On the fifth Sunday, when the resurrection of Lazarus is proclaimed, we are faced with the ultimate mystery of our existence: “I am the resurrection and the life… Do you believe this?” (Jn 11: 25-26). For the Christian community, it is the moment to place with sincerity – together with Martha – all of our hopes in Jesus of Nazareth: “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who was to come into this world” (Jn 11: 27). Communion with Christ in this life prepares us to overcome the barrier of death, so that we may live eternally with him. Faith in the resurrection of the dead and hope in eternal life open our eyes to the ultimate meaning of our existence: God created men and women for resurrection and life, and this truth gives an authentic and definitive meaning to human history, to the personal and social lives of men and women, to culture, politics and the economy. Without the light of faith, the entire universe finishes shut within a tomb devoid of any future, any hope.

There are a lot of important themes in this brief synopsis that Benedict utilizes in much of his theology: belief, hope, and faith and the future. For Benedict, let it suffice to say that man’s belief in Christ changes absolutely everything. Belief in Christ, in the Triune God of Love Who is the definitive source of our being, is an orientation of existence that faces truth, meaning, purposeful direction. Such a belief gives the subject a great and saving hope: that the future is not void, that there is Someone who embraces the entirety of human existence and the whole cosmos so that creation may, together with Christ, be brought into that Triune exchange of divine life and love. God answers the mystery of death, and He does with His own through which death becomes life: “Dying You destroyed our death.” So human history is salvation history, and not just that but a specifically romantic story, too. God is akin to a hopeless lover: He is so positive about and faithful to each one of us. One can think of the great epic poem, Evangeline by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. God refuses to give up on us and does everything to find us, and when He does, how great will be the divine kiss of His Son as He sends us in the Spirit to love  and praise the Father.

Without an authentic belief that is rooted in such a powerful love story, human culture is void. I think that this is what Benedict suggests. It is void because without God, without Him who is superabundantly excessive, there is no place for otherness. Culture becomes an abyss for the Ego. And at that point, the Ego reflexively enfolds upon itself and, in my opinion, dies. The human person exists within a realm where otherness is critical for growth. I need you. It is not enough to suffice within my own self-reflexive ego. What I need is another: someone else so that my ego can unfold (not enfold!) and experience the created world created by the all-good Creator God.

Jesus Christ is the purest example of the other. He, the Incarnate Word, is the unfolded reality of the triune current of divine life, and He opens Himself up–physically–on the Cross, for others, becoming a cocoon for human ascent. He opens Himself up so that there is a haven for each of us, a locus, so to speak, of divine food which is nothing other than the divine Son’s human flesh. He calls us to Himself, the cocoon in Whom man may hatch into the divine life of God.

“Do you believe this?” He asks each of us. For Benedict, the answer to this question can never be a mere proposition: I believe that x, y, z. On the contrary, man’s “yes” is an existential credo: I believe, and in this belief am willing to lose my ego so that I become transparent–that the Other in whom I believe may shine. I believe, and in this belief open myself up so that I become one of yours. I believe, and in this belief hand over to you everything that constitutes me, so that when others encounter me, grant Lord, that they may see you, hear you, touch you, smell you, taste you. I believe, and in this belief I humbly and undeservedly ask to be taken into Thy wounds of your Son, so that through Him I may be taken into You. I believe, Lord, and in this belief I trust in you and in you alone. Belief constitutes the struggle to turn away from everything and face God alone.

Belief in the God of Jesus Christ is communion. “Communion with Christ in this life prepares us to overcome the barrier of death, so that we may live eternally with him.” An authentic Christian belief is totally relational. I cannot believe by myself. I need God, and that implies that everything through which God operates is important to me because it all manifests some sort of theophany: creation is not unlike a sacramental sign of God. The believer only turns away from everything so she can more properly experience the reality of everything. I am missing something elemental in every experience if I am living without God.

Lastly, just as Christ awoke Lazarus from the grave, so God calls every human person of the tomb of one’s ego-realm: another form of a grave–specifically one which has no future, but is void of life itself. On the contrary to that grave, God takes us to a Cross that points toward Heaven. It is the sign of ultimate meaning, ultimate value, ultimate reality: that God loves us, each one of us infinitely more than the next one, and in that love invites us into Himself to experience life and love.

The question that Jesus puts to the Samaritan woman: “Give me a drink” (Jn 4: 7), is presented to us in the liturgy of the third Sunday; it expresses the passion of God for every man and woman, and wishes to awaken in our hearts the desire for the gift of “a spring of water within, welling up for eternal life” (Jn 4: 14): this is the gift of the Holy Spirit, who transforms Christians into “true worshipers,” capable of praying to the Father “in spirit and truth” (Jn 4: 23). Only this water can extinguish our thirst for goodness, truth and beauty! Only this water, given to us by the Son, can irrigate the deserts of our restless and unsatisfied soul, until it “finds rest in God”, as per the famous words of St. Augustine.

My favorite part of this interpretation is found in the ending, when the Holy Father tells that it is the Holy Spirit alone who can “irrigate the deserts of our restless and unsatisfied soul”. The human person is thirsty. Without a doubt, there is some sort of primeval emptiness in the human heart, a perennial search for completeness. What can satisfy the heart, the core of man?

For Benedict, and this is the response of the Christian story too, it is only from above. God has a passion for each of us. He is radically in love with every single person He’s created. (I sometimes wonder how different we would treat one another if we really took into account God’s infinite love for each person.) The Holy Father sees in this Gospel “the passion of God for every man and woman”. His passion, genuinely articulated in the Passion of His Son, is the true nutrition for humans. The Incarnate Word is the true pinnacle of creation: He is savior through and through.

Moreover, Jesus, in today’s Gospel, says: “My food is to do the will of the one who sent me and to finish his work” (Jn 4:34). For Christ, the element that sustains him, procures his daily energy, is praise. After all, to praise is to accept and follow the Lord’s commands and life. What is so human and beautiful about this theology is that it is so innate to every person: we are living the best kind of life, the most satisfying life, when it is a life that is praise to the Father. Man’s ontology is most in tune with itself when it becomes a theological ontology: anthropology is naturally oriented toward Theos. This Gospel reading, in addition then, may have a cryptic liturgical element to it. That the liturgy, especially the celebration of the Eucharist, is the “source and summit of the faith” is no small doctrinal statement: if it is true, then it seems that the liturgy is the most human of cultures–our life can parallel the reverence and praise within the liturgical sphere, and when it does, one experiences the irrigation of divine love. An oasis of “goodness, truth and beauty” is implanted within the human experience. This temporal life becomes a penultimate experience of the ultimate experience that is the eternal presence and love of the Holy One.

Reflecting such thus far, is it any wonder that the Pope interprets this Gospel passage as an invitation through the Holy Spirit for Christians to be “true worshipers”? That is what the whole story is about. Am I worshiping God? To be a true worshiper entails a complete abandonment of the self in the hands of others, specifically the Divine Other. To be a true worshiper entails, accordingly, an attitude of indifference: that we are, at a foundational human level, indifferent such that we place no limits on the Divine voice. To be a true worshiper entails, at its core, radical love. To be a true worshiper requires the spiritual transformation of the Holy Spirit, offered to us by the Son, the eternal exemplar of mankind.

Let us pray to faithfully drink from the water of God, that water of divine life manifested to us by Jesus Christ through whom the human person, as if in the womb of God, by grace is nurtured until one day, in salvific hope, he may hatch into the very divine life of God Himself, and so offer the King humble and eternal praise in the company of His angels and His saints: Praise be to God, the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit!

The Gospel of the Transfiguration of the Lord puts before our eyes the glory of Christ, which anticipates the resurrection and announces the divinization of man. The Christian community becomes aware that Jesus leads it, like the Apostles Peter, James and John “up a high mountain by themselves” (Mt 17:1), to receive once again in Christ, as sons and daughters in the Son, the gift of the grace of God: “This is my Son, the Beloved; he enjoys my favor. Listen to him” (Mt 17:5). It is the invitation to take a distance from the noisiness of everyday life in order to immerse oneself in God’s presence. He desires to hand down to us, each day, a Word that penetrates the depths of our spirit, where we discern good from evil (cf. Heb 4:12), reinforcing our will to follow the Lord.

This first part of this synopsis is an invitation into the great Christian mystery the Eastern Churches particularly honor: theosis. Or, as Benedict here terms it: “divinization”. In other words, it is becoming god—growing into the divine. The Holy Father tells us that it is Christ who leads us upward to the mountain of God. Here, in the presence of God is the true human exodus: a passing over from the Ego to the Theos—from the self into the Creator. This passage is a Christological mystery because Jesus Christ is the locus of the journey. It is no wonder that the divine voice of the Father declares: “Listen to him”. Christ is the measure of human fulfillment. There is no other. He is the Incarnate Word—the incarnate language of the divine—who re-communicates the Father to creation and who breathes the Spirit that animates.  Moreover, as the locus of the exodus into God, when one thereby journeys into God through the Mediator Dei—Christ—he, too, becomes a son in the Son. The Incarnate Words opens up filial relationship to God: love, intimacy, passion, trust, and hope.

His Holiness sees in this Gospel, also, the precursor to this theosis-exodus. He parallels this invitation with the invitation to “take a distance form the noisiness of everyday life”—in other words, to walk up into the mountains, the place of silent heights; countless beauties; and ineffable, infinite sights. If one is continuously clothed by the temporal order, by the worries of everyday life, or by affairs that do not reflect the divine rule, then there is essentially no possibility for an exodus. How can one pass-over without passing over? How can one communicate with the Lord without going to speak with and listen to Him? How can one become divine if his make-up is only the visible and temporal? There is no theosis without an authentic exodus of the self. That is why Benedict declares the importance “to immerse oneself in God’s presence”. Not the presence of the self; not the presence of society; not the presence of others. First the presence of God, and then all else unfolds according to His divinity and will. Certainly the life of the saints, and especially the Virgin Mother of God, attest to this.

In the last part of this Gospel synopsis, the Holy Father concludes beautifully, as we have already read: “He desires to hand down to us, each day, a Word that penetrates the depths of our spirit, where we discern good from evil (cf. Heb 4:12), reinforcing our will to follow the Lord.” It seems to me that there is a reference to Genesis here. Without the Lord, the human person is chaotic: impoverished, man is in need of divine order and love.

Is this not the state of the universe in the first creation story? “In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss” (Gen 1:1, emphasis mine). How does God counteract this chaos? He speaks. In the beginning, it is the Word of God communicated that brings peace: “Then God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw how good the light was” (Gen 1:3-4). The Word is the divine person who secures and establishes order.

Consequently, after sin and separation, the human person herself becomes a wasteland, in need of God’s voice to hold her together. And so the Divine Lover sends to the beloved His Son, who “penetrates the depths of our spirit”, granting us true power to discern the good from evil—contrary to Satan’s apple of temptation. It is the Word to whom we primordially belong, to whom our hearts beg to be touched and embraced by. It is the Word who is man’s ultimate and definitive source of well-being, nutrition and happiness—indeed the source of the heart’s very beat itself. He is the true rhythm of life: the beat that sets everything in proper relationship and order, and out of chaos establishes harmony.

To end, I am reminded of the words of  the Great Apostle: “He is before all things, and in him all things hold together” (Col 1:17).  The Word is “before all things”—He is the eternal exemplar. And Incarnate, He holds all things together—He recapitulates history and creation, thus to procure salvation: “in order to kill sin, to destroy death, and to give life to man”, as St. Irenaeus writes.

Let us pray for the grace that we may all follow Christ Jesus into God.

The Holy Father begins with an invitation to the Church: to intensify her journey in purifying the spirit, “so as to draw more abundantly from the Mystery of Redemption the new life in Christ the Lord”. Through this invitation, Benedict introduces Baptism, explaining that this life “was already bestowed upon us on the day of our Baptism, when we ‘become sharers in Christ’s death and Resurrection’, and there began for us ‘the joyful and exulting adventure of his disciples’”. After quoting from the writings of Paul, the Holy Father comes to a beautiful conclusion:

Hence, Baptism is not a rite from the past, but the encounter with Christ, which informs the entire existence of the baptized, imparting divine life and calling for sincere conversion; initiated and supported by Grace, it permits the baptized to reach the adult stature of Christ. (emphasis mine)

When we are baptized, we are thrown into the being of the Son, who is the “abundant life”. Therefore, the most authentic life of the “I” is never self-constructed. On the contrary, the self is most pure and mature when it is formed by the existence of the Divine Other. To separate the “self” from the Son is an ontological error that will indubitably lead to self-frustration.

But why does the Holy Father parallel Baptism with Lent? Because: “A particular connection binds Baptism to Lent as the favorable time to experience this saving Grace…[T]he Church has always associated the Easter Vigil with the celebration of Baptism: this Sacrament realizes the great mystery in which man dies to sin, is made a sharer in the new life of the Risen Christ and receives the same Spirit of God who raised Jesus from the dead (cf. Rm 8:11).” Benedict explains that this gift of grace must always be “rekindled in each one of us, and Lent offers us a path”.

Lent is a holy time to reintegrate one’s life with the life of Christ–to fast with Him, give with Him, and pray with Him. The love of God is infinite and how passionately He wants to hold each of us in palm of His hands, which “formed man out of the clay of the ground” (Gen 2:7). From Him our lives were molded: into Him the heart eagerly desires to ascend. And so He became one of us. How beautiful the story of God’s infinite love for His beloved creation!

At this moment, the Holy Father turns to the Gospel readings of Lent: “In order to undertake more seriously our journey towards Easter and prepare ourselves to celebrate the Resurrection of the Lord…what could be more appropriate than allowing ourselves to be guided by the Word of God?” (emphasis mine)

In a couple of days, the Church will celebrate the First Sunday of Lent, during which the Gospel

reveals our condition as human beings here on earth. The victorious battle against temptation, the starting point of Jesus’ mission, is an invitation to become aware of our fragility in order to accept the Grace that frees from sin and infuses new strength in Christ–the way, the truth and the life. It is a powerful reminder that Christian faith implies, following the example of Jesus and in union with him, a battle “against the ruling forces who are masters of the darkness in this world” (Eph 6:12), in which the devil is at work and never tires–even today–of tempting whoever wishes to draw close to the Lord: Christ emerges victorious to open also our hearts to hope and guide us in overcoming the seductions of evil. (emphasis mine)

Benedict XVI articulates here the human condition: poverty. The human person is fragile, and ontologically in need of grace. Without Christ, there is no way for man to walk, no truth to embrace, and no life to experience. Any ideology without Christ, without the God of Love, is void of fulfillment or authentic meaning because it fails to truly accept the human heart in her condition of poverty. But with Christ, divine greatness offers itself to humanity. That is why Benedict stresses that to be Christian, one must follow Christ and be in union with Him. Most important, above all else the Christian is to conform oneself with Christ–be a son in the Son–who is the Incarnate Word of God: the very center of the Triune Divinity. In Him, does man taste the infinite good and beauty of God’s life, the supreme end of human hunger. Man’s poverty is redeemed by the Triune God’s divine excess of life and love.

Lastly, His Holiness exhibits a theme of “victory” in this synopsis of the Gospel. Christ is victorious and that is a cause for joy. He is the the shepherd who “feeds his flock…gathers the lambs… [in his arms, and] carrying them in his bosom…[he leads] the ewes with care” (Is 40:11). He is our hope. When, in every direction, temptation pulls human hearts away from their God, may all remember Jesus Christ, who has emerged victorious and is always willing and wanting to “open also our hearts to hope and guide us in overcoming the seductions of evil”. Followers of a victorious king, may we, His humble subjects, serve Him with joy, zeal and unbroken fidelity. There is something so much greater than sin, and it is Love. That alone is credible, satisfying, and infinite: all else trembles at His feet.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

I love the season of Lent. It is the perfect time to get one’s life in order. It is the perfect season to reflect upon our relationship with God in an even deeper way than usual. We have many disciplines to help us, especially the practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. To be clear, it is important that we pray at all times and in all seasons, not just in Lent. Likewise, it is good for us to fast and habitually practice small mortifications, small penances, small acts of loving reparation, throughout our lives even outside of Lent (and outside of Fridays throughout the year). And, it’s never a bad time to give alms; “now” is always the perfect time. But in Lent, the Church lays a special emphasis on these practices to help us through our desert journey. In Lent, we travel with Jesus (and with all of the saints who have gone before us) into the wilderness, toward the joy which Easter brings.

And so, we begin our Lenten pilgrimage. My prayer is that we exit Lent changed people; that when Easter comes, we will be more closely united to Christ than ever before. If you haven’t read it yet, I would highly recommend prayerfully reading over Pope Benedict XVI’s Message for Lent this 2011. It is a moving letter, with many insights so beautifully written. The text may be accessed online at the Vatican website, here: http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/benedict_xvi/messages/lent/documents/hf_ben-xvi_mes_20101104_lent-2011_en.html.

Three other things I would like to emphasize for your consideration this Lent:

(1) Go on a retreat. I think it is a good practice to go on a retreat once a year, and Lent is a perfect season for a retreat.

(2) Meditate deeply on Scripture. If Scripture reading is not a regular practice in your life, then there is no better time to start than now. Why don’t you make a Lenten resolution to spend just 5 minutes a day prayerfully immersing yourself in Scripture. I’d recommend taking up one of the Gospels. I have always been fond of the method recommended by St. Josemaría Escrivá: “If you wish to get close to our Lord through the pages of the Gospels, I always recommend that you try to enter in on the scene, taking part as just one more person there.”¹

(3) read a book for spiritual reading, perhaps only a few minutes (5 or 10) a day. A great one, if you haven’t already read it, is Scott Hahn’s Signs of Life: 40 Catholic Customs and their Biblical Roots, available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Signs-Life-Catholic-Customs-Biblical/dp/0385519494/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1299642080&sr=1-1.

1. St. Josemaría Escrivá, “The Strength of Love” (homily given 8 June 1968), in Friends of God, 227-241 (Princeton: Scepter, 2002 [1977]), 227.

In some areas of the United States, bishops have decided to transfer “Ascension Thursday” to the Sunday immediately following.   The bishops have given various reasons for this, but the most common one is because of the low numbers of people who attended Mass on Ascension Thursday.  Also, it was said that it was sometimes harder to put together adequate resources to celebrate this feast with its due solemnity in the middle of the work week — music, food, etc. The bishops thought it would make for a better celebration if we could do it on Sunday when people could attend more easily and bring together more resources (i.e. choirs, music, etc.) to really celebrate the day.  Yet, I think the reality in most parishes is that the Ascension tends to become ‘one more Sunday’ among the others, just with other music.  Moving the Ascension to Sunday does gives into the secular culture of our day that would have us keep God confined to Sunday and leave the rest of the week to the world.  

That being said, the Catholic Church (i.e. the Church throughout the world) continues to celebrate this Solemnity of the Ascension on the universal calendar on the 40th day of Easter…i.e. last Thursday, during the 6th Week of Easter.  For example, if you were in Rome you would be celebrating the Ascension yesterday.  So, although we will not liturgically be celebrating Thursday as the Ascension of the Lord, I still like to make a personal remembrance of Thursday as the Ascension BECAUSE it is the biblical way: it was on this 40th day of Easter that our Lord ascended to the Father and on the following day (i.e. Friday), that the Apostles began to wait for nine days in the upper room for the coming of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost Sunday.  

This is a liturgical way of reading and living the Scriptures.  That is, the Acts of the Apostles is written with this chronology of 40 days + 9 days to help us to see the fulfillment of the Lord Jesus’ mission in the light of these two traditional Jewish pilgrimage feasts of Passover and Pentecost.  Whereas in Passover  the Lord’s saving Presence is celebrated in His death and resurrection; in Pentecost the Lord’s Presence in His life-giving New Covenant Law (the Person of the Holy Spirit) is celebrated.  This nine-day novena, from the Ascension to Pentecost, is instituted by the Lord Jesus Himself and is a great way to annually celebrate and renew His New Covenant fulfillment.  

Practically, that can mean that the family might begin to pray a Novena (a nine-day prayer) to God for an outpouring of the gifts of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost Sunday.  This can be confusing for adults and kids, but people often celebrate a holiday (like Christmas) when family members can get together rather than only celebrating it on the specific calendar day. So, the way I like to see it is that the local church may get together on Sunday to celebrate Ascension Thursday because of practical reasons of difficulty gathering the whole family together, but we still celebrate the day in our own particular family on the day it falls chronologically.  

So, whether you liturgically celebrate the Ascension on Thursday or Sunday, celebrate with the Universal Church on Thursday and count down the nine days with prayer for a new outpouring of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost Sunday.  Come Holy Spirit, Come!

For Catholics, Christmas doesn’t end on December 25^th, rather, that is the day the Christmas season begins. You may have heard before a Catholic song that has become generally popular called “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” It is a lightly veiled catechetical song, written by a subjugated Catholic minority group living in a hostile English culture that was predominately Protestant, to count the days between December 25^th and the end of Christmastide, which concludes on January 6^th. Each day of the twelve days one sings about a symbol reminiscent of the Christian faith. The four calling birds refer to the four gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John; five golden rings remind us of the five books of Moses: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy, and so forth. The twelfth day ends on January 6^th, which is the feast of the Epiphany. This is when the magi from the East visited the Christ-child (see Matt 2:1-18). January 6th was also a celebration of the Baptism of the Lord.  In recent years, the Baptism of the Lord was split from the Epiphany given its own Sunday, and the Christmas season was extended. The liturgical season of Christmas actually continues in the Church until the Baptism of Jesus (the Sunday after the Epiphany) around January 13^th.

Before December 25^th, the Catholic Church celebrates Advent. The word “advent,” comes from the Latin adventus (Greek parousia), means “coming” or “arrival.” The season of Advent is focused on the “coming” of Jesus as Messiah (or Christ). Catholic worship, scripture readings, and prayers prepare us spiritually for celebrating Christmas (his first coming), and also for his eventual second coming. This is why the Scripture readings during Advent include both Old Testament passages related to the expected Messiah, and New Testament passages concerning Jesus’ return. The Catechism of the Catholic Church explains¹:

When the Church celebrates the liturgy of Advent each year, she makes present this ancient expectancy of the Messiah, for by sharing in the long preparation for the Savior’s first coming, the faithful renew their ardent desire for his second coming. By celebrating the precursor’s birth and martyrdom, the Church unites herself to his desire: “He must increase, but I must decrease”

Since Advent looks forward to Christ’s birth and Incarnation, it is an appropriate way to begin the liturgical year. However, Advent is not part of the Christmas season itself, but a solemn preparation for it. Thus, many Catholics do not put up Christmas decorations, sing Christmas hymns, or use Christmas readings in Mass until December 25th, the first day of the Christmas season. Generally speaking the liturgical color for Advent is violet.  The use of violet reflects the general themes of Advent: penitence and royalty. The season is somewhat penitential, similar to Lent. The character of worship during Advent is more solemn, quiet, and less festive than during other times of the year. In the Catholic Church, for example, the Gloria in Excelsis is not used.

Often secular culture and many non-Catholic denominations celebrate the day of Christmas, but they take it outside of the ecclesial context of Advent and Christmastide. This is reductionism leading to a loss of meaning. Christmas is not meant to be an isolated day, but a festival of the Incarnation in the midst of the liturgical Church year. Christmas can only be properly experienced and understood after having the preparation provided by Advent. In contrast to the secular commercial excesses leading up to Christmas, the Catholic practice of Advent provides a welcome opportunity to continually re-orient ourselves as Christians to God’s will as we expectantly wait with patriarchs, prophets, and kings for the true meaning of Christmas: the God incarnated in a manger in Bethlehem.

The New Testament identifies Jesus as the expected Jewish Messiah (although Jesus was not the Messiah most Jews at the time expected, a warrior who would forcibly overthrow the Romans). The gospel writers explain that Jesus did not come to establish an earthly kingdom by force, or to simply deliver the Jewish people from the Romans. Rather Jesus proclaimed a heavenly kingdom available to Jew and Gentile alike that would deliver man from slavery to sin. In the first few centuries Christians held untitled remembrances and fasts resembling our current Advent season. St. Hilary of Poitiers (AD 300-367) and the Spanish Council of Saragossa (AD 380) spoke of a three-week fast before Epiphany. Pope St. Leo the Great preached many homilies about “the fast of the tenth month (i.e. December)” prior to Christmas. The first explicit reference to a celebration of Advent occurs in the sixth century. The Gelasian Sacramentary (AD 750) provided liturgical material for the five Sundays before Christmas as well as Wednesdays and Fridays. The Church eventually settled on four Sundays of Advent. Until the twelfth century, in many geographical areas, Advent had a more festive tone, and white vestments were occasionally used. However, the practices and mindset of Advent became more closely related to Lent as Christ’s second coming became more and more a prominent Advent theme, as especially seen in the seventh century Bobbio Missal. During the Reformation, most Protestant groups attacked or de-emphasized many Christian holy days (holidays) and seasons, disconnecting Protestantism from the rhythms of the liturgical calendar and the spiritual understanding of the Church year. Christmas, when tolerated, was treated as a standalone event.

I would venture to guess that not many American Evangelicals (or American Catholics for that matter) are familiar with the Christmas Witch, the traditions of setting dolls on the windowsill or searching for La Befana’s broom. To the ears of my Evangelical friends such practices smack of paganism and the notion of a Christmas Witch is downright blasphemous. Many Protestants in the last few years have also expressed concern over the “war on Christmas” called for by the now dominant secular culture in America, ironically initiated in the name of political correctness and tolerance. Today most people regard Christmas as a Christian holiday celebrated by all the various Christian denominations spanning the breach of Protestants and Catholic. In America even people of other faiths, or no faith have assimilated Christmas into their cycle of yearly holidays. The latest polls place the celebration of Christmas, in some form, in the United States at nearly 96% of the population. Part of the contributing fuel on the fire in the contemporary war on Christmas is the notion among Evangelicals that Christmas is somehow theirs. Sure, others may participate or share in the seasonal festivities but as every Christian knows, Jesus is the reason for the season. Evangelicals, who therefore have a strong public relationship with Jesus, assume special ownership of the celebration of his birth. It is in this close identification between Jesus and the Evangelical that these American Christians sense personal attack when the celebration of Jesus’ birth, Christmas, is altered, commercialized, or banned. Yet historically in America Protestants were the ones who originally banned Christmas because they saw it as a Catholic holiday. After all, Christmas, as the word’s origin reveals, is a celebration of Christ’s-Mass.

Why do Italian children adore an ugly witch with a big nose and nasty red mole who traveled in rags upon a broom? Despite her looks her story is what the holiday is all about. Italy is such a special country that children receive gifts from not one, but two enchanted figures during the Christmas season. Most Italian families get a visit from Babbo Natale (Saint Nicholas) on Dec. 25, but in Italy, as in most Catholic countries, the liturgical season lasts through Jan. 6, which is the Feast of the Epiphany. On that day La Befana, known to some as the Christmas witch, brings snacks and presents to all of the faithful.

Legend has it that La Befana is an old woman who lives in a house in the hills of Italy. When three foreigners knocked on her door, interrupting her cleaning, they told her that they were very wise and had been following the star which would lead them to a newborn king who would rule the world in peace. No fool, she was skeptical. How wise could these men be if they had gotten lost? She gave them directions to Bethlehem but when they invited her to join them on their quest for the baby Jesus—the Christ-Child, she shoed them away and broke down crying. You see La Befana was a mother of a newborn boy. But King Herod had also heard of this Christ-Child who would be king, and not knowing to which parents Jesus had been born, Herod had ordered all the infant sons of the land be put to death. La Befana was so traumatized when her son was murdered she could only occupy herself by doing chores and cleaning her house. She had quickly aged from despair. Her face became wrinkled, her hair turned gray and she grew to look like an old, haggard lady.

After a little while, she had second thoughts. Perhaps, the men were honest and telling the truth. If so, she missed her chance to help them reach this new king who would be holy and just. She decided she should try to catch up with them. So she threw some baked goods along with her son’s belongings in a sack, took her broom for a walking stick and raced out after the caravan in search of the wise men and the baby Jesus.  But they were long gone and La Befana soon got lost herself. Just as she tired to the point of quitting, angels appeared in the sky blessed her broom and gave it the power of flight; this was after all a night of miracles.

She finally found the wise men kneeling before a baby in a manger. It was the Christ-Child, the baby Jesus. La Befana approached Mary and showed her the contents of the sack. Immediately Mary understood what had happened and together they laid the belongings of the child at before the feet of Jesus Christ. He blessed La Befana with eternal life, appointing her to be a giver of gifts. After that, every year on Jan. 5, the eve of the Epiphany, she becomes a mother to all of the world’s children, caring for them and bringing the children gifts and treats. While at first concerned or offended by the Christmas witch, after having the legend explained to them, my Evangelical friends felt comfortable with this Italian legend which highlights how an encounter with Jesus Christ can be a transformative experience.

1. Catechism of the Catholic Church 524