Novelty and Tradition

“I hope SAINT NICHOLAS doesn’t forget to give us chocolate,” the seven-year-old said, staring fixedly at me.

She needn’t have worried: despite my generally lackluster performance this year as Advent Family Craft coordinator, I would come through with chocolate. This much, I can handle.

I married a cradle Catholic, both of us of Irishy semi-German American mixed nuts descent. We were each raised in the faith by parents who appreciated the beauty of the liturgy and our rich heritage of – you know, all that Catholic good stuff. Fish on Fridays, the blessing before meals, rosaries in the house, assorted religious artwork.

And while I do remember having an Advent wreath on our table, and a vague sense of the Jesse Tree being A Thing, my mom never felt it incumbent upon her to live out the season as liturgically as possible through special books, crafts, and rituals. There just weren’t that many liturgical traditions in our family – or in my husband’s. Cue Grumpy Old Man: “and we LIKED it that way!”

I’m feeling a bit of holiday overwhelm already, and I haven’t even started the Christmas shopping. While it’s been a few months since we relocated to our new city, there is still much unpacking to be done, and the Advent wreath is somewhere in a green Rubbermaid tub marked “Christmas/Advent/misc.” It’s the “misc” that will do you in. “Misc.” describes about 98% of my consciousness right now – floating, uncategorized, in stasis.

So we’re laming out on Advent. I feel bad, because there are so many lovely books out there (speaking of which, have you entered the fantastic Ten Amazing Days of Advent book giveaway at Amazing Catechists?) I do have a Magnificat Advent Companion, and I even know where it is. There’s that. And, of course, the celebration of St. Nicholas Day, an ancient tradition we’ve appropriated despite never having celebrated it as children.

I feel like an overenthusiastic graduate student could write a searing commentary on the significance of seeking out liturgical traditions from a patchwork of cultures to create some ideal home environment for passing down the faith. (I live my life in fear of the commentaries of grad students.) There is something very artificial about the entire enterprise, and yet – it does make our life the richer to measure the seasons by remembering our ancestors in faith. That, of course, is our true heritage, and perhaps it doesn’t matter if we’re not really sure how to pronounce oplatki if it allows us to appreciate the tradition and make memories of our own.

Another thing I’m missing this year is musical preparation for Christmas, in that I’m not singing in a choir for the first time in many years. I’ve always enjoyed emerging from a choir rehearsal into the cold darkness of the parking lot, the melody line echoing in my ears and knowing that it’s almost here. Christmas is coming. The Advent seasons during which I myself was pregnant were particularly moving, not only because of hormones but also because of a deeper kinship with Mary, a deeper understanding of joyful expectation.

The kids are in choir, though, and I mean a real fancy choir, not just deck them halls and all that stuff.

In some ways, my minimalist approach to Advent this year may be a good thing, since I am sparing us all the usual manic coordination of Advent-themed family time. (The dumbest year of all was when I decorated the tree…but with purple ribbons. A pre-decoration, to signify the coming actual decoration of the tree. Purple ribbon was on sale that year.)

We’ll get there anyway, to Christmas. And somewhere among all of the “Giftmas” frenzy, we’ll find a bit of silence.