We focused this year on making sure we didn't have the Great Deluge on Christmas Day, and instead stretched out the Christmas season, both as a sort of silent protest against the secular pre-Christmas bedlam that starts at Halloween and climaxes with a crashing halt on December 26 that is lifted only by the promise of the Valentine's Day paraphernalia that is put out by ill-natured drug store elves during the early-morning hours of the day after Christmas; and as a consciously Catholic recognition of the importance of the Epiphany. It went quite well, really. I think the kids are still young enough that the promise of one present each night excites giddiness, rather than irritating materialistic tendencies. Tonight, they opened their final presents. Buddy Monster got some lovely blocks; Bear Cub got some fun princessy Halloween costumes for dress-up; and then there was a final joint gift of play doh. Who wouldn't love that? Of course, the prospect of sharing the play doh resulted in a regrettable meltdown, but I suppose that goes with the territory. And a lovely bath was had with the new "water dolly" given by Gramma and Grampa. She so desperately wanted a dolly who could be in the bath with her. What she got was this truly bizarre mermaid-like critter with a tiny body and a head of such immensity it's almost troubling. But she can go in the bath and she is dearly, dearly loved. And she has been named Tinkerbell Emma Kluvitt (pro. Kloovit). I have no idea.
As we listened to the wind whipping about the house and anticipated markedly sub-zero temperatures and high winds, we felt the warmth of family life with which we have been blessed. We are truly, truly blessed on this Epiphany, both by our temporal comforts and our eternal hope.
And so we welcome the Gospel in the western world, and we recall the true meaning of Christmas, which, as Father Matthew Pfeiffer has pointed out, is always overshadowed by the cross, our true salvation and victory. Just as we have done our best to shun the secular Christmas Holly Jolly madness, we likewise recognize that Christmas is not utter rapturous joy. The God of all became a human being -- one of His own creation, and lower than the angels -- so that He might die for us. God in a manger -- a feeding trough. Heavenly host rejoicing that their Lord had become one of those who was beneath them. God as man. All a contradiction, just as Simeon had predicted. And God -- God as man -- would hang on a giant contradiction before the mocking crowds. And by his death, He would bring life. But that tiny baby in the manger whose virginal mother watched over Him -- over her own God whom she had just borne -- though entirely innocent, would die, as God knew. May we remember each year that the joy of Christmas must give way to the agony of the cross, and, in so doing, may we embrace our Saviour's incarnation with fervent hope, faithful joy, and eager anticipation for our salvation.
Deo gratias.
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