The importance of antici--wait for it...
Dec. 7th, 2018 06:40 amWaiting for Advent in Ordinary Time is a really, really, Catholic thing. (
umadoshi provided the link, many thanks, honest!) Or at least, really a thing for any denomination of Christianity that celebrates Advent and has a liturgical year in much the same way that Catholics do. If I wanted to be snarky about it, I could sum up the piece as "the religious reasons why the starting of the Christmas season earlier and earlier every year is a bad idea", but that makes the piece sound more like it cares about the commercialization and the trappings and the way that some people get wound up about a nonexistent War on Wintermas and the increasing proliferation of Vague Early Winter Possibly Religious Festivals. It's not about that. In fact, it makes a very cogent argument that people who are getting obsessed with the trappings and the outward signs and the insistence on correct speech and wanting to start earlier are doing so out of a desire to cover over a very real problem.
First, some background, as the piece itself assumes that you are either of the relevant denomination or have studied it well enough that you don't need someone to explain it all to you. For Catholics (and please add all the relevant others who follow the same pattern, mea culpa that I don't know all of you), the liturgical part of the service usually consists of a first reading from the "Old Testament" (which covers both Tanakh and deuterocanonical books), as it is usually referred to, covering the period from creation and exile from the initial paradise and the covenants made between The Being Represented By The Tetragrammaton and his chosen people throughout the recorded history of those people, up to the birth of Jesus.), a second reading from the Christian Foundational Writings (the "New Testament", covering the life of Jesus and his first cohorts of disciples, as well as letters to various communities, either of faith or considering it, usually attributed to or written in the style of Paul of Tarsus, other more generally-addresses letters, and the Apocalypse of John, usually at the end, as a way of covering the eventual end of existence and return of Jesus to begin the new holy age) that is specifically not one of the Gospels (so usually something from Acts or from the Epistles), and then a Gospel reading. Often times, these readings are linked, either thematically, or positioned in such a way that things mentioned in Tanakh as things to come then find their resolution in the later readings.
(Nota bene: what qualifies as part of the canon of Christianity is not universally accepted between denominations, nor sometimes within various groups of nominally the same denomination. A Christian Bible includes and excludes based on translation and the accepted conventions of the denomination or group that is publishing the work. Generally, most Bibles work from one or another of the Protestant canon, and then the good ones tend to have annotation and include works that are apocryphal, pseudepigraphal, or deuterocanonical according to those denominations [or generally accepted scholarly consensus] so that those who aren't Protestants still have the books of their canon if they need to do some scholarly work. Which is to say, when you talk about the Christian Bible, it's complicated. We now return you to your regularly scheduled post.)
The readings themselves are laid out in accordance with the liturgical year, with specific readings and themes highlighted for major events across the calendar year. Advent-Christmas-Epiphany focuses on the birth of Christ and the revelation of his divine nature, Lent-Easter-Pentecost on the death and resurrection of Jesus and the beginnings of the new church, and so forth. Most of the liturgical year, however, is simply "Ordinary Time" - no specific focus on a particular aspect of Jesus and the church, with a rotation among the possible readings such that someone would hear, in pieces, anyway, the entirety of the Catholic Bible on a cycle before beginning again. Much of religious practice is ordinary, both in the sense of not-special, and also in the way of counting time. Catholics and other Christians alike wait and count time before the return of their messianic figure. Waiting for a Messiah is something Christians inherited from Judaism, but Christians say they found theirs and are waiting for his return, rather than still waiting for one to appear.
So, Advent is a specific season within the liturgical year - the four Sundays before Christmas are reserved specifically for messages and themes that are about the time before the birth of Christ. Its major theme is "waiting", more so than in the Ordinary, and it's different than the waiting of Lent. Lent is a season of waiting in fear, because the story of Lent is essentially the part where you know how things are going to end. There will be betrayal, unjust suffering, and eventually, the death of an innocent. And then the miracle of resurrection punctures the darkness for a bit, but there's still more time past that point where everyone is still huddling in fear, because only those few people who were there right at the point of the resurrection have been graced with seeing the resurrected Jesus (until Pentecost, anyway.) Advent, on the other hand, is all about the anticipation of what will be the greatest miracle of all time - the birth of a fully divine, fully human person able to navigate the requirements of the old agreements, fulfill them, and then produce a new, universal, atemporal covenant between The Being Represented By The Tetragrammaton and all the people that choose to swear their allegiance to said Being.
But it isn't Christmas yet. There's an enforced period of waiting that has to be gone through first. Waiting is hard. We all know that. And I like the way that the article writer (Laura Jean Truman) acknowledges that humans are terrible at waiting, especially when we have insecurities and low trust that the promised thing in the future will happen. That marshmallow experiment about instant versus delayed gratification you might be thinking of? Turns out it's not about impulse control! The data from the experiment about whether someone takes one marshmallow now or two later has a much better fit if what's being tested is whether or not the child trusts that the adult will come back with two marshmallows if they wait. Now scale that up to a thing that's been promised (eternal life in the kingdom to come) but that you have to trust is going to happen after your physical body dies. (Catholics aren't really all that much about Rapture theology. When you've been around as long as they have, you realize that you're most likely on the slow road to eternity. You still need to be prepared in case you're wrong, but the idea is basically that it's not going to happen in your lifetime.) Given that there's only one account of a person who came back to life after being deliberately killed (and then had his body mutilated further as a proof of death), logic is screaming at you that resurrection is a fool's idea. So you gotta have faith. Faith in the highly improbable, at least from what we can observe. But you don't know, and that means you have to wait to find out. And we're terrible at waiting.
What I like the most about this piece is the encouragement to sit in the waiting, and recognize it, and dig into the reasons why you're antsy about waiting. You can look around and see that the ideal world, the one that's supposed to be the Kingdom promised to you from the beginning of time, it's not here, and it doesn't look like it's going to be any time soon. There are real, structural problems in the world around you. And it's a lot easier to pretend they aren't there, to believe it's all fine, to skip ahead to the announcement of Christmas and insist that the happy times are here and there's no need to dwell on upsetting things. If your faith is strong enough, you'll see it through, right? Except for the part where it's not "sit in your faith until you die and I'll reward you," is it? And there's no part that says "Well, if you give a homeless guy $20 once a year, and you keep your faith until you die, well, that's enough." No, what's there is the kind of stuff you get from the Apocalypse of John, the stuff that says "Every time you did good things to the least of the people around you, you did what I wanted, and I will reward you," and stuff that talks about how the person with nothing that still gives to others is much better than the person who has a lot and just gives from their excesses. Or even the parts about those who acquire material things and treasure on earth have already received their rewards...or that it's much harder for them to get to that eternal reward with the material stuff getting in the way. Throwing out moneychangers. Demanding that every seventh year, fields be left unworked (and the fruits that grow in those years be the exclusive province of the poor), debts forgiven, slaves freed. That sort of stuff that suggests that there's more to your faith than just saying the words and amassing wealth to yourself. If you do the right thing for the wrong reasons, does it count? If you miss an opportunity to help someone else, is that complete disqualification? How do you reconcile the fact that your religious history has a significant amount of blood and murder in it? (Although this particular example is from a rabbi contemplating the history of Judaism, it's a shared history of Christianity, and it's not like the Christians somehow avoided their own suite of repeated worldwide warfare.) What is the rubric for grading, anyway? Couldn't we get something more explicit than the works that we have now? Please?
Well, you have to wait. And we're still terrible at waiting. About mundane things, not to mention the Big Things. I got flatly annoyed at a book that The Organization is going to promote as a featured book to read in our service area, because there's a character in there that takes twenty-four chapters to be written out, and the whole time he's there, he sows discord, anger, and domestic violence all throughout the narrative. I know why he's there, I know what he's doing, I can see his relevance to the plot, and yet, I didn't want to wait for the point where he disappeared from the narrative, I wanted him gone a lot earlier than that. Because I didn't particularly want to read the story of how witnessing domestic violence against her mother traumatizes a young girl, how she can't get away from it herself because she wants to bring her mother with her, and how everyone in the community says they're willing to help, but waits until the mother decides that she's had enough before they do anything significant. (Admittedly, the solution that everyone came back to was a lethal one, and that complicated things.) I wanted to get to the post-violent part, but I had to wait. And think. And reflect some on my own experiences, too, that helped me understand why things were happening that way, and to acknowledge that in our reality, they really would happen that way. And do. And that sometimes, the only thing you can do when someone else is doing something that's terrifying to them and uncertain about the outcome is wait.
Because sometimes, if you wait when you have to and you work when you can, you make it past the dark times into the celebratory ones. You anticipate the end result, and you wait, and you work, and then, finally, you get to the promised time. Celebrate. And then, back to the ordinary. Back to the work of the daily, of counting the time, of all the small things in our lives that make the in-between from the big events, but are just as crucial and important in shaping our lives and determining what the judgment on our existence will be.
Back to waiting.
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First, some background, as the piece itself assumes that you are either of the relevant denomination or have studied it well enough that you don't need someone to explain it all to you. For Catholics (and please add all the relevant others who follow the same pattern, mea culpa that I don't know all of you), the liturgical part of the service usually consists of a first reading from the "Old Testament" (which covers both Tanakh and deuterocanonical books), as it is usually referred to, covering the period from creation and exile from the initial paradise and the covenants made between The Being Represented By The Tetragrammaton and his chosen people throughout the recorded history of those people, up to the birth of Jesus.), a second reading from the Christian Foundational Writings (the "New Testament", covering the life of Jesus and his first cohorts of disciples, as well as letters to various communities, either of faith or considering it, usually attributed to or written in the style of Paul of Tarsus, other more generally-addresses letters, and the Apocalypse of John, usually at the end, as a way of covering the eventual end of existence and return of Jesus to begin the new holy age) that is specifically not one of the Gospels (so usually something from Acts or from the Epistles), and then a Gospel reading. Often times, these readings are linked, either thematically, or positioned in such a way that things mentioned in Tanakh as things to come then find their resolution in the later readings.
(Nota bene: what qualifies as part of the canon of Christianity is not universally accepted between denominations, nor sometimes within various groups of nominally the same denomination. A Christian Bible includes and excludes based on translation and the accepted conventions of the denomination or group that is publishing the work. Generally, most Bibles work from one or another of the Protestant canon, and then the good ones tend to have annotation and include works that are apocryphal, pseudepigraphal, or deuterocanonical according to those denominations [or generally accepted scholarly consensus] so that those who aren't Protestants still have the books of their canon if they need to do some scholarly work. Which is to say, when you talk about the Christian Bible, it's complicated. We now return you to your regularly scheduled post.)
The readings themselves are laid out in accordance with the liturgical year, with specific readings and themes highlighted for major events across the calendar year. Advent-Christmas-Epiphany focuses on the birth of Christ and the revelation of his divine nature, Lent-Easter-Pentecost on the death and resurrection of Jesus and the beginnings of the new church, and so forth. Most of the liturgical year, however, is simply "Ordinary Time" - no specific focus on a particular aspect of Jesus and the church, with a rotation among the possible readings such that someone would hear, in pieces, anyway, the entirety of the Catholic Bible on a cycle before beginning again. Much of religious practice is ordinary, both in the sense of not-special, and also in the way of counting time. Catholics and other Christians alike wait and count time before the return of their messianic figure. Waiting for a Messiah is something Christians inherited from Judaism, but Christians say they found theirs and are waiting for his return, rather than still waiting for one to appear.
So, Advent is a specific season within the liturgical year - the four Sundays before Christmas are reserved specifically for messages and themes that are about the time before the birth of Christ. Its major theme is "waiting", more so than in the Ordinary, and it's different than the waiting of Lent. Lent is a season of waiting in fear, because the story of Lent is essentially the part where you know how things are going to end. There will be betrayal, unjust suffering, and eventually, the death of an innocent. And then the miracle of resurrection punctures the darkness for a bit, but there's still more time past that point where everyone is still huddling in fear, because only those few people who were there right at the point of the resurrection have been graced with seeing the resurrected Jesus (until Pentecost, anyway.) Advent, on the other hand, is all about the anticipation of what will be the greatest miracle of all time - the birth of a fully divine, fully human person able to navigate the requirements of the old agreements, fulfill them, and then produce a new, universal, atemporal covenant between The Being Represented By The Tetragrammaton and all the people that choose to swear their allegiance to said Being.
But it isn't Christmas yet. There's an enforced period of waiting that has to be gone through first. Waiting is hard. We all know that. And I like the way that the article writer (Laura Jean Truman) acknowledges that humans are terrible at waiting, especially when we have insecurities and low trust that the promised thing in the future will happen. That marshmallow experiment about instant versus delayed gratification you might be thinking of? Turns out it's not about impulse control! The data from the experiment about whether someone takes one marshmallow now or two later has a much better fit if what's being tested is whether or not the child trusts that the adult will come back with two marshmallows if they wait. Now scale that up to a thing that's been promised (eternal life in the kingdom to come) but that you have to trust is going to happen after your physical body dies. (Catholics aren't really all that much about Rapture theology. When you've been around as long as they have, you realize that you're most likely on the slow road to eternity. You still need to be prepared in case you're wrong, but the idea is basically that it's not going to happen in your lifetime.) Given that there's only one account of a person who came back to life after being deliberately killed (and then had his body mutilated further as a proof of death), logic is screaming at you that resurrection is a fool's idea. So you gotta have faith. Faith in the highly improbable, at least from what we can observe. But you don't know, and that means you have to wait to find out. And we're terrible at waiting.
What I like the most about this piece is the encouragement to sit in the waiting, and recognize it, and dig into the reasons why you're antsy about waiting. You can look around and see that the ideal world, the one that's supposed to be the Kingdom promised to you from the beginning of time, it's not here, and it doesn't look like it's going to be any time soon. There are real, structural problems in the world around you. And it's a lot easier to pretend they aren't there, to believe it's all fine, to skip ahead to the announcement of Christmas and insist that the happy times are here and there's no need to dwell on upsetting things. If your faith is strong enough, you'll see it through, right? Except for the part where it's not "sit in your faith until you die and I'll reward you," is it? And there's no part that says "Well, if you give a homeless guy $20 once a year, and you keep your faith until you die, well, that's enough." No, what's there is the kind of stuff you get from the Apocalypse of John, the stuff that says "Every time you did good things to the least of the people around you, you did what I wanted, and I will reward you," and stuff that talks about how the person with nothing that still gives to others is much better than the person who has a lot and just gives from their excesses. Or even the parts about those who acquire material things and treasure on earth have already received their rewards...or that it's much harder for them to get to that eternal reward with the material stuff getting in the way. Throwing out moneychangers. Demanding that every seventh year, fields be left unworked (and the fruits that grow in those years be the exclusive province of the poor), debts forgiven, slaves freed. That sort of stuff that suggests that there's more to your faith than just saying the words and amassing wealth to yourself. If you do the right thing for the wrong reasons, does it count? If you miss an opportunity to help someone else, is that complete disqualification? How do you reconcile the fact that your religious history has a significant amount of blood and murder in it? (Although this particular example is from a rabbi contemplating the history of Judaism, it's a shared history of Christianity, and it's not like the Christians somehow avoided their own suite of repeated worldwide warfare.) What is the rubric for grading, anyway? Couldn't we get something more explicit than the works that we have now? Please?
Well, you have to wait. And we're still terrible at waiting. About mundane things, not to mention the Big Things. I got flatly annoyed at a book that The Organization is going to promote as a featured book to read in our service area, because there's a character in there that takes twenty-four chapters to be written out, and the whole time he's there, he sows discord, anger, and domestic violence all throughout the narrative. I know why he's there, I know what he's doing, I can see his relevance to the plot, and yet, I didn't want to wait for the point where he disappeared from the narrative, I wanted him gone a lot earlier than that. Because I didn't particularly want to read the story of how witnessing domestic violence against her mother traumatizes a young girl, how she can't get away from it herself because she wants to bring her mother with her, and how everyone in the community says they're willing to help, but waits until the mother decides that she's had enough before they do anything significant. (Admittedly, the solution that everyone came back to was a lethal one, and that complicated things.) I wanted to get to the post-violent part, but I had to wait. And think. And reflect some on my own experiences, too, that helped me understand why things were happening that way, and to acknowledge that in our reality, they really would happen that way. And do. And that sometimes, the only thing you can do when someone else is doing something that's terrifying to them and uncertain about the outcome is wait.
Because sometimes, if you wait when you have to and you work when you can, you make it past the dark times into the celebratory ones. You anticipate the end result, and you wait, and you work, and then, finally, you get to the promised time. Celebrate. And then, back to the ordinary. Back to the work of the daily, of counting the time, of all the small things in our lives that make the in-between from the big events, but are just as crucial and important in shaping our lives and determining what the judgment on our existence will be.
Back to waiting.