O Antiphons! O Yay!

Yet another year when I feel compelled to point out how I love the tradition of chanting or singing or reading and, hopefully, contemplating the O Antiphons. 


I think of them as a sacred countdown to Christmas Vigil. Visit The Virtual Abbey blog from December 17th through the 23rd to see some great artwork for each O.


December 17
O Sapientia (Wisdom)
Isaiah 11:2-3, 28:29

December 18
O Adonai (Lord)
Isaiah 11:4-5, 33:22

December 19
O Radix Jesse (Root of Jesse)
Isaiah 11:1, 10

December 20
O Clavis David (Key of David)
Isaiah 9:6, 22:22

December 21
O Oriens (Rising Sun)
Isaiah 9:1

December 22
O Rex Gentium (King of All Nations)
Isaiah 2:4, 9:5, 28:16

December 23
O Emmanuel (God With Us)
Isaiah 7:14, 8:8

Palm Crosses: Do NOT Try This at Home

Sunday marks the beginning of Holy Week for Christians; called Palm Sunday to commemorate Jesus' triumphant entrance into Jerusalem.

According to scripture, he rides in on an ass unless the translators were overly mulish, in which case they seat Jesus on a donkey. But everyone does seem to agree that palm fronds were involved, hence the distribution of this foliage before Sunday's worship service.*

Can't speak for Christians in other denominations, but Roman Catholics (and I'm assuming Cradle Catholics who now worship elsewhere) get very excited by the distribution of palm fronds. Free stuff! And depending upon when, where and how they were raised, some getting even more excite about weaving palm crosses.

Do not try this at home. Repeat: do NOT try this at home. Palm crosses are meant to be woven during Mass/Holy Communion or whatever you call your liturgical main event. It is customary to wait until the homily/sermon or whatever you call what's happening from the ambo/pulpit or whatever you call the reading desk.

You should, however, practice at home so you can manage this folk craft without needing a flat surface, although you could use a hymnal. This video will show you how to make a basic palm cross:

* Eastern Europeans traditionally use pussy willow branches instead of palm fronds. For this and more info about ethnic-based traditions, check out my book: The Catholic Home: Celebrations and Traditions.

O! It's the O Antiphon Time of the Year!!

I have absolutely no idea why I have this thing for the O Antiphons, but I start getting seriously giddy about Christmas when December 17th rolls around.*

If you visit The Virtual Abbey blog from December 17th through the 23rd, you'll find more evidence of my passion for this O-so-lovely tradition.


December 17
O Sapientia (Wisdom)
Isaiah 11:2-3, 28:29

December 18
O Adonai (Lord)
Isaiah 11:4-5, 33:22

December 19
O Radix Jesse (Root of Jesse)
Isaiah 11:1, 10




December 20
O Clavis David (Key of David)
Isaiah 9:6, 22:22

December 21
O Oriens (Rising Sun)
Isaiah 9:1

December 22
O Rex Gentium (King of All Nations)
Isaiah 2:4, 9:5, 28:16

December 23
O Emmanuel (God With Us)
Isaiah 7:14, 8:8

*Truth to tell, this is a relatively recent development. Advent and Christmas were near total bummers until the turn of this century. You can count on me having more to say/write about that.

Are the Magi Off Course...Again?

Stumped,
the Magi consider singing a few verses of,
"O Come, O Come, Emmanuel."

I Am My Own Best Entertainment

Don't know what you do for evening entertainment at the end of a long week, but for a rip-roaring great time I crack open a can of A&W Diet Cream Soda* and take online quizzes. I like ones designed to assess spiritual and religious identity.

I always begin my quiz fête with Belief-O-Matic (TM) at Beliefnet. At times, my scores for Orthodox Quaker, Reform Judaism and Hinduism are much higher than my score for Roman Catholicism. Tonight, my score for Roman Catholicism was also my score for Eastern Orthodox and Sikhism. Go figure.

Other results were also. . . interesting.

When, according to Belief-O-Matic, my spiritual and religious beliefs scored in alignment with those of Mainline Liberal Protestants, I decided to take the What's Your Spiritual Type quiz, where I scored as a "Questioning Believer" ─ only 11 points away from "Candidate for Clergy."

But according to What Kind of Catholic Are You, I'm a "Divine Office (Moderately Traditional) Catholic," possibly because of my answers to questions about liturgy, music and church décor. Frankly, I would have classified myself as either an "Ignatian Exercises (Moderately Progressive) Catholic" or a "Centering Prayer (Very Progressive) Catholic," even though I want to run screaming from the sanctuary whenever we're supposed to sing, "On Eagle's Wings."

To round out tonight's inquiry, I took Do You Know Your Matzoh from your Moshiach and was ridiculously thrilled to discover I got all but one of 18 answers correct.

In case it's not totally clear, I am my own best entertainment. So, what do you do on Friday nights?


* Horrors: A&W Diet Cream Soda is not available in Baltimore, Maryland. I've been forced to import it from New Jersey.

Wise Words for the Feast of St. Mary Magdalene

Loved reading these wise words from Elizabeth Cunningham about celebrating incarnation on this feast day of St. Mary Magdalene. Hope they resonate with you as well:

"I would like to declare July 22nd a feast day to celebrate our incarnation on this earth, something all of us alive and who have ever lived share with all life and life to come. We are made of the same substance; we are subject to the same joys and sufferings of the flesh. From a laboring woman’s body we were born; and the mystery of death awaits us."






Read her entire post here.

Image: Mary Magdalene after Bacciacca from Baroquenheart Gallery

Sending Me Packing

The Magi prayerfully consider a shortcut.

Turning it Over and Kissing it Up

Hoping to Become a Sports Legend

The sybaritic thrill of schlepping stuff to the curb for recycling and trash pick-up is nothing when compared to the thrill of readying my home for sale.* Getting everything good-to-show is right up there with striking the set in between liturgical seasons, something that has amused friends for years. (Note: I'm not mentioning names, Barb.)

Plus, there's the frisson of fun I always feel when cleaning is involved. Does anyone not know that I consider vacuuming relaxing as well as invigorating? I love cleaning ─ the logistical challenges, the physicality, the winning results.

I emphasize "winning" because I tend to view cleaning and even mere tidying up as a competitive sport, which is why last year I stood on my dining room table to vacuum spider spinnings off the ceiling.

So what if I pitched backward and am now down a chair that matches the table? Truth to tell, I was a bit hurt ─ not at all by the fall but by comments about how I should have either used gadgets or called someone to "spot" me during this event. (Note: I'm not mentioning names, Barb.)

Gadgets? Are you kidding? As far as I'm concerned, this is akin to any other form of sports "doping."

Dear readers, if you're not in good enough shape to do a back flip off a dining room table while cleaning without getting hurt, you have no business being up there in the first place.

*The answer to the question: Baltimore.

From My Desk: Tonight's View

Lent Madness 2010 at Clergy Family Confidential

Not too late to jump into Lent Madness 2010 over at Clergy Family Confidential, Father Tim Schenck's gloriously quirky yet profound blog. Or perhaps I should be characterizing his blog as profoundly quirky? WhatEVER.

Tim is such a terrific writer that even his most irreverent stuff is infused with reverence. And while I've always considered him amusing, Lent Madness 2010 truly moves him into the domain of comic genius. Here's an excerpt from a lengthier explanation of the "Saintly Smackdown" over at his blog:

"Here’s how it will work. There will be 32 saints signed up for the tournament. Each day I’ll print some information about two of them and then we’ll take a vote. We’ll continue Lent Madness until we have crowned a saintly champion. Hopefully we’ll all learn a bit more about a few saints in the process. If your favorite saint isn’t included, fear not. If this works out well we can make this an annual event. If it’s a disaster, we can forget it ever happened."

Brilliant. I had no intention of doing more than reading the posts but now I wake up each morning entirely too interested in voting and if Theresa of Avila hadn't beat Bartholomew, I would've really been cheesed off.

Home By Another Way

At least one of the Magi wondered if their
detour through the frozen tundra was kosher.

The Magi Glimpse the Future

Cardinals? Already? 
And looming waaay too large. . .

Real Presents

My attitude and outlook toward gift giving and receiving underwent a radical transformation during what I affectionately refer to as the yoga ashram years. I realized this yesterday while blathering on about that period with dearly patient friends.

Before hearing myself give that soliloquy, I would have said my "issues" were due to a horrid combination of being unimaginative and picky. In addition, a loathsome collision of pride and pecuniary difficulties has often made it difficult for me to give stuff over the years. 

What a gift, then, to be given the space to reminisce about a time when many of the presents bestowed and received could not be gauged by conventional measures. Full, conscious, attentive presence was a real present. So, too, was time bestowed to gaze at the mountains.

Since "walking around money" was nonexistent, buying anything was almost out of the question, which made handcrafted stuff even more precious. The occasional bar of chocolate was an extravagance received with grateful delight.

These memories came flooding back as I left my friends' cozy home and made my merry way through the snow to buy a gift certificate to Whole Foods and to check if the much-coveted (by me) Chicken n' Egg toyhad been marked down yet from $4.50 at Pier One. It was!

O Antiphons!

It's time to chant the O Antiphons!

This year, I'm especially grateful this tradition is shared by Christians without denominational squabbling (e.g., "We started it!" "We enhanced it!).

And once again, the practice of lectio divina will be how I get into and stay with these passages on my journey to the manger. Meet you there next week. Amen?

December 17
O Sapientia (Wisdom)
Isaiah 11:2-3, 28:29

December 18
O Adonai (Lord)
Isaiah 11:4-5, 33:22

December 19
O Radix Jesse (Root of Jesse)
Isaiah 11:1, 10

December 20
O Clavis David (Key of David)
Isaiah 9:6, 22:22

December 21
O Oriens (Rising Sun)
Isaiah 9:1

December 22
O Rex Gentium (King of All Nations)
Isaiah 2:4, 9:5, 28:16

December 23
O Emmanuel (God With Us)
Isaiah 7:14, 8:8

Building the Set for Advent

When does something become a family tradition? And what, pray tell, constitutes a family? I caught myself pondering this while rummaging around in the basement for Advent decorations. (Advent and the new liturgical year begin tomorrow evening.)

It should come as absolutely no surprise that I keep seasonal décor neatly packed in large plastic bins. Nor should it come as any surprise that these large plastic bins are neatly labeled. Nature or nurture? I grew up in a home with label guns, so I'm guessing both. Still, I could not locate the Advent wreath.

I did unearth the stash of star and angel ornaments I start hanging throughout The Hermitage during the first week of Advent. Could not find any of the Three Kings, God only knows where they're lurking. Found kitty bowls and had a mini-weep at the thought of a Christmas without Itty Bit and Thelma conspiring to topple the tree. Found purple and pink candles.

The wreath? Didn't I put it back where I could not find it last year? Yes! Found it under the Advent kitchen towels and place mats. I had a mini-laugh realizing this is exactly how family traditions emerge. As for family, I favor definitions flexible enough to include friends, animal companions, and the comforting cloud of witnesses.

My High School Reunion: Planning Mode

The Tenafly High School Class of How-Did-We-Get-So-Old Reunion isn't for another three weeks. Still, tonight seemed like a good time to get more organized for this blessed once-a-decade event.

More specifically, I checked out the schedule for Friday night Shabbat services at Temple Sinai, the synagogue I attended from 4th grade through high school. Services begin at 7:30 PM. w00t. Depending on the Torah portion and drasha, I might stay for the oneg. After that, I'll return to my hotel room and curl up in the fetal position -- if I don't check into Englewood Hospital.

If I get it together early enough, I could probably squeeze in a visit to the Franciscan Convent (up the block from my old house) en route to Saturday's brunch. I'll probably go to the public library while everyone else is feigning interest in high school football (Go Tigers!). Or, maybe I'll wander around town instead of studying and getting lousy grades anyway. Maybe there's a nail salon in Tenafly? I know there's a mikvah.

My big plan is to end up at Our Lady of Mount Carmel for the 5:00 Vigil Mass. Depending on the Gospel reading and homily, I might proudly skulk out after receiving Communion instead of waiting for the dismissal hymn. After that, I'll return to my hotel room and breathe into a little brown bag for a bit -- if I don't check into Englewood Hospital. In fact, I'm sure I'll make it back to the hotel. Wouldn't want to miss the evening's festivities!

The Catechetical Value of Home Decor

When The Catholic Home: Celebrations and Traditions was published in 2004, one reviewer accused me of reducing Catholicism to colored place mats. (Like that was a bad thing?)

If I were more mature, I'd no longer be cheesed off by that snarky comment. I'm not more mature. Even worse, experiences since then have made me fairly triumphalistic about the catechetical value of home décor. Yesterday's encounter with the plumber is a fine example.

After writing out an invoice for my latest skirmish with the garbage disposal, the plumber handed it to me and said, "I notice you have a lot of religious stuff around here." Yes, I do.

I practice what I write, so my home is filled with religious artifacts I've collected and received as gifts. My home is painted in colors that prompted one visitor to exclaim, "Wow, this is like walking into a Byzantine icon." There's lots more -- arranged in what I hope is a tasteful and visually pleasing way.

Well, turns out the plumber had been raised Catholic, educated in Catholic schools, did the altar boy thing, no longer goes to church, and recounted it all with exasperated affection. I listened, laughed in the right places, mentioned how I view church as being much more than a building. The plumber told me about his sense of Christ's presence. And so forth and so on for twenty minutes that, thank God, were not added to the invoice.

Over the years, I've had similar conversations with guys who have trooped through The Hermitage to clean lint out of my dryer vent; inspect my damp basement; deliver a washing machine; figure out why certain electrical outlets weren't working. I never start these conversations about faith and religion; my décor does.

More About Mr. Oatmeal

Well, one night of plush bear palliative care turned out to be not quite enough.

Mr. Oatmeal has been out of the closet and back in the sack with me for a few nights. I find his presence comforting, which should not be so surprising, since Mr. Oatmeal has been with me for 20 years -- that's more years than both of my messy marriages combined. What a bear!

I don't imagine this will phase will continue much longer, but I also said that about continuing life under the thrall of Colorsilk #50.



Photo of Mr. Oatmeal in situ taken with my Blackberry Curve.

Sleeping With Mr. Oatmeal

I've had such a tough couple of days that I'm thinking it may be time to sleep with Mr. Oatmeal. To do so, I'll need to retrieve him from the closet where he has been carefully stashed for nearly a decade.

Mr. Oatmeal came into my life during the self discovery years, spending nearly as much time as I did attending personal growth workshops. He was never out-of-place and I never felt odd having Mr. Oatmeal in tow because everyone else was clutching a transitional object.

Those who weren't clutching stuffed bears, sock monkeys or grungy feather pillows, were white-knuckling journals and pens. Those clutching journals and pens usually ended up borrowing bears midway through any workshop, regardless of its length.

This was the way things were for Inward Ho adults during the Inner Child retrieval years. And as far as I'm concerned, my sleeping with Mr. Oatmeal was far more charming and certainly much more forgivable than everyone else talking about "journaling." (Like that's a real verb.)

Mr. Oatmeal ended up in the closet during the years that marriage and divorce drop kicked me into another level of adulthood. By then, I had cats who were more-than-willing to spoon.

They still and always are, the cats, willing to spoon. I, however, am in no mood for nose whistles in the night or paws patting my face in the morning, which is why Mr. Oatmeal may be due for a night in the sack with me. Surely one night of plush bear palliative care ought to set things right.