Reflections from papas sublime to common

A blessed and happy Christmas (...that is, from now till Candlemas) to all of my readers (I'm assuming there are a few left.) :-) How very much I should like to be profound today! I attended a marvellous Eucharist today, and also viewed a few which were broadcast, and, as usual, just 'do this in remembrance of me' kept me in awe to think we've been doing just that (whatever messes we've got into otherwise) for two thousand years. My mind turned to deification, glory, even (being Franciscan, where the Incarnation is 'he became-a so small' and 'he became-a so dead') to the poverty of the humble little Saviour (yet another Mediterranean peasant who grew up to be anti-Establishment and controversial - see the loose associations that are in my mind today?)

Yes, loose associations are there, I'm afraid. I'm a romantic at heart, and, though I did receive a few nice presents this year (indeed, I just have emerged from a bath laced with salts and aromatherapy oils, followed by a self-massage, for which I used gift items), I still am vaguely disappointed that Father Christmas did not appear. Nor did my fantasy that a favourite friend (who is in perpetual motion - last I heard he was in Bavaria, but he might be on Mars next) would miraculously materialise on my doorstep so we could have a lengthy pub talk for Christmas as we did in times past.

So, in the ultimate loose association, I shall mention that I have two of my 'papas' on my mind at the moment - Papa Sam, of course, and Papa Benedict. I'll give the latter the respect he is due as patriarch of the West (not just of a dizzy family), and explain a thought I had which I'm sure was far from the essence of what this brilliant theologian had to say in his homily for Midnight Mass. Papa Benedict mentioned, in speaking of those who inwardly, instinctively long for the divine, but do not embrace awareness and response, that they are 'tone deaf.'

I found that to be excellent on two counts. As my regulars know, I consider the divine to be within our worship's grasp, but to be essentially unknowable - very beyond our limited grasp. (Don't be discouraged - it makes for a very interesting journey, where love burns white hot and has nowhere to go except becoming more intense - once we respond in love to one level of awareness, we recognise our inadequacy and burn for the second. Burning is on my mind today, not only because we celibates do tend to 'burn' a bit now and then, but because I feel, to borrow my dad's expression, that I 'have a book of matches in my stomach', since I ate too much yesterday and two other times within the past week.) Given the nature of the person, I often think of a similarity there is between music (indeed, all of the arts) and our limited way of expressing ideas and feelings about God. Except for the occasional musicologist who is a technician, and can write of augmented sixth chords for 100 pages without being able to enjoy the best of concerts, who could describe music? It must be experienced - and even then, and regardless of how many years we've devoted to its study or how great our passion, it is beyond description. I realise the analogy is faulty, of course, for it is mankind who composes and performs music! But let us just say that, though I can write endlessly about the spiritual life and theology (surprise!), and rarely 'feel' anything at prayer, I would no more think I could describe the divine than I would hazard to tell someone about Verdi or Beethoven if they'd never heard the works of either performed.

On a level more practical than sublime, though Papa Benedict is not a singer, he comes of the only nation of which I know where congregational singing during the liturgy is quite robust and outstanding (whether Lutheran or Catholic... and Catholic music which is well performed overall, not only in miracle spots such as Westminster Cathedral, is rarer than heroic sanctity.) The liturgical reforms at Maria Laach gave promise of a liturgical renaissance... a promise in which I firmly believed once upon a time, though I think the parousia is more likely to come in my lifetime than fulfilment of that hope. I could be wrong, but it seems to me that he looks pained during some of the choral parts of the papal Masses - yes, Catholic music overall is so dreadful that even the Sistine Choir is terrible, and doesn't seem to even have mastered the Missa de Angelis which I've been known to spoon feed to choirs in out of the way Franciscan churches. No wonder Papa Benedict would think of an analogy to being tone deaf... (Actually, in Italy, though congregational singing in the land of opera is just as awful as it is elsewhere, I'll grant that it's enthusiastic and good and loud. Painful, but passionate...)

Now, how on earth am I to move from brilliant and sophisticated Benedict to Papa Sam? Easy! With the Depression having further limited even my always limited resources (Franciscans are supposed to think that's kind of cool... but, unlike Francesco, I neither had a rich papa nor got into trouble related to excessive resources, so I'll admit it's not exactly a joy ride however much it makes one grateful for everything one has...oh, wait a minute... that's praise and thanksgiving... no, Elizabeth, no more Eucharistic rambling...), I haven't had a chance for even the occasional finger-full of brandy (I favour Grand Marnier, Drambuie and the like... as long as all one can hope to have on one's shelf is cheap Merlot, one may as well as pine for the best) recently. I also have not had too many plates of rich foods which I love. In the past week, I over-indulged (at least by my standards) on both on the two opportunities I had to do so. I therefore know what Sam meant when he'd say, vividly if not with sophistication, "I gotta football in my stomach..."

But the most vivid related memory is the unsympathetic line Sam uttered if one had any illness which was self-inflicted, such as a hangover, sunburn, or an upset stomach. Even if one was sick, shivering, and the like, he'd call out, "Die! Die! I don't feel sorry for you! You have to learn to respect (liquor, the sun, whatever.)"

So, how can I be profound today when I have not one but two papas making me think of two sensitive areas - being tone deaf and "die! I don't feel sorry for you"? I therefore will just close with a common Italian expression (literally true, especially at Christmas when we kiss everyone in sight, but also with a figurative charm), "ti abbraccio con tanto affetto." Yes, my friends, I embrace you with great affection. May this Christmas season mark a fresh coming of the Incarnate Saviour into our lives.

Gift greater than Himself God doth not know. Gift greater than His God no man can see.

NB - If anyone has missed my classic post, 'The great-a God, he became-a so small' , it's one of my funniest recollections - give it a look. :)