Happy New Year 2013

Whew!  We made it through the end of the Mayan calendar and survived December 21, 2012.  We survived another Presidential election and, no matter which side of the fence each of us sits, the United States of America is still the greatest country in the world.  Just ask all the immigrants who are crossing our borders — whether from Central and South America, or from Africa, or from the Middle East, or from . . . wherever.

I am visiting my family in my home state.  I love coming “home.”  My parents have long since passed, but all my brothers and sisters and their families live in our hometown.  My sister, Kelly, is the social butterfly who loves to entertain.  Every year she manages to coordinate a spectacular Christmas Eve celebration and feeds about 75 people — yes, our family is HUGE.  After dinner, we open presents before attending Midnight Mass at our family church where we fill several pews.  Christmas morning is quiet, with individual families opening stockings and gifts from Santa, breakfast, and then Mass at noon.

New Year’s Eve traditions change — some years there is a party, some years are quiet, some years we see a movie.  This year, several of us drove to a ski resort to watch skiers ski down the mountain carrying torches.  There must have been about 100 skiers and it was spectacular.  Once the skiers were at the bottom, the fireworks began.  Beautiful against the white snow.  Although the revelers continued to party, we had movie tickets and needed to head back down the mountain.

“Les Misérables”, the movie.  Wow!  Wow!  The consensus among the family is that Hugh Jackman should be nominated for an Academy Award for best actor.  Anne Hathaway should be nominated for best supporting actress.  The movie is excellent and seeing the scenes helped to make the plot more understandable from the theatrical play.  By the time we arrived home, it was nearly 1 a.m. — late for this early riser.

New Year’s Day 2013 — a quiet day to celebrate the Solemnity of Mary, the Holy Mother of God.  For Catholics, January 1, the Octave (8th) day of the Christmas Season, is the day designated as a liturgical feast honoring Mary’s divine motherhood of Jesus the Christ.  The title “Mother of God” is a western derivation from the Greek, Theotokos, the God-bearer.  The term was adopted at the Third Ecumenical Council held at Ephesus in 431 C. E. as a way to assert the Divinity of Christ.  If Jesus is God, then Mary is the Mother of God.

Those outside the Catholic tradition view our veneration of Mary has a form of worship.  What we worship is her saintly motherhood.  Mary is the ideal mother.  Mary’s mother, St. Anne, is the patron saint of mothers.  To my Catholic family, there is no better way to begin a new year than by honoring Our Lady.  We welcome her in prayer and turn the page of the calendar imploring her blessing and intercession.  As children, we not only celebrated the Mary but our mother, Mary, on this feast day.  My dad taught us well how to honor our mother, the woman who gave us life and who nurtured us until her death at the age of 90.

Traditions — family, feast meals, celebrating the lives of the Holy Family, ringing in the new year with family and friends, and laughing about New Year’s resolutions unfulfilled.  The same resolutions are made year after year after year and most of them are forgotten within a few weeks.  My very dear friend, who is Methodist, made a commitment to read the entire Protestant Bible in 2012 — and she did it!!  Her resolution for 2013 is to read the rest of the Bible — the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical books plus the essays that are included in The New Oxford Annotated New Revised Standard Version (NRSV).  Her husband’s New Year’s resolution is to guide his wife on an amazingly wonderful trip to Southeast Asia.  My New Year’s resolution for 2013 is to enjoy my semester-long sabbatical!!!!!!  No classes, no students — whatever shall I do?!

And, so, we begin another year.  Another year of ups and downs, of hills and valleys, of traveling life’s highways.  My prayer for all — for our world, for all nations, for Mother Earth, for all Earth’s inhabitants, for my family, for my friends, for my colleagues both at the university and at church — is that we find peace.  The world has never been peaceful, nor will it, but may we find peace amongst ourselves.  I pray that families find accord when they are faced with difficult decisions, I pray our government can learn to compromise on all issues, I pray the United States becomes “one nation, undivided” once again.  We have become so polarized over the past two decades, that we are in need of much healing.  My prayer is for peace, for contentment, and for happiness for ALL.

God Bless!

The Twelve Days of Christmas

“On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me a partridge in a pear tree.”    

• On December 25, God sent to me Jesus.

“On the second day of Christmas, my true love sent to me two turtle doves . . . .”

• On December 26, God sent to me the Old Testament and the New Testament.

“On the third day of Christmas, my true love sent to me three french hens . . . .”

• On December 27, God sent to me the Holy Trinity — God the Father, God the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

“On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me four calling birds . . . .”

• On December 28, God sent to me the Four Gospels — Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

“On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me five golden rings . . . .”

• On December 29, God sent to me the Five Books of Moses/Torah/Pentateuch — Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy.

“On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me six geese a laying . . . .”

• On December 30, God sent to me the six days of creation.

“On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me seven swans a-swimming . . . .”

• On December 31, God sent to me the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, the seven Catholic sacraments.

“On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me eight maids a-milking . . . .”

• On January 1, God sent to me the eight Beatitudes.

“On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me nine ladies dancing . . . .”

• On January 2, God sent to me the nine Fruits of the Holy Spirit — Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Generosity, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self-control.

“On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me ten lords a-leaping . . . .”

• On January 3, God sent to me the Ten Commandments.

“On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me eleven pipers piping . . . .”

• On January 4, God sent to me the eleven faithful apostles.

“On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me twelve drummers drumming . . . .”

• On January 5, God sent to me the twelve points of doctrine in the Apostle’s Creed.

Yes, The Twelve Days of Christmas is more than a cute, nonsensical song.  The Season of Advent is the four weeks leading up to Christmas; the Christmas Season does not begin until Christmas Day and lasts for twelve days, until Epiphany on January 6.  Each of the twelve days is considered a Feast day of a particular saint — different denominations might celebrate different saints or the saints may have been changed by the Church at various times throughout history.

Whether or not the song was once used as a secret code to teach Catholic children the catechism at a time when Catholicism was outlawed in England, is doubtful.  I believe the song may have been a fun means of learning the tenets of the Christian faith, but the rest of the story is pure folklore.  The song is more likely to be just a secular Christmas carol, much like “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas”, with no religious origins.

Advent is a season of hope and of longing, of joyful expectation and of peaceful preparation for the coming of our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.  Christmas is a joyous time, twelve days to celebrate the birth of Jesus, leading up to Epiphany, when we traditionally celebrate the Magi bringing gifts to the [toddler], Jesus.

In the modern secular world, December 26 begins the rush to return unwanted Christmas gifts and to seek out the best “after-Christmas” sales.  Many people and businesses begin to remove their Christmas decorations, having put away most of the twinkling beauty before New Year’s Day.  When I was growing up, in the 1950s and 1960s, the secular “Christmas Season” did not begin until after Thanksgiving.  It seems, now, that stores begin displaying Christmas decorations around Halloween, if not before.  Our modern day society has completely lost the true meaning of Christmas.

Because my family has always been devout, we follow the liturgical calendar in giving observance to Holy Days, including Christmas.  My Irish mom did not allow a day to pass without us giving thanks to God for all His blessings.  Christmas and Easter were the most important holidays, or Holy Days, in our home — yes, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny did visit, but we knew from a very young age why we were celebrating.  We observed the important days of Advent and Christmas — the Christmas tree and other decorations were put up about a week before Christmas and they were never removed until Epiphany, January 6, which signifies the end of the Christmas season.

As I write this, we are three days past Christmas — how many of you have already taken down your tree and put away the decorations?  How many of you are aware that the Christmas Season has just begun and will continue for another nine days, until January 6?  How many of you are observing the feast days of the Christmas season?  Today is the Feast of the Holy Innocents which, ironically, comes exactly two weeks after the slaughter of innocent children in Newtown, CT.   Today, I attended Mass to remember all the innocent children — the children in Newtown and the children who died to protect the Christ child.

Let us remember to rejoice in the coming of our Lord, Jesus the Christ, who came to save the world! Let us remember that today, December 28, is the fourth day of Christmas.

Christmas Hymns

Ah . . . the joy of singing Christmas Hymns.

My family is musical — I am a classically trained pianist, my brothers play the guitar, trumpet, and drums, while my sisters play the viola, flute, and clarinet.  From a very young age, we formed our own little orchestra and we were known as the Musical O’Malleys among our friends and neighbors.  Our love for music has been passed down to subsequent generations and now, when we all gather for Christmas or in the summer, our little orchestra can have as many as 25.  Not bad for one family, eh?

How many of us think about where the traditional Christmas hymns have come from?  How many of us pay attention to the composer or lyricist of the hymns in our church hymnals?  Whether Catholic or Anglican or Lutheran or Presbyterian or Baptist, it is likely many of the hymns you sing in church on Sunday, or from your living room at Christmastime, were written by Charles Wesley.  Charles and his brother, John, were Anglican priests who founded the Methodist movement in the 18th Century.  Although John is given most of the credit for founding the Methodist Church, it is Charles who wrote over 6,000 hymns.  Six thousand!

Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, written in 1739 but revised by Charles’ good friend, George Whitefield, in 1753, is one of my favorites.  The lyrics are very devotional — with references to scripture in both the Old and New Testaments.

The Twelve Days of Christmas was written as a code for Catholics to learn the catechism and doctrine of the Roman Catholic Church during a time of persecution in England.  Between 1558 and 1829, it was illegal for Catholics to practice their faith publicly or privately.  If caught, they could be imprisoned or worse — hanged, drawn, and quartered.  (In my Thanksgiving Musings post, I addressed the English oppression of the Irish.  Making criminal the ability to practice their Catholic faith was another way for the English to oppress and control their subjects.)  This particular story of the origins of The Twelve Days of Christmas could, very well, be pure legend but, because it is a story I have heard since my childhood, I tend to believe there is some truth behind it.

Most of the traditional favorite Christmas hymns we sing year after year after year, date to the 18th and 19th centuries.  Many of them do have historical significance and most are scripturally based.

My favorite hymn, Silent Night, would not have been written if not for a broken organ.  It was the year 1818, Christmas Eve in the Austrian Alps, when the church organ at the newly constructed Church of St. Nicholas, quit working.  Distraught over his planned midnight Mass, Father Joseph Mohr, quickly wrote a new poem — “Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright . . . .”  Father Mohr explained to his organist, Franz Gruber, the situation and asked him to compose a simple tune to accompany the Father Mohr’s lyrics.  That night, Christmas Eve 1818, Silent Night was sung for the first time as a duet accompanied by a guitar.  Many congregations sing Silent Night the way it was intended — accompanied by a guitar rather than an organ — with the lights dimmed and each person holding a lit candle.  Mmmm . . . . Such a beautiful and holy song, made more beautiful by the peacefulness of a candle-lit church.

Prayers

Today is a tragic day.  Another school shooting.  More children murdered.  Teachers murdered.  The mother of the shooter murdered.  Why?

Why?  Why?  Why?  Why would someone be so evil as to do something so violent that affects, not only the small school community, but affects everyone of us who treasures life?  What happened in the shooter’s young life to make him do something so violent?  Was he abused?  Was he bullied?  Did he and his mother have an argument?  Did they have a volatile relationship?  Was he mentally ill — maybe schizophrenic or bipolar or depressed or any of a number of other mental illnesses?

Did you hug your children, your grandchildren, your children’s friends, your nieces, nephews, cousins, parents, grandparents, and neighbors extra tight today?  I did.  My 30 year-old nephew lives with me while he completes his college degree.  When he came home this afternoon, I hugged him — extra tight.  I am so very saddened by the tragedy of today, as I know anyone who is reading this is.

As a priest, I am frequently asked the difficult questions that arise during tragic events such as the school shootings in Connecticut, or Virginia, or Colorado, or the mall shootings in Oregon, or Utah, or the church shootings in — name your state.  Why?  Why, if God is so loving and omnipotent and omnipresent and omniscient,  does He permit such tragedy to occur?  I do not have the answers.  All I can do is offer comfort, compassion, and prayer.  I can hold a hand, put my arm around a shoulder, give a hug, shed a tear.  I can pray that the people affected will feel God’s presence and know that He loves them.  Too often, people affected by tragedy become angry with God.   Some people, sadly, become so angry with God they no longer believe in Him.

God loves each and every one of us infinitely more than we can imagine.  God is love.  1 John 4:8 states, “Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.”  As with any good parent, He allows His children to make mistakes, to make errors in judgement.  Unfortunately, some of His children make such horrendous mistakes as to affect an entire community, an entire country, the entire world.  What I try to do, what I try to express to those who are suffering, what I pray we can all do, is find some good in each tragedy that touches our hearts.

• When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers.  You will always find people who are helping.”  To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers — so many caring people in this world.  ~~ Mr. Fred Rogers

I was educated in Catholic schools — from kindergarten through post-graduate school.  Prayer was one staple element of the curriculum.  One of my dear friends, who was educated in public schools, remembers saying a prayer before being served cookies and milk in kindergarten.  “God is great, God is good, Thank you God for this good food.”  A simple prayer of blessing for the food — in a public school.  A question to ask ourselves is, “Why is God no longer allowed in the schools?”  Why have the atheists won?  The above prayer is not just Christian, it is not just Jewish, it is not just Muslim — it is universal.  The majority of people in this world believe in some sort of higher power.  Why does the minority have more power than the majority?

• Dear God, Why do you allow so much violence in our schools? ~ Signed, A Concerned Student.
• Dear Concerned Student,  I’m not allowed in schools. ~ Love, God.

It is something to ponder.  It is something to pray about.  Depending on how saddened your heart is today, maybe it is time to do something.  If each and every one of us who believes in a higher power — God — were to write a letter to our legislators, could it be possible that God would be allowed into our public schools?  Would having God in the school have prevented today’s horrendous murders?  Maybe.  But, we will never know, will we?

As a Jesuit, I pray the Breviary each day; I pray the Psalms.  Please pick up your Bible and open it to the Book of Psalms.  Read through them to find comfort during this time of national grieving.

• Psalms 23:  The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.  He restoreth my soul;  He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.  Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me, Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.  Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over.  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever (KJV).
• Psalms 46: 1-2:  God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.  Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea . . .  (NRSV).

God bless the souls of the precious children and adults who were murdered in Connecticut.  God bless all the families affected by this horrendous tragedy.  God bless our nation as we, once again, grieve together.  God bless each and every one of us.

Theologian or Scholar?

Do I consider myself a Catholic theologian or a scholar of ancient Christianity?  It depends on the day and the circumstance.  As a priest, I tread carefully on subjects that could be deemed controversial.  As a professor of Religious Studies, a scholar of ancient Christianity, I expect  my students to ask the difficult questions.

Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, Palestine

During this time of year, I have students ask why Christian churches continue to perpetuate the myths we have been taught for centuries when, in fact, many of those stories are just that — myths.  Was Jesus actually born in Bethlehem?  If so, which Bethlehem?  How many are aware there were two “little towns of Bethlehem?”  The Bethlehem we know and love as the birthplace of Jesus was in Biblical Judah, in present-day Palestine.  Jesus was called Jesus of Nazareth during his ministry.  Nazareth is in the Galilee, in Biblical Israel — the northern kingdom.  About six miles northwest of Nazareth was the tiny burg of Bethlehem, which is mentioned in the Book of Joshua 19:15.  Is it possible Jesus was born in this other Bethlehem?  Is it possible he was actually born in Nazareth?  Is it possible the writers of the Bible declared Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judah in order to fulfill prophesy?  The answers to all these questions is, yes, it is possible.  As a faithful Catholic, I believe Jesus was born in the Bethlehem of tradition.  As an ancient Christianity scholar, I do not know.  I guide my students to the resources available and I ask that they come to their own conclusions.  Does it really matter where Jesus was born?  No.

The other question that arises this time of year is whether or not Jesus was born on December 25.  Probably not.  There is debate about when he was actually born — could he have been born in the Spring?  Rather than write in detail all the arguments, I ask that you read this article from Bible History Daily.  Again, does it matter when Jesus was born?  No.

My faith is profound — my faith in God, my faith in Jesus as my Savior, my faith in my Church and its traditions.  I knew at a very young age where God was leading me.  I have studied religion from a theological perspective and I have studied religion from a historical perspective.  At times, the two conflict.  It is at those times I must decide which hat I am wearing.  There have been times when the historical evidence, to me, was more persuasive than the theological traditions.  For some Biblical scholars, the conflict steers them away from their religious convictions toward agnosticism.  For me, those conflicts have deepened my faith.

During this Advent season, what is important to remember is why we believe in Jesus as our Savior, why He became the Messiah, why He is the Christ.  It does not matter where He was born, it does not matter when He was born.  What matters is that He was born and that He died on the cross to save the world.

“O Little Town of Bethlehem . . .
Yet in thy dark streets shineth The everlasting Light.”

The Light that shines to save the world.

The Feast of the Immaculate Conception

I love Advent — it seems as if almost every day there is another reason to pause, to ponder, to pray, to remember why we celebrate Christmas.  I do believe in Santa Claus but, without the birth of Jesus and St. Nicholas, a devout Christian who believed in the divinity of Jesus, we would have no Santa Claus.  And, without the Immaculate Conception of Mary or the miraculous virgin birth of the Christ child, we would have no Christmas nor the time of preparation called Advent.  Although a busy time of year — with both my church duties and my academic duties — I set aside additional time each day and each night to pray, to feel the presence of my Savior.

December 8th has long marked The Feast of the Immaculate Conception, commemorated by Roman Catholics, and some Eastern, Anglican, and Protestant rites, as the day Mary was conceived by her mother, Anne.  Contrary to common belief, the Immaculate Conception pertains to Mary being free from original sin; it does not relate to Jesus’ conception which is commemorated on March 25th with the Feast of the Annunciation.  Mary was pure — always free of sin.

We do not know very much about Mary’s life from a historical or a theological perspective.  Scripture says very little about her, and nothing about her childhood.  The Gospels of Matthew and Luke are the only gospels to mention the birth of Jesus; Luke mentions Gabriel’s visit to Mary bringing her the news of her impending pregnancy and her visit to her cousin, Elizabeth.  As for Mary’s conception and birth narrative, The Infancy Gospel of James, written about 145 CE, is the earliest documentation of Mary’s birth, naming her parents as Joachim and Anna.  

For Catholics, The Feast of the Immaculate Conception is a Holy Day of Obligation which means we are required to attend Mass and to avoid, as much as possible, servile work.  In my family, we would attend Mass in the morning on our way to school or work.  At the end of the day, we would gather around the Advent Wreath and pray the Magnificat ~~ Luke 1:46-55 ~~ along with the Benedictus ~~ Luke 1:67-80.  This day is considered to be the most holy during Advent.  Our family traditions and our Catholic traditions run deep on this holy day.  And, in between school and our evening prayers?  My mom usually had some activity that was age-related to help us know and honor the Blessed Virgin Mary.  

I am sure, as children, all this religiosity seemed like a bunch of mumbo jumbo.  Wouldn’t most kids rather be outside playing in the snow or rain or sunshine or whatever the weather gods might have sent?  Making snowmen, if there was snow, stomping in the puddles on rainy days, climbing trees on sunny days, playing football in the middle of the street — anything to keep from being cooped up indoors PRAYING.  My mom was one of the kindest, gentlest, most spiritual people I have been blessed to know — she also had a lot of spunk.  She insisted on a strict Catholic upbringing, observing all Holy Days, but after all the religious mumbo jumbo, she would be outside tossing that football with us.  And, all that PRAYING must have worked to her benefit — Irish-Catholic mom that she was, her dream of a son entering the priesthood was fulfilled.  Also, one of her grandsons — she did not live to see him ordained but she knew he was headed down the same spiritual path as his uncle.  

Today, as we remember the very Blessed Virgin Mother Mary during this Advent season, my prayer is  that we all remember, not only Mary and her Son, but we also remember our own mothers and all that they have given us.  Life.  Love.  Home.  Family.  And, if all are as blessed as I have been — a deeply spiritual upbringing that has carried over into adulthood.  I give thanks — to the Mary for being the model for all mothers, and to my mother, Mary, who loved me unconditionally and guided me down an incredible spiritual path to knowing the Mary’s Son as my Savior.  Thank you, Mom.  Thank you, Mary.  Thank you, Jesus.

Santa Claus

Do I, a Jesuit priest, believe in Santa Claus?  Absolutely!  Who else filled “the stockings [that] were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there”?

December 6 marks the Feast of St. Nicholas who, as we know, became the mythological Santa Claus of our youth.  What child has not stayed awake listening for Santa’s sleigh bells and the clatter of the reindeers’ hooves as the team landed on the roof?  Christmas is a magical time for all — the majesty of the birth of our Savior and the magical arrival of Santa Claus bringing gifts much as the Magi brought gifts to the Baby Jesus.

Who was St. Nicholas and how did he become Santa Claus?  Nicholas was Greek, born in 270 CE in Patara, Lycia et Pamphylia, Asia Minor (modern day Turkey), which was a port city on the Mediterranean Sea.  He died at the age of 73, December 6, 343, thus the date of his Feast Day among Catholic, Orthodox, and some Protestant churches.  Nicholas was the only son born to wealthy Christian parents and was baptized by his uncle, also named Nicholas, who was the bishop of Patara.  Nicholas was very religious from an early age and, according to legend, strictly observed the canonical fasts of Wednesdays and Fridays.  His parents died while Nicholas was still young and he was raised by his uncle who later ordained Nicholas as a priest.

The young Nicholas gained a reputation for secret gift-giving, such as putting coins in the shoes of those who left them out for him, thus becoming the model for Santa Claus, or the Dutch Sinterklaas.  His reputation evolved among early Christians and various countries around the world.  His most famous deed was when he heard of the plight of a poor man who could not afford dowries for his three daughters.  Nicholas, using part of his inheritance after his parents’ deaths, secretly helped the man by throwing three purses, each filled with gold coins, through the window of the man’s house at three different times ~~ there is more than one legend about the time period of this event.  On the third night, the man “caught” Nicholas in the act and confronted him.  Nicholas used the opportunity to tell the man about the one true God and His only begotten Son, Jesus.  The man was transformed, his daughters were saved from a life of prostitution and were able to marry.

Many countries have traditions and legends about St. Nicholas.  In my ancestral home of Ireland, the legend is that Nicholas may have been buried in the medieval town of Newtown Jerpoint in County Kilkenny, near the town in which my parents were born.  Nicholas is said to have originally been buried in Myra, in modern day Turkey.  His body was moved from Turkey to Italy in 1169, but may have been taken to Ireland afterwards by distant relatives who built the Church of St. Nicholas where an annual Mass is celebrated in honor of the memory of St. Nicholas.   In the United States, St. Nicholas is not celebrated nationally, but certain communities of German or Dutch heritage will put shoes outside their doors on December 5 for St. Nick to fill with candy and “gold” coins.  That tradition has evolved into hanging our stockings on the fireplace on Christmas Eve.

So, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus and I do believe in the magic of giving gifts to people who least expect them.  My Irish-Catholic family is very large — my parents had six children and 19 grandchildren.  That does not include grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  We celebrated the Feast of St. Nicholas on his feast day of December 6 by drawing names for the person we were to give a Christmas gift.  On Christmas morning, the floor underneath the tree was filled to the brim, but only because there were so many people receiving gifts.  As children, we each received one large gift from our parents plus new clothes, one gift from whomever drew our name, and Santa Claus filled our stockings which “hung by the chimney with care.”  To our devout family, Christmas was a celebration of Jesus’ birth.  He was at the center of our celebrations.  As we grew older and questioned the existence of Santa Claus, we learned more about St. Nicholas who, to us, represented the Magi.

Being the youngest of my parents’ six children, I never questioned whether Santa Claus was real ~~ I have always known the jolly little elf exists.  I, now, take great pleasure in passing on the stories and traditions to my nieces and nephews and their children.  The magic of Christmas, whether from a religious or a secular view, has always brought joy to my heart and a twinkle to my eye.

Merry [Feast of St. Nicholas] to All, and to All a Good Night!

Advent

With the hurry-up bustling of Christmas shopping and decorating and baking, many, if not most, Christians neglect to stop, breathe, and ponder the wonders of the Advent Season — the time we prepare for the coming of our Lord and Savior.  The four weeks prior to Christmas should be a time to reflect, to ponder, and to slow down in anticipation of the birth of the Christ child.  Rather, in our American culture, we rush to shop, rush to party, rush to decorate, rush to bake cookies, rush to dance recitals, rush to musical concerts, rush, rush, rush.

As devout Irish-Catholics, our family always put Christ first and secular commercialism last.  As far back as my memory takes me, Advent was as important to our faith as the celebration of Christmas, the celebration of the birth of Jesus.  We commemorated Advent with not only an Advent Wreath, but with a Jesse Tree.  Most Christians are aware of the significance of the Advent Wreath — the lighting of candles on each of the four Sundays of Advent, and the white Christ candle on Christmas Eve.  Fewer Christians know about the Jesse Tree — a small tree made from evergreens representing the genealogy of Jesus.  Each day of Advent, a homemade ornament is added to the tree — the trees are adorned with symbolic ornaments telling the story of God’s salvation plan, beginning with creation and continuing through the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament, to the coming of the Messiah.  The name Jesse Tree comes from Isaiah 11:1 — “A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots” (NRSV).  Jesse was the father of King David.

The tradition of the Jesse Tree, for my family, began when my eldest brother was in Kindergarten.  Each of us, subsequently, made our own version of the Jesse Tree at about the same age.  Each year, the Jesse Trees would come out of the box at the beginning of Advent and each day we would place an ornament on the tree after saying an appropriate prayer.  Each Sunday of Advent, we would gather around the kitchen table to light the candles and pray.  Advent was as important to our traditions as Christmas.

Earlier generations of my family did not decorate the Christmas tree until Christmas Eve.  It was a night for gathering the extended family home — the married children and their families.  It was a time for remembrance — remembering past Christmases and all the traditions that had been passed down through the generations, along with new traditions as family members married into other families and blended traditions to create their own.  My generation, the Baby Boom generation, was the first to grow up with television and all the commercials that enticed us to want, want, want.  My mom did her best to keep us focused on the “reason for the season” but, eventually, relented to having the tree decorated about one week before Christmas.

Advent is a cherished time for us to pause, to breathe, to pray, to ponder the anticipation of the birth of the Christ child.  Most of us become so busy during this time of year, we miss opportunities for prayer.  Our days are filled with the responsibilities of family, friends, careers, and varying celebrations.  In the midst of all this activity, we must not forget we are called by God to take pause and to listen — to listen to the voice, or the whisper, of God the Father, to allow the Holy Spirit to fill our weary souls with His love and mercy.  The season of Advent invites us to set aside a few minutes each day to ponder what it means that God became one of us, that God loved us into existence, and that God wants us to be one with Him forever in Heaven.

This first week of Advent also marks the last week of classes at the secular university at which I teach Religious Studies.  Because it is a secular/public institution, I can discuss Advent only in the classes where it is relevant to the curriculum.  Of the three classes I am teaching this term, I think I can sneak in a lecture about Advent in two of them.  Thanksgiving is a holiday that has largely become about eating too much food.  We, oftentimes, forget to remember what we are thankful for or the history of the first Thanksgiving.  Advent is the forgotten season prior to what has become a very commercialized holiday celebrating Santa Claus rather than Christ.  My prayer is that we, as Christians, remember why we celebrate Christmas and that we take a few moments each day to ponder — to pray and reflect.

And, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!  Stay tuned . . . .

Listening

Today I listened to the heartfelt eulogies for a man who had lived his life to the fullest, who was loved by his family, by his friends, and by his neighbors.  With a twinkle in his eye, he was always kind, generous, and loving to those who were blessed with his love and with his friendship, and to those who may have met him only in passing.

My neighbor passed away a week ago.  He was elderly, having celebrated his 90th birthday earlier this year.  A few years ago he came to live with his daughter and her family.  When Pete moved into his daughter’s home, he was grieving the loss of his beloved wife of more than 60 years, a special bond cemented by their love of God and Jesus.  Raised with differing religious backgrounds, Pete and Rose were able to see the similarities rather than the differences in their individual church teachings.  After the arrival of their first child, Pete prayerfully chose to join Rose’s denomination and attend weekly church services with her and their children.

We live in a community that is predominately Mormon.  At the time Pete and Rose were married, their families were afraid for their souls if they were not married in the appropriate church.  The LDS (Latter Day Saint/Mormon) faith believes families must be sealed for eternity in one of their temples for their souls to achieve the highest level of Heaven.  The Catholic faith believes marriage to be one of seven sacraments — holy before God.  What would happen to Rose’s soul if she were not sealed to her husband in a Mormon temple?  What would happen to Pete’s soul if he and Rose were not married in a Catholic church?  I can only imagine the dilemma the young couple faced, and the heartache each of their families felt knowing, in their own way, their child would fall.  As Pete told me the story, they chose to have their wedding ceremony in a park overlooking a babbling creek, in the shadows of the mountains.  Rose’s Mormon bishop and Pete’s Catholic deacon presided in a ceremony that blended two families of very different religious beliefs.  Today it would be unique.  More than 60 years ago, it must have been unheard of for a Mormon and a Catholic to marry.

When I met Pete for the first time, he was ill, although he would recover and live a few more years.  That illness, compounded by his age, caused Pete to reflect on his spiritual journey and wonder if he’d made the correct decision in leaving the church of his childhood.  He mentioned to his daughter he would like to talk with a Roman Catholic priest.  Until that moment, Pete’s children were only vaguely aware of his Catholic roots.  I am not sure why they did not know more — Pete’s family was Catholic, which meant grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins were all Catholic.  It is possible, because Pete was from a State which is across the country, there was limited contact.

Pete’s daughter, Nancy, and her family are my neighbors.  When I moved here, almost 20 years ago, I was welcomed into the neighborhood by a woman with a beautiful smile, a gracious helping hand, and a plateful of warm cookies.  Having been recently hired by the local university to teach Religious Studies, I was beginning a new chapter of my life as a professor at a secular institute of higher education.  My vocation is that of Jesuit priest and I am the priest Nancy called upon her father’s request.  That phone call was the beginning of a friendship that has blessed me in more ways than I can count.  Pete was an extraordinary human who walked with Jesus every day.  As we talked, as I counseled him on his journey to return to his Catholic faith, as he began his first steps to being rebaptized into the Catholic Church, I truly watched God work in our lives.  I believe I learned more from Pete than he did from me.  He was a genuinely authentic man who loved — God is love and Pete knew God personally.

The miracle of Pete’s journey is that his Mormon family — his children, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren, all embraced his return to the Catholic Church.  I would frequently take him with me to Mass on Sundays, sometimes he would accompany me to weekday Masses.  If I was unable to take him, his family — his Mormon family — would take him to Catholic Mass.  I watched this family being transformed by Pete’s love of God and Jesus and the Blessed Virgin Mary.

His Mormon funeral was a few days ago.  Today was his Catholic memorial service and I was blessed to be the presiding celebrant.  Pete loved his family.  Pete loved both churches that were so important to him — the church of his childhood and the church of his marriage and his children’s childhood.  I listened.  I listened to the eulogies of his children and grandchildren.  I listened to the letters written to him by his great-grandchildren.  I listened to God’s whispers.  God whispers.  All we need to do is listen.  Pete listened to those whispers and today his spirit was present in the Catholic Cathedral where his Mormon family released him to the angels.