On the Feast of St. Thomas: Scholar, Poet, Mystic, Saint

A.G. Sertillanges, in his little book The Intellectual Life, cautioned against those who would make a golden age out of some past epoch, thus becoming a "pallbearer at the funerals of the past." The French Dominican quickly retorts, "Every age is not as good as every other, but all ages are Christian ages."

Sertillanges wrote another little book, Thomas Aquinas: Scholar, Poet, Mystic, Saint, the first lines of which read, "All great men have understood their own age and furnished what it sought. This alone marks them out as heroes worthy of our admiration. But if there are among them men who represent our common nature in one of its permanent functions, their work outlives them, and their message makes a fresh appeal to each generation. St. Thomas is one of this number."

St. Thomas indeed lived within his time, and did so with excellence. He must dwell also in our time, but not in the way that some theologians suppose--those theologians who reach for a golden age that never was, thinking "Ah, if only..."

No, Thomas neither can nor should be invoked as the sola via, but he must be invoked. We must reexamine the scholar: his historical concerns, his theological advances, his fearless synthesis of Truth wherever it lie (whether in the pagan Aristotle or the Jewish Maimonides or the Muslim Averroes). But we also must not forget to reexamine simultaneously the poet, the mystic, the saint; for the titles remain inseparable.

Those in the East have often criticized St. Thomas for being a dry and static rationalist. Many in the West have offered the same criticism. Yet for anyone who has read the prayers and hymns of the Angelic Doctor, these criticisms remain entirely unfounded. For example:

Adoro te devote, latens Deitas, 

Quae sub his figuris vere latitas; 

Tibi se cor meum totum subiicit, 

Quia te contemplans, totum deficit. 

Godhead here in hiding, whom I do adore,
Masked by these bare shadows, shape and nothing more,
See, Lord, at thy service low lies here a heart
Lost, all lost in wonder at the God thou art.

(Gerard Manley Hopkins translation)

There are countless others of matched eloquence and beauty. In an age when we need ever more frequently the reminder that one cannot be a theologian unless he prays, Thomas could perhaps prove a most timely exemplar. For at the end of his days, when kneeling in the chapel before the Blessed Sacrament, Our Lord spoke to Thomas: "You have written well of me. What now do you ask in return?" Thomas' reply must never cease to be the response of theologians in every age: "Nil nisi te, Domine. Nil nisi te. Nothing but you, Lord. Nothing but you." 

A blessed feast of St. Thomas. 

Virgil

Great line from Virgil for thinking about literature:

"Nisus ait: 'dine hunc ardorem mentibus addunt,
Euryale, an sua cuique deus fit dira cupido?" (IX.184)

Or in Fagles' translation:

"Euryalus,"

Nisus asks, "do the gods light this fire in our hearts

or does each man's mad desire become his god?" (IX.220)

"Executioner, Why Do You Delay?": On the Feast of St. Agnes

Six feasts of St. Agnes ago, I first read this sermon. I have read it every January 21st since. It was originally delivered by St. Ambrose, fourth century Bishop and Doctor of the Church. The words remain to this day some of the more beautiful I have ever read; the theology some of the more profound. It is indeed a sermon worthy of its subject. And so, to Ambrose:

Today is the birthday of a virgin; let us imitate her purity. It is the birthday of a martyr; let us offer ourselves in sacrifice. It is the birthday of Saint Agnes, who is said to have suffered martyrdom at the age of twelve. The cruelty that did not spare her youth shows all the more clearly the power of faith in finding one so young to bear it witness.

There was little or no room in that small body for a wound. Though she could scarcely receive the blow, she could rise superior to it. Girls of her age cannot bear even their parents’ frowns and, pricked by a needle, weep as for a serious wound. Yet she shows no fear of the blood-stained hands of her executioners. She stands undaunted by heavy, clanking chains. She offers her whole body to be put to the sword by fierce soldiers. She is too young to know of death, yet is ready to face it. Dragged against her will to the altars, she stretches out her hands to the Lord in the midst of the flames, making the triumphant sign of Christ the victor on the altars of sacrilege. She puts her neck and hands in iron chains, but no chain can hold fast her tiny limbs.

A new kind of martyrdom! Too young to be punished, yet old enough for a martyr’s crown; unfitted for the contest, yet effortless in victory, she shows herself a master in valour despite the handicap of youth. As a bride she would not be hastening to join her husband with the same joy she shows as a virgin on her way to punishment, crowned not with flowers but with holiness of life, adorned not with braided hair but with Christ himself.

In the midst of tears, she sheds no tears herself. The crowds marvel at her recklessness in throwing away her life untasted, as if she had already lived life to the full. All are amazed that one not yet of legal age can give her testimony to God. So she succeeds in convincing others of her testimony about God, though her testimony in human affairs could not yet be accepted. What is beyond the power of nature, they argue, must come from its creator.

What menaces there were from the executioner, to frighten her; what promises made, to win her over; what influential people desired her in marriage! She answered: “To hope that any other will please me does wrong to my Spouse. I will be his who first chose me for himself. Executioner, why do you delay? If eyes that I do not want can desire this body, then let it perish”. She stood still, she prayed, she offered her neck.

You could see fear in the eyes of the executioner, as if he were the one condemned; his right hand trembled, his face grew pale as he saw the girl’s peril, while she had no fear for herself. One victim, but a twin martyrdom, to modesty and to religion; Agnes preserved her virginity, and gained a martyr’s crown.

The Gift of Art

In the classical tradition, a discipline was termed an art because it led to a product. Geometry and Arithmatic are thus considered arts in that they produce geometrical shapes and numerical quantities, respectively. In a more material sense, carpentry is an art in that through it one produces any number of goods: furniture, toys, tools, homes, and so on. These goods are useful for ulterior ends. But it is not just a product that affirms a discipline as an Art—if it were to be so, there would not be much of an interest in learning such a thing. Man’s sensibilities would never come into play. The aesthetic movement of the 19^th Century coined the phrase, “Art for art’s sake”. With this there became an added dimension to the understanding of Art—production itself is now desirous for its own sake—art did not have to be for the purpose of another thing, it could just be. It also could just be without any connection to its source.

But can art ever be produced into its own distinct and autonomous existence? I don’t believe that it can. But why not? In the contemporary sense, art is an outpouring of the creative faculty (still in line with the traditional sense as there is a product involved). This can take the form of music, illustration, literature, theater, and so on. I do not preclude any of the sciences from being considered arts, and nor do I; I refer here to only the Fine Arts simply because I believe they illustrate the point all the more clearly. With each production there is an impartation of self to that object. They are at once old, and new—foreign, yet familiar. Art cannot be wholly other. There is definite link between creator and created. Any drawing—pencil or pen—shall have contours, and shadings familiar and comfortable to the hand that produces them.

The peculiar smile in the portrait of a woman as she sits in a park is the impression of the artist that his subject is light-hearted. Whether or not it is true of the woman posing for the artist, the artist has seen it, and he has captured it. He has made it his, and there it lies as a witness to his vision. Of course, there are objective qualities of any artwork that may lead to a collective consideration of greatness. These are not discounted—but each, and every production is the creation of a being. The creations of man are passageways to his inner being—reflections of the source whence they came. They may come out as the delightful symphonies of Bach, or the surreal paintings of Picasso, Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot”, or Shakespeare’s “Twelth Night”—but all of these are productions of man, and some part of those men becomes a part of those productions.

While this may be true—that in producing art we are granting a reflection of our inner being—we must stray from the perception that this originality is purely ours, rather, as C.S. Lewis says: “[originality] is the prerogative of God alone”. It is not that we wrench from God his creative act, rather, we participate in the Creation by offering reflections of the Divine Beauty through our own endowed talents, and respective mediums. It is actually in creating that we more perfectly participate in being created in the image and likeness of God. This is drawn from Tolkien’s own personal theory of “sub-creation”,

Therefore, Tolkien continued, not merely the abstract thoughts of man but also his imaginative inventions must originate with God, and must in consequence reflect something of eternal truth. In making a myth…a storyteller, or ‘sub-creator’…is actually fulfilling God’s purpose, and reflecting a splintered fragment of the true light. Pagan myths are therefore never just ‘lies’: there is always something of truth in them.

There is another side to the production of art well worth considering: posterity. How many of us can say that we own something that was created by an ancestor, and passed down through the ages? I imagine few—though I would hope for more. I believe there exists a consensus that all things done manually carry more meaning than those purchased at a steal of a price. I could buy a birthday card, or I could take the time to design one on a blank piece of paper. I could send an email, or I could write, by hand, a letter to a loved one. I could buy a new toy from Hasbro, or I could carve a toy soldier from a block of wood. The wooden rocking horse that is passed down from age to age didn’t exist at one point. It came into an ancestor’s mind, and it became tangibly manifest through his hands. When you sit and play on that rocking horse you are participating in a vision that belongs to your forefather. He saw children laughing, and truly riding into the sunset. There is a sense of pride, tradition, and love that is passed down. The gift of art.

Posterity, and Godliness. In creating art, we participate in revealing the never-ending expanse of truth. This is a good for evangelization, certainly. There are mediums that will speak to all sorts of people. But this is even more important for us as individuals, and as created beings of God. God, in His infinite Love, created. Man, too, creates because man is a likeness of God. We share in His joy, and in His love by participating in His work. In creating art, we pass on that joy that we’ve come to love and is so central to our being. We should all find an art that we are drawn to. It is God’s gift to us that we should participate with Him—let us use our talents with our children in mind, and for God's greater glory.

Detailing the Keeping of Christmas

Forewarning: What follows is lengthy, but uniquely and necessarily so. 

In my last post, I argued that a return to the Christian Christmas in our culture and, moreover, to a Christian culture in general, requires an immersion of the Christian in Christian time, in the Holy Ground of the liturgical seasons. Our culture has a Christian nature, formed through and in time. Rather than fighting in the secular Christmas season and on its terms, the War on Christmas and for the culture can only be won by the individual’s return to these Christian grounds.

I offer in what follows practical ways for the individual and the family to restore the full observance of Advent and Christmas. These suggestions born from my own experience are lengthy because they are detailed. I write with such detail because the greatest temptation derives from the busyness and noise of the secular season. Paying careful attention to lost traditions and to the call of Christian time seems frivolous and simply “extra work” in light of the other demands of the secular Christmas. Therefore, I give details that I hope will guide people on each step of this return to camp. Additionally, I provide these ideas at this time of the year so that the reader might ruminate on these revisions in light of their recent Christmastime and come to cultivate, throughout the year, a willing desire to guard against secular temptations next November and to prepare for active implementation of some of these changes.

First I wish to deal with the spiritual, and this can be brief. A book of Advent meditations is crucial to restoring Advent observance in one’s life, for such a book recalls us to the reality of the season on a daily basis, preparing us for the onslaught we will face in advertisements and the media. I highly recommend this series from Liguori Publications.

Next, as far as symbols and traditions are concerned, the Advent Wreath provides an almost irreplaceable center for the season. But since the Advent Wreath had been an inveterate practice in my house, the most influential change my family has made during the past two Advents has been the Christmas tree. The most traditional relationship between the iconic evergreen and the season would ask that we cut down and decorate the tree on Christmas Eve. However, perhaps this is a bit of an uprooting change from our modern traditions, especially if one has young children. Instead, to ward off the shock of leaving the house suddenly barren for most of December, our family adopted the approach of a former professor of mine. During Gaudete Sunday (the Third, "Rejoicing" Sunday of Advent), we have a miniature celebration of anticipation by setting up the Christmas tree; but we decorate it only with white lights and a single purple ribbon that spirals around the tree. The tree makes present an increasing brightening in the house and follows the order of the Advent season in growing anticipation. It complements but does not overwhelm the Advent Wreath. If one has young children, each child could add one ornament each day of Advent, imitating the tradition of an Advent Calendar. By Christmas Eve, the tree is decorated and then lit after Midnight Mass.

One of the things I have hoped to pass on in this pair of posts is a few helpful principles for implementing changes conducive to the proper observance of Advent and Christmas. The Christmas tree affords the opportunity to point out one such principle of meaningful but gradual changes: Don't go cold turkey, especially with children. Unroll these changes over two seasons or so. Moreover, always explain and keep in mind why these changes are being made. For instance, several members of my family were "sad" or "down" when they looked at the "Advent" tree on December 23^rd and thought how empty and dark the house seemed. My response was that this was exactly how they should have felt: restless, a little empty, eager. The Advent season prepared us for the re-realization of the Incarnation in both the world and our life by imitating a world and life devoid of our Savior. It calls us to review our lives and make this sacrifice of absence in a similar way to Lent's demand for "patience, penance, prayer." The somewhat desolate yet hopeful tree, "bedecked with jewels" and cloaked in a "dirty, purple" ribbon, unite the Bride of Christ—the Church—to the Cross of Christ in His Incarnation, Passion, and Resurrection, all of which will soon be celebrated in the procession of the Church's new liturgical year. We must be gradual and explicative of meaning as we return to our holy territory in the War on Christmas.

Another change that was made was the division of all of our Christmas music into playlists of "Advent/pre-Christmas" and "Christmas." Especially with today's digitalized storage of music, the assembly of separate playlists for Advent and Christmas is very easy, if one will take about an hour to do so. From the first Sunday of Advent, we listened only to Advent music or secular carols singing of the coming of Christmas…and of Santa, for we need not strip the season of all its secular traditions, but rather return them to their proper place and time. "O Come, O Come Emmanuel," "It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas," and "Santa Clause is Coming to Town" were all found, among others, on our pre-Christmas playlist. Of course, to follow these playlists almost rules out the radio; but perhaps that is all the better. And like the Advent tree, listening to a more selective list of songs leading up to Christmas, devoid of some of the most beautiful in the Christmas genre, leaves one longing, slightly bored, and eager for the trumpets to blast "Hark the Herald Angels Sing!" And when they do at Midnight Mass, when the church is filled with the most majestic and royal of religious Christmas hymns about that very night on that very night, when "O Come All Ye Faithful" truly calls all we faithful to the celebration of that midnight hour at that midnight hour and for the first time that season, what insuperable Christmas joy does one find, akin to that of the shepherds and angels, those shepherds who had lived dull, barren, lonely, and dark lives! What a reward for a season well-kept and how much more closely are we drawn to the reality of the Incarnation!

Regarding other decorations, a crèche may be set up indoors or out, but refrain from placing the Infant Jesus in the manger until you celebrate with the church that same beloved action of His Blessed Mother. And set the Magi off in a different part of the room or yard until Epiphany: have a little geography in your home, a Bethlehem here and a Persia there.

Until the Christmas decorations are put up, one could adorn the house with simple swatches of purple, either in ribbon or ornaments or candles. As for Christmas decor, follow the two-year plan: decorate on the third or fourth Sunday of Advent the first year and on Christmas Eve the next. And rediscover the real. Use real garland and holly and ivy and mistletoe (and do use the mistletoe!). Growing and making your own real decor may be a long-term practice to consider, for it enables us to apply our physical effort and time to the adornment of our home for Christ, like Joseph at the workbench or he and his wife on the difficult journey to Bethlehem. Tie our lives to the life symbolized in such greenery. Regarding baked goods, wait. Wait at least until Christmas Eve. In fact, Advent might very well involve some sort of fasting. But the Twelve Days of Christmas are meant to be a tremendous feast, as the centuries testify to.

I will admit that refraining from saying "Merry Christmas" during Advent, and during your Christmas shopping, may be too much of a retreat from opportunities to evangelize others and the culture. Nonetheless, as ridiculous as it may sound to our modern ears, wishing someone a "Blessed Advent and Merry Christmas!" may be an adequate replacement for "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year" or, more definitely so, "Happy Holidays." A puzzled look for a response may be the beginning of awakening our culture from its numbness to its Christian heritage. Besides, an explanation, if someone asks, is easy and charitably provoking.

So much for the active keeping of Advent. Now for Christmas, the Twelve Days of Christmas, that tremendous festival and feast.

Christmas cards and Christmas parties are called "Christmas" for a reason. I now write and send Christmas cards during the Twelve Days of Christmas, dating them as whatever day of Christmas on which I happen to write. Yes, it makes for a bit busier time after Christmas in this one respect. But should not our token gifts of thought and time for our friends and family receive proper attention, set apart from the hubbub of the supposed secular “preparation” for Christmas—where Christmas cards are tempted to be sloppily and mechanically written and hurriedly postmarked—and instead settled into a time of rejoicing and rest in which our minds can wonder and love more clearly and completely? The same principle applies to Christmas parties. The Christmas season calls for great and numerous celebrations, especially the famous "Twelfth Night" party. Move Christmas gatherings to December 25 and thereafter. 

It is also important, I have found, to resurrect some bygone traditions that are not of an explicitly religious nature. For instance, this Christmastime my family roasted chestnuts over an open fire, hung wet socks from shoveling snow or ice skating from the fireplace mantel to dry by the fire, and strung cranberries and popcorn for the Christmas tree. Song, game, and story can also be researched and revived, such as the learning and singing of the "Twelve Days of Christmas" and the Christian meaning behind each set of gifts; "Good King Wenceslas" on the Feast of St. Stephen (December 26); and "Christmas in Killarney" or "Auld Lang Syne." And these latter two touch on rediscovering the Christmas traditions of one's ancestry and the shared viewing of classic Christmas movies, respectively. These old traditions may not have any formal relationship to the liturgical calendar, but they can complement, in fun ways, the return to an older order of December life for the Christian, especially during the suddenly depleted Advent season. Next year I hope to have a Yule Log and make wassail ale. Of course, during all these festivities of the Twelve Days of Christmas, including the drinking and eating and merrymaking, the Christmas playlist should be played in the background and certain songs may only begin to tire by the 6th of January rather than by the Feast of St. Nicholas.

Finally, one ought not neglect to observe the entire Christmastime, for the Christmas season actually continues through both the Twelve Days and Epiphany until the Baptism of Jesus, the Sunday following Epiphany. This part of keeping Christmas demonstrates an especially clear instance of what I find to be the inherently human effect of the liturgical calendar on our very beings. Advent, properly observed, is like Lent and calls for reflection, prayer, and preparation for His coming. We are seeking again to be transformed by the Creator entering into the created world and the consequences of this very real event for all mankind. By Christmas, we hope to have allowed our souls to be transformed into, as Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote, "New Nazareths, where she may yet conceive Him/Morning, noon, and eve,/New Bethlems, and He born there/Evening, noon, and morn." We rejoice for His coming and hope for His return. We find living the Christian life during this season just a little more natural, a little sweeter to the will as the object of our being is re-presented. But then, in following the secular celebration of Christmas, all suddenly stops and charity and newness of life seem to be confined to the Christmas season only.

Not for the Christian. The transformation that has flowed over our hearts and homes, our relationships and faith, our minds and wills by the proper observance of the liturgical seasons, this total experience is meant to become a permanent part of us. In a sense, Christmas is to be carried in our very beings to every day and situation throughout the year, throughout our lives. After Epiphany, the carols are tested to see if their melodies have been entwined in our hearts. The wishes of good will are tested in a return to the common place. In these last days of Christmas, as we slowly begin to take down the decorations and to turn down the music, we are gradually and gently moved by the liturgical motion of our mother's caressing arms back into the everyday. “Keeping Christ in Christmas” by “keeping Advent and Christmas” keeps Christ in us and in our culture. It allows us to radiate Him to others, to spread the Christ in CHRISTmas through us to others. 

True faithfulness to Advent and Christmas first provokes the culture and causes a mess in the modern order of things. Out of this mess can arise that daily and everlasting dialogue of Christian love that our world so desperately and so continuously needs.

It is my hope that, by sharing these tips from my attempts to return to a fuller observance of Advent and Christmas, others might find themselves pining for such a return next year. And while an increasing number of traditional Christians have given voice to the need for such a return, I hope that the details of my experience can lend practical guidance to others, that they and our world may fully experience the wisdom and transforming joy of Advent and Christmas, and that we may win the War for Christmas and our culture on Holy Ground.

Unexpected Teachers: Freedom From the Silver Chair

Last semester, I opened up C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia for the first time in over a decade. Seeking the balance of a brandy old fashioned—the sweetness of a fairy tale with my daily rigors in theology—I found the mix rather refreshing, and much stronger than I remembered. Lewis’s magical drama not only brought me a smile after a long day trudging through dogmatics (a joyous trudge, mind you), but surprisingly matched those theological treatises pound for pound in depth and clarity—with wit often far surpassing.

One such truth I discovered in the most unlikely place—book six, The Silver Chair. That was the one book in the septilogy I had never read, figuring it only an insignificant pebble before the mountain of The Last Battle. Since finishing it, however, The Silver Chair has occupied my mind to the strangest degree, leaving the other six in want of attention. The stone which the builders rejected…

In short, the tale chronicles the quest of Eustace, Jill, and Puddleglum in their search for Prince Rilian, the rightful heir to the throne of Narnia, who had been kidnapped by a witch in his youth. Their journey takes them down into the underworld, where they come upon Prince Rilian, but recognize him not. So enamored and possessed by the witch (his queen), Rilian appears to have no memory of his Narnian past, instead sounding like a puppet of his wicked captor. Rilian reveals to the trio that each night he undergoes what the witch calls his “evil hour.” He says “They bind me hand and foot… none but the queen herself remains [in the room]… she would not willingly suffer any ears but her own to hear the words I utter in that frenzy.” In her absence, however, Rilian invites the travellers to remain in the room, if they dare, on one condition—they are by no means to cut the cords which bind him to the silver chair, no matter how much he plead; doing so would change him into a loathsome serpent. They are to wait and watch until this spell is past.

Eustace, Jill, and Puddleglum all agree that none shall set him free. Yet his utterances were far from what they expected. “Enchantments… clammy web of evil magic… Dragged down under the earth,” Rilian sporadically utters in anguish:

Oh have mercy. Let me feel the wind and see the sky… Quick, I am sane now! Every night I am sane. If only I could get out of this enchanted chair, it would last. I should be a man again… Have they told you that if I am released from this chair I shall kill you and become a serpent? I see by your faces that they have. It is a lie. It is at this hour that I am in my right mind.

Rilian’s pleas become more frantic and desperate as the hour continues. He seeks confirmation in his moment of sanity, his moment of memory. And while the three travellers stand fast on account of his earlier caution, they are simultaneously troubled: which is the sane Rilian, which is bewitched? Only when Rilian cries out “By the great Lion, by Aslan himself, I charge you—” do the three realize that Rilian’s mind in this “evil hour” is sane, and that the Rilian they first met was a cursed shadow of the true man. They release him. And far from turning into a serpent, he remains instead a man, and goes on to fulfill his mission as a prince of Narnia.

I believe Lewis here has captured the very heart of our mission as educators, theologians, and men. The students of our age, so enamored with the witches of this world, have lost sight of their past and thus their identity—but never entirely. We never completely lose ourselves, no matter how deeply entrenched in sin and sorrow. There always remains a hint of memory, a faint desire, a restless spirit. There always remains a mustard seed of humanity begging for cultivation.

And that, perhaps, is our role: cultivation. Amidst the voices of this age, there remains in every man a desire for the good and the true. Yet the world mocks this desire, labeling it a fit of insanity, an evil hour. It takes a wise man to recognize and affirm this desire; to tell him that following it will not turn him into a prude, a wretch, a throwaway—a serpent, as it were—but rather that following it will set him free. It will keep him human.

What does this look like? “No, young man or woman, that was not a weird coincidence, but the grace of God. The desire for greatness is not a romantic idealism but rather a reality check. You are not insane, you are called.”

In his usual way, Lewis spoke in a simple story what many a theologian cannot speak in volumes. As such, my evening refreshment proved a far stiffer drink than I bargained for. Paradoxically, after seven of them, I saw things far more clearly.

"Keep Christ in Christmas" vs. "Keeping Christmas"

Today is the last day of Christmastide, at least in the Catholic liturgical calendar and, if one digs deep enough, probably in several more orthodox protestant denominations. As such, today ends, at least for me, the latest battle in the so-called "War on Christmas", as popular media outlets and traditionalist Christian groups have dubbed the radical secularization of the Christian holiday. As the final carols clear the air at today's daily Mass, it seems fitting to review the 2013 installment of this annual conflict, evaluating objectives and success in light of these goals. 

It appears to be rather universally agreed that a successful and ultimate conclusion to the War on Christmas from the point of view of Christians is a restoration or, at the very least, a recognition by the culture that Christmas is based on the Incarnation of the Word of God. In more simple and more marketable terms, victory consists in keeping "Christ" in "Christmas." 

But for all our casting of this effort for a restoration of Christian culture in terms of a military conflict, this war has developed into a situation very uncommon to wars in history. For although we, the Christian bloc, are clearly fighting a defensive war, we somehow find ourselves fighting, and losing, in the territory of the offending party. Japan has attacked the United States and the United States is fighting on the Japanese mainland in a worse condition than she found herself after Pearl Harbor. If we’re in enemy territory, we should be winning. We're not. This is why.

The day after Halloween, the Black Friday commercials hit the air and the stores vomit red and green and Rudolph. Holiday cards, ugly sweater party invites, and pleas for charitable donations (with a boldfaced note regarding your possible tax deduction) all flood the mailboxes. And we counter by shopping Black Friday on Christian bookstore websites, putting our "Keep Christ in Christmas" bumper stickers on our cars, sending "Madonna and Child" Christmas cards, answering "Happy Holidays" with "Merry Christmas," and throwing CHRISTmas parties. From November 1 to December 25, it is a season of intense secularization trading holiday lingo with Christian rebuttals. This is the Christmas season on which the battle is being fought.

But the liturgical calendar and Christian tradition claim a different field of battle. Christmas begins on December 25. Beginning four Sundays before December 25 is Advent. December 25 through the Solemnity of Mary the Mother of God on January 1 and to January 6 comprises the Twelve Days of Christmas. From December 25 through Epiphany and up to the Sunday celebrating the Baptism of Our Lord in the Jordan is Chirstmastide. So far as we regard the church, our boundaries are clearly defined. Unlike the unbounded lines in the War on Terror or even the years-old trenches of the Great War, our front lines are centuries old and marked in time.

In our fight to defend this solemn territory, we must fight to bring this war back to the Holy Ground which Christian tradition has established as our camp, for  "Yahweh your God goes about the inside of your camp to guard you and put your enemies at your mercy" (Deuteronomy 23:15). And indeed, what mercy we will show these secular enemies as we imitate and have born anew in our hearts the Infant Jesus, the beginning of that great Being of Mercy who brings us salvation!

Of course, what I am talking about is a return to the proper observance of the liturgical seasons of Advent and Christmas, for we have exceeded the temporal boundaries of the seasons and find ourselves fighting and losing on enemy territory, not on holy, but on secular ground. We cannot and will not win if the battlefield is secular holiday season that collapses back into the everyday world on December 26. 

Encouragingly, I see an increased interest and recognition of the fundamental importance of returning to our liturgical homeland. I think it not too fantastical to cite the allegorical use of “territory” and “ground” as the foundation of our Christian mission against our secular culture, both in general and during Christmas, and others agree. Over the course of two seasons since discovering the beauty and power of the proper observance of Advent and Christmas, my family is now concluding the most meaningful holiday season we have yet experienced in our home.

As a small gift to all who read this, in the next post I wish share the slight changes and helpful suggestions that our family followed in keeping Christ in Christmas by keeping Christmas. While other blogs and writers have advocated a return to the complete observance of Advent and Christmas, I hope to provide detailed, practical ways to restore the seasons and to mark out the challenges of such a return and how to overcome these temptations.