Here we are at the cusp of Christmas. People always be like “I’m
dreaming of a white Christmas”, and a good chunk of the continental US is under
a gazillion feet of snow with high winds, making holiday travel even more chaotic
than usual.
I myself never dream of a white Christmas and I say people
should be careful what they ask for. This year more than ever they should be
wishing for stable power, reliable and affordable sources of heat, potable running
water and that Russian forces retreat the hell back to Moscow and have a few
words with Vladimir Putin.
Anyway, back to the ultimate day of Advent. “Once in Royal David’s
City” has always been one of my favorite carols because of the haunting intro by
a solo (usually boy) soprano and the build-up to the crashing finish. It typically
is the opening carol in Christmas Eve services of Nine Lessons and Carols, and
I associate listening to it (broadcast from King’s College, Cambridge) as I
drove around, delivering gifts and tying up loose ends for the holiday prep.
I’m giving you a performance by another Cambridge college,
Trinity, because they allow women in their choir, which seems more fitting to
the 21st Century somehow.
May all who need the joy of Christmas find it this year. Not Putin,
tho.
Only two more sleeps until Christmas and I have to say I’ve been
looking forward to today’s post since my visit to Avignon last month.
I’ve already referenced Medieval paintings I saw at a museum
there in my post for Annunciation
Sunday. Specifically I was taken by 14th Century Sienese painter
Bartolo di Fredi’s portrait of Mary as she took in the news that God was going
to impregnate her.
But there was another of his works that kept drawing me back
again and again: “Nativity and Adoration of the Shepherds”.
I love this painting because of all the animals. I mean, you
have your angels…fine. And the Holy Spirit descending.
But the animals, man—starting with the ox and ass behind Mary
and Jesus.
And the “sheep”…or they might be goats. And I think that may be
a chicken at the right of the kneeling shepherds. Not sure, but possibly.
But what completely fascinates me are the dogs. They have
collars! This one in the foreground:
And this one back with the flock of whatever they are:
(Well, looking at this again, the dog with the flock may be the same dog in the foreground. Di Fredi may be painting a narrative, with the angels appearing to the shepherds in the background and then them arriving at the stable. Dunno.)
Did dogs have collars in First Century Judea? I’m guessing they
did in 14th Century Siena but—like the luxurious clothing for Mary—seems
a little anachronistic for working dogs at the birth of Christ.
One of the first things we knew about the Russian invasion of
Ukraine was how much Ukrainians love their animals. People fleeing the invaders
left behind so much, but they took their pets with them, even walking for miles
carrying them. We also saw countless photos of Ukrainian soldiers with their
cat (and dog) mascots; I loved how the tabbies matched the military camouflage,
although I hated the circumstances. Even so, hundreds—probably thousands—of beloved
pets have been caught up in the devastation the Russians have wreaked. Neighbors
who couldn’t or wouldn’t evacuate have done their best to look after the
animals. As one soldier
said about the connection between dog/cat and human, “Even in the midst of
war, it’s possible to experience fleeting moments of grace.”
Today’s Advent piece is about the shepherds at
Bethlehem. “While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night” is sung as part of
the service of Lessons and Carols at King’s College, Cambridge.
May all creatures—upright or on four paws—experience more than
fleeting moments of grace.
It may surprise you to learn that today’s Advent carol originated
in Ukraine. It’s known around the world as “Carol of the Bells”, but it was
written in 1914, based on the Ukrainian folk chant “Shedryk”, about a swallow
that sings the first song of Spring. (Way back when, the New Year began in
Spring, and “Shedryk” is kinda focused on the New Year.)
I imagine you could hear a lot of versions of this all over
Ukraine, despite the Russian invasion; Ukrainians aren’t the type of folks to
let bullies (no matter how many missiles they use) interfere with what’s
important to them. So here’s Chornobrivtsi singing it at a Christmas concert in
Lviv, 12 years ago.
May the New Year bring the peace and solace that 2022 has failed
to deliver.
We’re at the Winter Solstice, that point in the calendar where
those in the Northern Hemisphere experience the longest night. For millennia, humans
have found ways—physical and spiritual—to defend against the darkness; one of
them is to celebrate the turning of the cycle. After tonight, night retreats
day by day until balance is achieved at the equinox, and then the tide turns
again at the Summer Solstice.
It’s
no coincidence that religious traditions lay on the candles at this time of the
year or that much of the imagery revolves around the warmth and light of loved
ones gathered in circumstances of good will. Even if too much of that is
marketing hype these days, it’s still a good thing to consider allowing some
lightness into our lives.
Though
difficult, I imagine that the Ukrainian people are doing exactly this at every
opportunity they have, though those opportunities be fleeting. And I have so much
respect for them.
Today’s
Advent piece is perfect for Solstice—Gustav Holst’s setting of the poem by
Christina Rosetti, “In the Bleak Midwinter”. IMO Rosetti captures the essence of winter: "Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone." But then she walks us back, just like the sun does, starting tomorrow.
Here's the Quire Cleveland performing it.
May everyone find light and warmth even in the coldest and
darkest places.
For those in the Northern Hemisphere, Advent comes in winter,
which—for much of the geography—means cold temperatures, grey landscapes and
snow. Many people like that fine, but I’m pretty sure that subset of humanity
has easy access to warm shelter, unbroken grocery supply chains and reliable
potable water. Millions in areas like Ukraine and Syria are not so fortunate,
so the season is mixed for them.
Therefore, today’s Advent piece comes from the Caribbean, via Carnegie
Hall, because we could use a little island warmth and color. Here are Kathleen
Battle and Frederica von Stade singing “Mary’s Boy Child”, with the help of
Wynton Marsalis and the American Boy Choir.
This is the last Gratitude Monday before Christmas. And I may
have mentioned that I—like millions of others—am sometimes not as into the joy
of this season. There is frankly too much shit going on, on both a macro and
micro level for me to quite feel…I dunno, festive.
At times like these, I am grateful for the power of music—all kinds
of it—to pull me away from the quotidian and wrap myself in beauty. Music has
the same power that my morning skyscapes do to fill me with joy, comfort and
gratitude.
(This is why I use my morning photos for my computer desktops.
When I’m feeling like rage quitting, I close out all the open apps and look at
the screen.)
As we round the corner onto Christmas, I think about Ukrainians
scrabbling in the ruins of their homes and cities, without heat, light or power
thanks to the ego-driven aggressive war waged by Russia; what I’m facing is a
puff of wind compared to the hurricane they’ve endured since February.
So I’m sharing one of my all-time favorite Christmas hymns,
translated by the Victorian polymath Catherine Winkworth from the German. Its
opening verse is imprinted on my soul:
“Comfort, comfort ye, my people
“Speak ye peace, thus saith our God
“Comfort those who sit in darkness
“Mourning under sorrow’s load.
“Speak ye to Jerusalem
“Of the peace that waits for them
“Tell her that her sins I cover
“And her warfare now is over.”
The Cathedral Choir of Saint John the Divine is singing it in a
performance from two years ago, when the world definitely needed comfort.
May all who carry sorrow's load find comfort in the beauty of the skies and music.
We’re at Advent IV, Annunciation Sunday. This is when Christians
focus on that time when the Archangel Gabriel appeared to
Mary and announced that she’d been chosen to bring the Son of
God into the world via virgin birth, thus getting the whole thing rolling.
We only have the
(male) Gospel accounts of that event and they pretty much gloss over what must
have been quite the awkward conversation. What we’re told is that, upon
receiving the announcement (no discussion allowed), Mary replies, basically,
“Well, okay. I am the handmaiden of the Lord. Let’s do this.”
(You're getting two Botticellis for the price of one.)
Neri di Bicci, “Virgin and Child”:
(This one completely astounded me because look at her fingers!)
Zanobi Strozzi, “Altarpiece
of Saint Jerome”
(I wondered why
Jerome, so I looked him up. In addition to translating the Bible into the
vulgate, it seems that the Church Father had Ideas on how women should live
their lives. Because of course.)
I shouldn’t have
to say this, but—without exception (unless covered by “School of” or “Anonymous”)—the
painters were male. As I went from painting to painting, I was struck by the
fact that a Jewish peasant girl was depicted in unlikely luxurious fabrics and
furs, everything is sparkling clean and there are no other women in sight
(unless the odd Saint Catherine or Saint Bridget gets mixed in with Jerome,
Peter, Benedict and the rest). Mary and her role are idealized as only men who
never had to bother with domestic life could idealize.
This is
particularly true in pictures of the annunciation, where Mary’s reaction to
Gabriel’s surprise is demure, pious or rapturous. Except for this one, by Bartolo di Fredi:
Now, this
is a portrait of a teenager from the back of beyond who’s just been told by a
guy claiming to be an archangel that God is sending the Holy Spirt to
impregnate her to fulfill the prophesies of a messiah and for the good of man.
“Dude—wut?
On the Sunday
devoted to the ultimate mother, I’m thinking of the millions of women in
Ukraine, Syria, Eritrea, Tibet—around the world, really—who are holding things
together for their families, friends and communities without benefit of posses
of saints to lift them up. They’ve done this in the face of terror, famine,
war, floods, misogyny and mansplaining. They have all had the expression di
Fredi depicted on their faces more than once, but they carried on. Just like
Mary.
NB: Hanukkah begins tonight. For reasons of numeracy, I got muddled about that this year and posted early. That piece is found here.
Okay, today’s Advent
piece is “There Is No Rose of Such Virtue”, which dates from the 15th
Century. Mary is often symbolized by a rose, usually a white one, indicating
her pure state. And here’s Sting to sing it.
May all who carry
the burden of holding things together find respite, comfort and joy.
