The Time of Christmas

'(F)ive times, ... the Faith has to all appearance gone to the dogs. In each of these five cases it was the dog that died.'-G.K. Chesterton

From Catholic Stand

By Fr Nathaniel Dreyer

One of the most useful liturgical texts at the priest’s disposal is the ordo. Taken from the Latin word for “arrangement” or “routine”, the ordo is The Order of Prayer in the Liturgy of the Hours and Celebration of the Eucharist, its full title in English. Every archdiocese, diocese, and ordinate, and even some religious orders and abbeys publish an annual version with the solemnities and feasts common to the whole Church, the anniversaries of present and past bishops, anniversaries of deaths, and celebrations that are particular to the local church.

Since I arrived just over a year ago, not having grown up in this local church, the ordo for this diocese of Latina-Terracina-Sezze-Priverno (a mouthful of a name, if there ever was one) has been particularly helpful to me.

For instance, on November 5th we were instructed to celebrate Saint Cesareo. I was edified to learn from my diocesan history that the young African deacon is actually a co-patron of this diocese because the residents of Terracina were in the throes of full-fledged paganism and did not care for his evangelization efforts. His preaching earned him the crown of martyrdom and the town a patron saint, even though he was only recognized as such generations later.

The celebration of dedicated churches

However, the most curious of all celebrations was found in the last week of November. In almost every archdiocese and diocese in the ecclesiastical province (Rome included) the priests were told: “In the consecrated churches of which the date of consecration is unknown (with the exception of cathedrals): celebrate the Dedication of the Church – Solemnity (white).”

My initial thought was, “How could you not know when your church was consecrated?!” Yet, upon further reflection, it makes perfect sense. The churches in Italy are far older than any church to be found in the United States or Canada. For instance, the parish I serve at in Sezze was consecrated in 1364 (on August 18th, to be precise). Yet, the origins go back at least to the 3rd or 4th century, to a church dedicated to Saint Luke who, according to tradition, evangelized the peoples and founded the first Christian community in the town.

The church I attended in high school and college, on the other hand, is perhaps old by United States standards, consecrated in 1899. Then I considered this: when my parish in Ann Arbor, Michigan was consecrated over a hundred years ago, the parish I work at now in Italy had already been consecrated for over half a millennium.

The trouble with time

I mention this because thinking about the age of a church or diocese helps to set things in perspective. As we know, the physical church building reminds us of the Rock that is Christ, and our faith which endures throughout the ages. Perhaps in the United States, where the churches, and the Church, are younger, difficulties and crises are felt more intensely, because everything is seen against an immediate background of a few centuries. In this way, the present can be like sunglasses which change the way we perceive reality.

This is not a perspective that is unique to the Americans, however; when I commented how odd the name of our diocese is (a particular string of four city names which I constantly reassemble in different orders), my Italian listener shrugged and said, “Father, people just don’t go to church any more. The Church is shrinking, even here in Italy.”

That people don’t frequent the Church as they did in the past seems clear; that the recent dwindling of church attendance led to the combination of four dioceses into the present one is absurd, even impossible, given that no one actually knows when the combination occurred, but it was certainly before 1217.

Perspective of history

It’s not that the current crises or difficulties are insignificant or should be dismissed or ignored; on the contrary, every generation of Catholics is called to build and repair the Church. Some work on the foundations, others the columns, still others the roof. However, the anxiety and worry about what comes next seems to pale if we consider the lengthy past.

For example, out of curiosity, one day I decided to learn a little more about the times when our church was consecrated in 1364. The church couldn’t have been consecrated much earlier, since from 1346 until 1352 (give or take), the bubonic plague was racing across the globe.

Blessed Pope Urban V, a Benedictine, governed as the Vicar of Christ from 1362 until 1370. As biographers note, Urban is the only Avignon pope to be beatified. Upon a brief return to Rome, he met with Saint Bridget of Sweden and approved her order.

It was good that our church was consecrated during his reign; shortly thereafter, in 1378, the Western Schism began, with two (and eventually even three) men claiming to be the legitimate pope; it would take until 1417 for the crisis to be sorted out.

The inscription that recalls the consecration of the church, which names Urban V as the reigning pontiff, would have had an awkward engraving if it were done later: “During the pontificate of Clement VII or Urban VI” or “as Benedict XIII, Gregory XII, or Alexander V . . . whoever is the real pope, gloriously reigned.”

The bigger picture

Again, this is not to diminish the present difficulties of the Church. However, it does us a great deal of good to consider these challenges in light of the past in order to see what we must do for the future.

In The Everlasting Man, G. K. Chesterton notes that “at least five times, therefore, with the Arian and the Albigensian, with the Humanist skeptic, after Voltaire and after Darwin, the Faith has to all appearance gone to the dogs. In each of these five cases it was the dog that died. How complete was the collapse and how strange the reversal.”

It seems rather uncanny that the Church has survived all these years and all these problems. Critics and supporters of the Church alike have claimed that we are in an age of unprecedented problems. Such a perspective is perhaps near-sighted, but, in any case, looking at the past reminds us that there is a why behind the Church’s survival.

A football analogy

Throughout both high school and college, I worked at a pharmacy, where one of my co-workers, a diehard Michigan football fan, admitted she never watched a single game live. Such an attitude is odd, to say the least, for a zealous supporter, but she explained that she and her husband would record the games. If on Sunday they saw that Michigan had won, they would then watch the entire game. If Michigan had lost, they would simply forget the game; they would never watch the recording or listen to it on the radio or YouTube. They would simply wait until the following week to repeat the routine, as if the loss had never happened.

Now, aside from the fact they have had many free Sunday mornings this year, I have often thought about how knowing the outcome changes their perspective while watching. Clearly there is much less anxiety in general, since they already know who won. Even more, no matter how terrible the score seems, or how distant victory is, even if Michigan is down by three touchdowns with two minutes left in the fourth quarter, they can watch peacefully. Indeed, their attitude changes: instead of thinking, “There’s no hope,” or “I don’t know if they can pull this off!”, without any idea as to the outcome, they think, “Wow! This win must be spectacular! I can’t wait to see how they pull it off!”

Isn’t this the way we should view the world? We already know God wins; the victory is His. Mary’s Immaculate Heart will triumph. If we really believe this, then our attitude shouldn’t be one of despair, worry, or anxiety; rather, we should be thinking, “I can’t wait to see the good that God gets out of this mess.” Of course, we need to pray and work, but, at the same time, we know the final score. Christmas reminds us that victory comes in God’s time, not ours. Every moment is an opportunity to gain heaven and work with Him to achieve that final victory.

Now is the time

Indeed, it is God’s time that shapes our response to current and future crises. Ancient Greeks and the Bible alike used different words for time; two in particular stand out.

One is chronos which is “clock time,” chronological time. We could perhaps call it “quantitative time.” The second is kairos, which is harder to translate. It means “the suitable time,” or “the right moment” (Biblehub), “a qualitative time, time as an opportunity” (Strong’s), in our case, an opportunity to serve God and gain heaven.

There’s nothing we can do about chronos: we’re born in a certain time and place, we live for a time, and then we die. However, within each chronos, there is an opportunity, a kairos. Looking at the past, we can see how past generations took advantage of the situations in the world and the church to become saints. Indeed, regardless of who the pope was, Saint Bridget, Saint Catherine of Siena, and Saint Vincent Ferrer saw their time on earth as the suitable time to gain heaven.

Indeed, the “time of Christmas” is, in one sense, December 25th and the following weeks. However, in another, “the time of Christmas” is an ever-present opportunity to allow Jesus to be born in our lives through personal holiness and charity with others. It is up to us to take advantage of these times to become everlasting testaments of God’s mercy and holiness.