for what this child will grow up and become?" So often small children have a disconnect between the Infant Jesus and the person of Christ, especially crucified. Maeve didn't grasp this, perhaps doesn't grasp this yet. It is one thing to have a cozy hazy view of baby surrounded by friendly farm animals and shepherds (even though as "cozy" goes, that doesn't sound so good to me) and another to connect this tiny baby to the events of Holy Week. I think most adults, too, know this intellectually but miss it in their hearts.

His dominion is vast
and forever peaceful,
from David’s throne, and over his kingdom,
which he confirms and sustains
by judgment and justice,
both now and forever.
The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this!

Peaceful. Justice. Vast dominion. Now and forever. The kingdom of God is like...how can we put it into human terms, anyway?

I know I'm late in getting this done. In the end, my Christmas Eve was a whirlwind of activity. I should have more to say soon on South City. It's been quite a week. A long week--last Saturday I was picking up Christmas trees for church with Doug in his truck and it feels like a month ago. A lot more like Holy Week than Christmas week has ever been for me, in fact. Which somehow seems really appropriate after writing this blog.

Ero Cras

O Sapientia
O Adonai
O Radix Jesse
O Clavis David
O Oriens
O Rex Gentium
O Emmanuel

The O Antiphons are highly structured. They are not thrown together at the last moment. There is no stretch to give them meaning. The begin with Wisdom and move through other titles of the messiah from the old testament: Lord, Stem of Jesse, Key of David, Daystar, Sovereign of Nations, God With Us.

Starting on the 17th of December and going through tonight, they form an acrostic if read backwards. E for Emmanuel, R for Rex, O for Oriens, and so forth spell out EROCRAS. Ero Cras, I have been told, is loosely translated from Latin as "Tomorrow I will come."

Part of me wonders how the monks came up with this. Was it a plan all along or a happy accident? Did they suddenly see it? Did they rearrange something to make it work? Did they used to have more O Antiphons but then realized it didn't spell anything that way? Did some novice say "but look at that!" and everyone oohed and ahhed?

Tomorrow I will come. Will Christ come for me? Will I be awake enough to notice, still enough in my heart to open the door? O Come O Come Emmanuel. Come thou long expected Jesus. Soon and very soon.

Drinking at Christmas

Last night I went to mah jongg at Trisha's house. It was our final secret santa exchange--10 women on the block participate, and all the kids do as well in a separate name draw. I love this. I love that what started as four of us sitting down and learning how to play mah jongg because Mike thought I needed to stop being shy and make some more women friends has turned into a community of good friends and overlapping Venn diagrams and rich relationships. Stories get layered on top of each other. Laughter and shared tears and intertwining each other into lives forever.

Katie brought this ice cream and brandy and chocolate liquor concoction. She apologized as she brought the pitcher in: "I didn't know if you all would drink on a Monday." Katie is new. We all laughed, but at ourselves, not her. And we passed it around.

Red wine, white wine. I had two pomegranate vodka martinis. At one point Janine turned to me and said, "when did you start drinking again?" And I realized I hadn't in a long time, besides a single glass of wine here and there.

"It's Christmas," I shrugged, and then that felt like the most alcoholic reason to drink in the whole book. But that's not how I meant it, and I say that as a member of a family of alcoholics. What I meant was that it was Christmas, it was a moment to celebrate and gather and be merry. It is time to drink fun fattening things or slurries made with pints of sugar. Amanda mentioned the intense boozy song "We need a little Christmas" and that's exactly it. Sometimes you need a little cheer.

I know many people drink at Christmas to drown sorrows or as an excuse because really they're drinking all the time anyway. I remember hushed conversations at my dad's parents' house as a child--I don't recall which uncle was drunk or what the issue was, but I remember the tension. I'm careful not to produce similar memories for my own kids. But at an adult gathering with mah jongg and faux lamentations about how busy we are this week--something just calls for it. It isn't necessary but it can be a part of celebrating a special time of year.

I need to check my list. A trip to Randall's may be in order (the best liquor store in town and it's moments away from my house). Something tells me those Christmas cookies would go well with something there.

Christmas Delivery

On Saturday, my parish made the annual Christmas delivery of food and packages to needy families in our parish boundaries. Few of these families attend St. Pius (although over the years I've delivered to a couple parishioners). I don't know their stories or their faces, although they are my neighbors, at least in the same zip code or just one over. We go down into our church basement cafeteria where there are boxes upon boxes--literally--for over 100 families. One of our families was #106 and I know there were others stacked next to it. Our St. Vincent de Paul Society does the work with the help from parishioners who take the gift tags from the tree in the back of church and bring back wrapped presents, and also from a couple of other parishes in more well-to-do areas who are responding to the Christian call to charity.

We walk in and greet one another. Sophia and Maeve have donuts. People dote on Leo. This was one of the first parish-wide activities Mike and I participated in. We chat with folks we don't see all the time--a few parish school graduates still calling me "Mrs. Wissinger." Our pastor says a prayer. This year he said this was St. Pius at its best--that we go out to be Christ to others and in the process encounter Christ ourselves. It reminded me of the CS Lewis note that besides the Eucharist, our encounters with each other are the holiest moments in any day. No matter how difficult we may be with each other, even hostile, there is still Christ in each of us. A spark of divinity.

We haul our packages out to our cars--one of our families, adopted by a county parish, had 11 boxes. The other had 1, just food. We delivered the 11 boxes first, to a four-family flat on a rundown street. The house had a No Trespassing sign affixed to the porch. The front doors were replacements, flimsy, and it looked as though only one of the apartments was lived in. The next building over was boarded up, property of the city. We knocked, and a young man answered. He was impressed with the number of boxes. I have no idea what might have been inside. I was simply delivering. He signed his name on the back of the form and we went on.

The next house was on an even more depressed block, really only half a street, the houses on one side facing a parking lot and the backs of fast food restaurants on the other.

The man in the camo jacket opened the door and Mike handed him the sack of potatoes. I came up the steps behind with the heavier box. I handed it over to Mike, who was engaged in conversation with the recipient. The name on our form was a woman's, but he said he was her husband...and she was in a coma...and he'd been to the hospital today and had taken her off life support.

I don't know. Maybe it was a fabrication. Maybe it was an attempt to get something else from us--but what? We pulled away from his house and headed over to Gravois. I thought about it. If it were true, there he was in his shotgun house, alone. I thought about human connections at any time of year, but especially at Christmas. Being as blessed as I am with friends and family, I cannot imagine such a situation without my sisters and neighbors and friends from church being there by my side. Maybe one day I will find myself so alone, but what is the road chosen to bring someone to that point?

And then I thought about my own family, about my dad's older brother who burned through all his contacts before I was even born. But even Rick, if he needed help, could find it with a phone call. Maybe my dad's younger brother Kelly would find himself like this. Maybe.

And last, I thought about the people I do know who are on the edges of my life. Would I be there for Kate or Carlos or Millie if they were to call in desperation? If they called in desperation twice or a hundred times? Would I keep opening my door to them, to Christ?

I hope I would.

The Fourth Sunday of Advent/O Clavis David

(I'm just not inspired by the O Antiphons right now. I'm going to let them lie, but keep the titles anyway because I have something to say about them at the end).

This morning I was thinking about pregnancy and childbirth. Mary goes to visit Elizabeth, whom the angel has proclaimed to already be in her 6th month of pregnancy. Mary stays for 3 months, so it is likely that she was there for the birth of John the Baptist. I hope it was an easy birth.

I had a really hard birth with Sophia, and while Maeve was a good experience, I was nearly as wiped out by the end. Leo, of course, was a walk in the park in comparison. But not easy. It takes time to recover. In the midst of getting your body back, you're learning to breastfeed--which is different with every baby, I've realized. You don't have enough sleep and you ache and your mind is mud. Babies cry at just the right frequency to keep your attention (of course, by design) and it looks like forever until you've found your rhythm again.

But at some point you look down and there's this sweet little child sleeping in your arms. Here is a new creation, something you had a hand in bringing to the light, completely at ease with you. It's one of the hazy moments you don't capture on film but instead hold in your heart.

It's not the same thing as giving birth, but today after mass we decorated for Christmas. It's the St. Pius tradition to do so after the 10 a.m. mass on the 4th Sunday of Advent. That's so it's all set up and ready when Christmas comes later in the week. My first year was like Sophia's birth. It was rocky. Christmas was on a Monday that year and so I had an immediate deadline for the 10 p.m. Christmas Eve mass. Lots of people said it couldn't be done. But it got done, even with uncooperative trees and last minute replacements and our maintenance man knocking a tree over. I was sort of spent by the time it was finished.

But I remember trying to plug something in behind the creche, crouched down behind the trees, when the choir started coming in. "Oh my, how beautiful!" I heard again and again. It was, they were right. And while I didn't do it alone, I knew I was the reason for it. Here, I made this for you.

The second year was easier. We'd worked out all the snags. The third was when I was 8 months pregnant with Leo. I just sort of stood around holding floral wire and a pair of scissors and lo, it got done. That was the year our choir director apologized because she wasn't going to be able to help with the poinsettias due to the radiation she was undergoing for cancer--live plants could give her a fungal infection. I remember that really hurting to hear, and how worried I was that whole day--really that whole year--for her. How friendships happen when you just don't even realize they have.

This was the fourth year, and even now, the trees didn't match, we had one too many (again! Why can't I get that right?). We couldn't find the gold cloth we needed; the magnetic wreath holders were first lost (Tony Tony look around something's lost that must be found) and then wouldn't do their job. We resorted to the nail in the door after all. It felt like it took forever, but new people came and there were more wreaths to hang this year and we got sort of a late start. In the end, though, I sat in a pew and looked at it all. A little different from years past, but still good. It had been a good job and here was the result once again.

Sr. Mary begged me never to leave and I found myself speaking the truth before I knew it myself: "I have nowhere else to go."

So I'll just bloom where I'm transplanted, how about?

O Radix Jesse and thoughts on the Magi

O Root of Jesse, sign of peace, before whom all nations stand in awe; kings stand silent in your presence; the nations bow down in worship before You. O Come and set us free; delay no longer in your love.

Kings stand silent in your presence. It immediately brings to mind the vision of the wise men bearing gifts for the infant Jesus in his parents' home. It's such a strange tale, really, more so than the shepherds and angels, the Annunciation, even the story of the census bringing Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem in the nick of time. Here are these magi, these astrologers, come to worship the newborn messiah.

I am not a bible scholar, and I do not have any special insight into the Magi. I know what I've learned along the way. Perhaps there were three--there were three gifts after all--but maybe not. Were they Zoroastrian? They weren't Jews, and they weren't Roman or Greek. They knew enough to see the star at its rising and what that would mean, but not enough to know for certain where this newborn savior would be found.

And the gifts they bring are odd--frankincense, myrrh, gold. Priest, prophet, king. Gold of course is the symbol of kings, of rulers, of wealth. Frankincense is a symbol of priesthood, burned in the temples. And myrrh, the strangest gift, represents death--which often came early for prophets. Here in the first chapters of Matthew is a foreshadowing of the entire life of Jesus.

In this antiphon, we name him a sign of peace. We implore him to come and set us free. Hurry. Delay no longer in your love. While the magi might have seen this to be so, it certainly doesn't seem that kings and nations today bow down in worship. And they don't. The Kingdom of God, of course, is not Germany or Vietnam or Brazil. It is here, but not here. It is coming and yet still far away. And why is it not entirely here? I think if we were each to ask ourselves that question, honestly, it would do a great deal to bring it closer. We ask for freedom, for love, for peace, and yet we are God's hands in the world now. We have to give these things if we truly wish for Thy Kingdom Come.

At the name of Jesus, every knee shall bow
Every tongue confess him
King of Glory now
Jesus is Lord, King of Glory now.