Our gaunt patron of sailors has become an overweight, jolly fellow created by Montgomery Wards. Our ‘nativity Lent’ has been preceded by ‘Black Friday’ which is supposed to help fix our economic woes (they are in the black while shoppers bleed more red).
I suppose it is a good thing that Advent coexists with the ‘holiday season.’ It is quite fitting and quite humbling to see our worst in print, advertising, billboards and everywhere else one may care to look. The season of Scrooge belongs right next to the (second and first) coming of Jesus, and the dusty prophet who paved Jesus’ way–that way our need of transformation and repentence is right there on the table. Kyrie Eleison!
Sounds like the faithful are going to get a good sermon tomorrow Padre! And I agree, Kyrie Eleison.
Advent time is the purple pre-dawn of the coming Sun of righteousness, its very air fragrant with the dark sweetness of repentance mixed with the hushed rose of generosity. It affects me like the earliest myrrh scented moments just before the general resurrection, when all the earth and sea, pregnant with invisible myriads of the dead, are about to give birth. He comes, He comes to judge the living and the dead. The King of kings of kings, blessed be He!
Advent, the cool, candle-lit antechamber of the coming Day.
Come, Lord Jesus.
There is absolutely nothing I can say on this subject that wasn’t said better by Lawrence Ferlinghetti in his poem, “Christ Climbed Down.” So, here it is…
Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no rootless Christmas trees
hung with candycanes and breakable stars
Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no gilded Christmas trees
and no tinsel Christmas trees
and no tinfoil Christmas trees
and no pink plastic Christmas trees
and no gold Christmas trees
and no black Christmas trees
and no powderblue Christmas trees
hung with electric candles
and encircled by tin electric trains
and clever cornball relatives
Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no intrepid Bible salesmen
covered the territory
in two-tone cadillacs
and where no Sears Roebuck creches
complete with plastic babe in manger
arrived by parcel post
the babe by special delivery
and where no televised Wise Men
praised the Lord Calvert Whiskey
Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no fat handshaking stranger
in a red flannel suit
and a fake white beard
went around passing himself off
as some sort of North Pole saint
crossing the desert to Bethlehem
Pennsylvania
in a Volkswagen sled
drawn by rollicking Adirondack reindeer
and German names
and bearing sacks of Humble Gifts
from Saks Fifth Avenue
for everybody’s imagined Christ child
Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no Bing Crosby carollers
groaned of a tight Christmas
and where no Radio City angels
iceskated wingless
thru a winter wonderland
into a jinglebell heaven
daily at 8:30
with Midnight Mass matinees
Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and softly stole away into
some anonymous Mary’s womb again
where in the darkest night
of everybody’s anonymous soul
He awaits again
an unimaginable
and impossibly
Immaculate Reconception
the very craziest of
Second Comings
All that being said, I do love Christmas. 😉