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.

Laughing at the Universe

Have you noticed?  Once again the doomsayers were wrong!  How many times, in my lifetime, has the end of the world been predicted?  The last “big” event was Y2K.  Do you remember that one?  Yep.  Quite the big deal where I live, among ultra-religious people.  Okay, I’m ultra-religious, but I laugh each time I hear prophetical reports of the world coming to an end.  I think I will wait for Christ.

At this writing, I will not get into a serious commentary about Jesus, what the Apocalypse meant to Him and His followers, or what it meant from a historical perspective.  I’ll save that for another day.  For now, let’s laugh, let’s party and celebrate the continuation of humankind, and let’s be ready for Christmas and the celebration of the birth of our Savior.

But, I must reminisce about Y2K — just for a moment and one good chuckle.  Y2K was 13 years ago — has it really been that long?  How many even remember all the hoopla surrounding the presumed apocalyptic events?  What I remember most is the packet distributed in my neighborhood by members of the predominant faith giving us instructions on how to survive Y2K.  After so many years, I remember only a few of the instructions but the one that does come to mind is how I should dig a latrine in my backyard.  Yep.  You read me correctly — instructions on how to dig a latrine in case the end of the world did, in fact, happen on January 1, 2000.

After you laugh, go out and party!  It is Friday night, it is the Winter Solstice, it is three nights before the magical Eve of Christmas, it is time to celebrate!

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.

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.

Family Love

Christmas.  What a glorious time of year when we choose to spend time with our families, celebrating the birth of Christ.  Secular Christians also celebrate Christmas, even when they forget the “reason for the season.”  Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, atheists — although they do not celebrate Christmas, it is impossible to not be influenced by the largest denomination in the world.  The Gregorian calendar, used worldwide, in which it is the year 2012 evokes the birth of Jesus; according to the Hebrew calendar, it is the year 5773 not 2012.  Schools close for a week or two around Christmas and many businesses close for a few days so their employees may spend more time with their families.  Whether Christian or another denomination or no religious denomination, this is a time of year for families to travel to be together

My family is extremely close — if not in proximity then emotionally.  My parents were both born in Ireland and immigrated as young children to the United States with their parents and some of their older siblings.  There were three families who made the long journey across the Atlantic, and then across the vast United States, before settling in a small town on  the West Coast.  O’Malley, Donahue, Ryan — can you think of more Irish sounding surnames?  My parents were the youngest of their clans, along with another friend who grew up to be our family priest.  Joe, Mary, and Mike were frequently called The Three Musketeers.  Most of their extended families remained behind in Ireland.  The year was 1920 — long distance telephone calls across the Atlantic Ocean were much too expensive, cables were sent only in an emergency, and there was no instantaneous e-mail.  Letters.  Letters which were written once a week, and took up to three weeks to reach their destinations, were the only communication my grandparents had with their older children and their extended families.  Imagine how cherished each of those letters must have been to the people who received them.  It would be several years before other members of the three families began to sail to the United States — money was tight and it would take many years of hard work, and  scrimping and saving, to be able to afford the passage.

Joe and Mary grew up, graduated from college, married, and began their family; Mike grew up and was ordained a Roman Catholic priest.  Other than college and seminary, none of them moved from the small town in which their families had settled upon immigrating to the United States.  Close.  Close knit.  Tight.  Supportive.  Joe and Mary had six children — I am the youngest.  Mike returned home to be our parish priest where he baptized each of us, performed the wedding ceremonies of my siblings and their spouses, he was our spiritual leader, our friend, and our “uncle.”  Father Mike was like a second father to me.

A month after my fifth birthday, I contracted polio — a dreaded disease before the vaccine became readily available in 1955.  The family was quarantined, I was hospitalized and separated from my family, my mom was able to visit only once a week, but Father Mike was permitted to visit me every day.  Polio is something I rarely discuss — it is painful, both physically and emotionally.  However, polio became a part of who I am and surviving it influenced many of the decisions I have made as an adult.

I left home at 18 — to attend college, seminary, graduate school, and post-graduate school.  With the exception of two years, in the early 1990s, I have lived away from my family for over 40 years.  Initially, I left home to attain my education, but each time I returned home to visit, I realized that I would always be the “little brother.”  The sickly little brother who, by the way, threw away the braces and crutches to become an athlete.  I recovered and I never looked back until many years later.  I never looked back, but my older brothers and sisters couldn’t help but smother me with their love.  Knowing I would never marry, they thought it their duty to take care of me.  Funny, but with God’s guidance and with my friend, Jesus, walking beside me, I thought I could take care of myself.

I have lived on the West Coast, the East Coast, Eastern Europe immediately after the fall of Communism, and the Intermountain West. I have lived as far as 10,000 miles from my family but never closer than 400 miles.  I have lived within a Jesuit community, I have lived as a missionary in a foreign land, I have lived alone, I have had nephews live with me while they attend college.  And, the cripple does just fine.  Oops!  I have been reprimanded for using that word — disabled, handicapped, differently abled.  All are labels that seem negative so I just use whatever label speaks to me at the moment.

Yes, I am disabled.  I recovered from that initial bout of polio, tossing the crutches and braces in the trash by the time I was 10.  Other than one leg being slightly shorter than the other, I had no noticble residual effects of the polio.  By inserting a lift in my shoe, no one was the wiser that I had ever been sick.  I could run and play with my friends, my cousins, my siblings.  I could climb trees, I could ski, I played baseball on my high school and college teams.  Polio did not hold me back or slow me down.  Until I got sick again.  I had been living in Eastern Europe where polio had not been completely eradicated.  This time, I didn’t recover quite as well as the first time.  I couldn’t walk without assistance,  I couldn’t run and play, I couldn’t ski, I couldn’t climb trees.  I needed to use a wheelchair.

I lived with my parents for two years while I recovered and pondered where God was leading me.  Realizing I, once again, or still, was going to be the sickly little brother, I knew I had to escape or be smothered.  So, I headed east to teach at a university in a town where close friends had moved a few years earlier.  And, here I have lived for almost 20 years.  I move around campus under my own power, I drive, I play wheelchair basketball, I ski on a mono ski, I “run” in 5Ks and 10Ks, I have even been known to “hike” in the mountains on accessible trails.  Life is good.  Life is grand.

My family is the best.  They know why I escaped.  They know I need my space and I need to be independent.  They know they love me, dare I say,  too much.  I go home twice a year — Christmas and for a month in the summer.  They come to visit me several times a year and we talk on the phone or email a few times a week.  We are as tightly knit as ever, but I can breathe by living 800 miles from my hometown.

I am so very blessed to have the family I do.  They love me.  They love me unconditionally.  They support me in the decisions I make.  They have been there for me through thick and thin — when I have been sick and when I am healthy.  They allow me to make my own decisions.  I know they worry about me.  I know they will forever think of me as the little brother.  But, I also know how much I am loved and how much I love all of my family.

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 . . . .