With due respect to Chesterton

The season of waiting is upon us. The local Borders has the perfect "Christmas" tree for the third week of Advent... it's an obnoxiously bright candy pink foil, about five feet high. It would look perfect in my youth room, but I'm sure someone would question the expense in these leaner days.

I'm gearing up to see my first peek of Chestertonian disgust as liturgically loyal Catholics harumph at decorations already lit or rail against the Merry Christmases said and given before the 24th. Without fail each year, some man gets up at the pulpit and reminds us to fix our eyes on the day to come, and stop celebrating the event during its advent.

I agree. To a point. We cannot truly, fully, and faithfully celebrate Christmas before Christmas. But there is some celebration to be had. Advent is, in a very real way, a pregnancy. A coming to term of a birth so magnificent that it changes the world, and every heart. And I have yet to see a mother who is excited for the birth of a child who does not celebrate the life within her while it is there. I have yet to hear anyone question the need or purpose of baby showers, nursery dressings, washing little clothing in Dreft before hospital day, or cooking countless meals to avoid having to cook post delivery. It is not only a preparation, but in some real measure, a celebration.

Perhaps, then, it is women who should be informing us how to approach Advent, and not the men. With all due respect, Chesterton probably only ever had to purchase a handful of gifts, write a couple of greeting cards, and go on his merry way. Chances are his sister or mother or Aunt Tilda cooked the Christmas goose, pies, and cookies that everyone enjoyed on the 24th. Likely he was thrilled to see the happy lights and bows and wreaths adorning homes and windows, and would have harrumphed himself if the labor involved in those efforts had come on the holy day itself. And again with respect, our men speaking from the pulpit are also likely to be cared for by the women in their lives. So how authoritatively can they talk about waiting? How much has any man really waited?

It seems to me that for men waiting is an all-or-nothing event. When you wait, there is nothing. It is a passive occasion, and it could pretty much kill you. When you are not waiting, you are doing. There really is nothing in between.

But for women, waiting is in no way passive. Waiting is honing your talents and character until the guy you like asks you out. It is praying and hoping while you wait for a ring. It is sending invites and buying dresses while you wait for your wedding day. It is feeling, little by little, each day, life growing inside you. There is nothing passive about these things. They are all in some way about relationshp, an intimacy with others that needs to be nurtured, crafted, protected, and loved. There is an activity that may look passive at times, but vitally moves a moment forward nonetheless.

And so I say - celebrate the waiting. Celebrate the child who is come, and is to come. Celebrate with wonder, with sacrifice, and with prayer. Celebrate in a way that is overshadowed by the great and awesome Joy of the Incarnation on that most holy day. But waiting without embracing the hope and the preparation, the work and the wonder, isn't waiting at all. It is disengaging. It ignores the gratuitous passionate thrill of life coming forth. It denies the light culminating each week on the wreath to whittle down the darkness.

Happy Advent, one and all.

Self-revelation

It's halfway through November and I have done nothing creative. I think perhaps I was juiced thoroughly scrambling to finish the last semester of schoolwork.

This is not to say that my mind is not scurrying hurriedly over and through and within and without the promises of womanhood and challenge, social justice and church life.

It occurs to me, again and again, that there is such great wisdom in this church we love. And then I remember JP II and his challenge to Mary Ann Glendon to discover the fulness of what the Feminine Genius is - he challenged her to define it thoroughly - gave woman, in her iconic hands, the charge of it. He was man enough to hand it over, to see the shining, glistening goodness of the feminine as it peeked and sparked under the rough exterior of hidden anthracite, and know that the diamond within was not something to be grasped at. He saw that this jewel could radiate in the heart of man and bring healing and strength... but was man enough to hand it over to its rightful owner... to let woman reveal her own glorious Self.

And so I hope even now that the men of the Church, the leaders, the ordained, the teachers, the speakers, the servants and the sinners, will be wise as JP II... that they will also be man enough to see the Feminine for what it is - part of the whole of the image of God. That they will man enough to put ego aside and allow woman to define this rich gem, this self.

And I challenge you men to honor the beauty stirring to come forth from the hidden shell. I urge you not to look away in discomfort from the radiance of womanhood. Rather, embrace it, encourage it, enliven it, honor it, and give this precious gift a place from which to shine.

For we too share this royal priesthood, and are also called out of darkness to shine in his marvelous light. Woman is just on the threshold of hope. Hope to participate in that fulness of life that comes from communion with Truth who is Jesus. Hope to shine like the woman clothed with the sun... and until that day when both male and female, as Image of God, can give mutually and fully, we will be missing the fulness of what it means to be human, in all its light and shadows.