The Last Gift of Christmas

This year, the last gift of Christmas was a Starburst.

Even more impractical than gold, frankincense, and myrrh was this gigantic chunk of sugar and food coloring left for a baby with no teeth.

Some years, Lego figures visit our manger. One year a tiny skateboard waited in the stable, in case Jesus wanted to ride it later. Barbie probably would have gone in too if she wasn’t so tall. But this year, just when I thought no one was paying any attention to the manger, the last gift of Christmas was left for the baby.

Not the yellow Starburst that no one wants. The red Starburst, the prize.

May the last gift of Christmas always be for the child in the manger. If it hurts a little to give it, then we know it came from deep within, from a place that wants more than what this world can give. And whatever we give him, may it come back to us in good measure—packed together, shaken down, overflowing, poured into our laps (Lk 6:38)!

About a week after Christmas, Eli retrieved the candy from the manger and began to unwrap it. “He said I could have it,” Eli told me.

And the Soul Felt Its Worth

In the book of Genesis, God’s first words to human beings after sin enters the world are: “Where are you?” (Gen 3:9).

Deeply emblematic of the rupture between humans and God, these probing words both sadden and inspire us. On one hand, we respond: “I’m sorry! I’m ashamed!” On the other: “I’m here, God! I’m here!”

It is in answer to both of these gut responses that Jesus has come. It is in response to both that he is born in us at Christmas. For God so loved the world that God also calls out: “I’m here!”

This Christmas, my prayer is that a reassurance, a peace that passes all understanding, will lodge in our hearts—a reassurance that there is no more need for God and for us to call out to each other with those heartbroken words: “Where are you?” No more rupture, no more shame. Christ our Savior is born . . . and the soul felt its worth!

Merry Christmas, all!

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Thank you to my friend Jeanne for sharing these words of encouragement from the New York Times: “Staying Catholic at Christmas.”

My December column for Catholic Digest is available online: “5 Bible Facts for Advent.”

The Saint Ann Choir will give a free Christmas concert on Sun., Dec. 30, 4:00 p.m., 501 Naugatuck Ave., Milford, CT. I look forward to seeing some of you there!

A note on today’s blog: The fact that God’s first words to Adam and Eve after they sinned were “Where are you?” is pointed about by Enzo Bianchi in his wonderful little book God, where are you? Practical Answers to Spiritual Questions. He says that God asks Adam and Eve where they are, but soon enough, we begin to ask God where he is! Christmas is an especially fruitful time to ponder these questions.

Two Advent Programs: Milford & Windsor Locks

Advent is around the corner!

I’ll be participating in two Advent Evenings of Music and Reflection at both ends of the Archdiocese — Milford and Windsor Locks. See below for details. Both events are free. No matter how dark the winter, no matter how short the days, the light of Christ shines brightly! Pray, sing, and be at peace as together we await the coming of Christ!

• Sun., Dec. 2, 5:00 p.m. With Peter DeMarco and the St. Ann Choir. St. Ann Church, 501 Naugatuck Ave., Milford, CT.

• Wed., Dec. 5. With Brian Rucci. Refreshments 6:00-6:30 p.m. Program follows 6:30-7:45 p.m. St. Robert Bellarmine Church, 52 S. Elm St., Windsor Locks, CT.

Also, my short Advent book, Advent, Season of Divine Encounter, is available here, here, and here. Explore three Scripture passages and what they mean for our Advent waiting and for our awareness of the ways God arrives in our everyday lives. Reflection questions and prayers are included.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Blessings,

Amy

A Letter to My Youngest Son

Magnificat published this reflection I wrote for my son Eli in their September 2018 issue. I hope you enjoy it.

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Divine Camouflage: To My Youngest Son

Yesterday you came to me and said that “if something fell from Jupiter to Earth,” you were sure that Jesus would save us “because I can’t see Jesus, but he’s here. He’s just, well, he’s…camouflaged.” I looked down at your camouflage pants and back up at your four-year-old face. I was so pleased.

Yes, my son, Jesus is camouflaged. That is how we experience him now, through a kind of divine camouflage. It veils but it does not conceal. It is mysterious, but it is not impossible to decipher. It does not draw attention to itself, yet deep within its pattern and color—the patterns and colors of this world—he is fully and gloriously present.

You know how you like to curl up on the couch and throw a blanket over yourself so Daddy and I can’t see you? We won’t tell you this until you’re older, but we always know you are there. We can see the blanket moving as you breathe, we can hear the muted giggles, and your body makes a very large bump on the couch! Jesus’ presence is like this too. The breeze on your face, a beautiful sound, even bumps and lumps along the way—find him in all of these things. The thin veil that hangs between him and you can disappear for a time, if you look with the eyes of your heart.

Now go outside in your camouflage pants. Run and play. Seek and find. He is waiting for you.

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Magnificat, September 2018, “She Pondered These Things in Her Heart.”

People Last Forever

My friend Fr. Ivan Tou, CSP, is a very interesting person. One interesting thing he does is that he does not age. No one really knows how old Ivan is because he looks the same as he did twenty years ago.

Another interesting thing Ivan does is write wonderful, chatty Christmas letters that are part litany-of-people-and-places-he’s-visited-in-the-past-year (this is where you find out that he has about 28 godchildren), part analysis-of-movies-he’s-seen (which I skim over when he gets too sci-fi), and part wisdom-gained-in-the-past-year.

Several years ago, Ivan shared some Christmas letter wisdom that has stayed with me. He described how, in his parish work, he is keenly aware that so much of what he does is bound to be undone as soon as he leaves a parish. A statue he purchased may be removed. A garden he planted may be made into a parking lot. A new ministry he initiated may fizzle out. And so on.

This could become quite discouraging over time, to feel that one’s work doesn’t last. But Ivan said there is one thing that doesn’t change, one thing that can’t be taken away, one legacy far superior to improvements to property or even ministries—and that is people. Love between people—relationships, friendships. Ivan said that over the years, this is what he holds onto—the people he has met and loved, and those who have loved him.

Of course, people and friendships can change too. But what does not change is the impact they’ve had on us, the memories we make, the wisdom we’ve shared, the meals around a table that enriched us, the time and the effort and the goodness of people.

This is what the Church is made of, after all. People, relationships, love. This is what matters. This is what lasts.

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After I wrote this, I found Fr. Ivan’s Christmas letter from 2016. Here is the paragraph I remember!

One thing I’m constantly relearning is nothing lasts. All the great software I wrote for HP has been erased and the back-up drives probably live in some landfill. The great ideas I started at my previous parish are no doubt forgotten as the replacement pastor and new parish staff invent their own ideas. And the things I’m doing at Berkeley will probably fade away when I move on, though Fr. George, a pastor here in the 80’s, reminds me that the current red carpet and patio gates are his doing. What seems to matter is the journey and the relationships we make along the way. People last forever, everything else has their time and then fades away. So a meaningful life seems to be connected to touching people and touching them deeply, or as Jesus taught us, love God and love neighbor with your everything.

Thank you, Fr. Ivan Tou. Come see us in Connecticut!

Okay, maybe we’ve all changed just a little bit. Ivan, Amy, Ono. CUA 1999. People last forever.