“Synchronicity.” That’s the word one journalist used in a Nov. 3 Instagram post to describe the fact that Election Day fell on the feast day of St. Martin de Porres, the patron saint of social justice. It was a timely reminder, he felt, to vote with those ideals in mind, to imagine the kind of world the 17th-century Dominican lay brother was trying to bring about.
Since moving to Connecticut, I’ve grown to appreciate the seasons even more than when I lived in Virginia. Sure, northern Virginia has four distinct seasons, but they somehow seem more distinct here, the transitions between them sharper, clearer. And just as the natural seasons are more defined here, so are the liturgical seasons more clearly defined this year — the year of the everything unprecedented. It’s not the same old Advent come again. It’s new.
We could be forgiven this Advent for slipping into a mindset of “waiting” for Christmas — for counting down to the Big Day. After all, this year has felt like one long wait: for shelves to be restocked, for schools and offices to reopen, for a vaccine ... and a return to “normal.”
"There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens. A time to give birth, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant. A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to tear down, and a time to build. A time to weep, and a time to laugh."
A friend on Facebook started a 30-day gratitude challenge Nov. 1. Every day, she posts something for which she is grateful. She doesn’t repost other people’s landscape photos with fancy fonts. She actually thinks it through and comes up with unique posts reflecting her life and her gratitude style.
It was a tiny, home-sewn apron, made for a child of 3 or 4 that I unpacked from a box of miscellaneous memorabilia in my family home. Judging from the small size, the autumnal pattern, the familiar tiny stitches, and some vague but happy memories, I am guessing that my grandmother handmade this apron for either my sister or me so that we would be dressed appropriately for the joyous fanfare that involved making Thanksgiving dinner at my grandmother’s house. As I recall, this was a multi-day event that involved a crowded small kitchen, homemade pasta, Neapolitan desserts, fruit canned back in the summer and, I suppose, a turkey less enthusiastically included to add an all-American touch to our otherwise Italian feast.
For most of 2020, many of us have echoed the words of the Psalmist: “How long, O Lord? (Ps 13:2) How long must we endure this pandemic and wear face masks? When can we be freed from the impersonal social distancing norms and greet others again with a hug, a handshake or a kiss? From March until May, Catholics in our diocese weren’t able to attend Mass and many longed to receive the Lord again in the Eucharist. Those who had been daily communicants cried: “How long must I carry sorrow in my soul, grief in my heart day after day?” (Ps 13:3). Our persistent questioning “when?” and “how long?” during the COVID-19 crisis echoes the same expectant waiting and longing of the season of Advent.
In 1858, a small town in southern France was graced by extraordinary events. In February that year, a young girl named Bernadette Soubirous, along with her sister and friend, went to collect bones and wood. Bernadette removed her socks to cross a stream and when she heard the sound of the wind, she looked up toward a grotto. There, she saw a lady dressed in white. She wore a white veil, blue belt and a yellow rose on each foot. Bernadette made the sign of the cross and prayed the rosary with the lady before she disappeared.
"They're shutting down Christmas," she muttered as she bagged my groceries without lifting her eyes. "Simple as that. There won't be Christmas this year."
Single-minded devotion
This second week of Advent draws up before our eyes the vision of John the Baptist, mighty in word and deed, the great Forerunner of the Messiah. Mark’s Gospel paints for us an evocative picture of this desert-dwelling man, dressed in camel hair, living on locusts and honey, and proclaiming repentance. What do these details tell us about John the Baptist, and why is he so important for us, even today?