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.
There have been approximately 78,344 film iterations of A
Christmas Carol since it was published in 1843. One of my most favorite
versions is 1988’s Scrooged, with Bill Murray playing TV network exec
Frank X. Cross, a legend-in-his-own-mind asshole who doesn’t give a toss about
the lives of anyone around him.
The “around him” part would extend to the entire world, BTW. He’s
a slightly blotchier 80s Elon Musk without the billions but with all the ego.
His mean-spiritedness is demonstrated by putting on a live production
of the Dickens story on Christmas Eve, requiring everyone involved to work
through the run-up and the night. Bah, humbug!
Well, of course Cross is redeemed, with the help of the three
Christmas ghosts. Instead of showing his change of heart by sending a turkey to
an employee, he barges onto the set of the live broadcast and delivers a
passionate plea for everyone watching to participate in the “miracle of
Christmas”—caring for those they encounter, both friend and stranger. And to do
it outside of the Christmas season.
“I'm not crazy.
“It's Christmas Eve.
“It's the one night of
the year when we all act a little nicer; we smile a little easier, we cheer a
little more.
“For a couple of hours
out of the whole year, we are the people that we always hoped we would be.
“It's a miracle.
It's really a sort of a miracle because it happens every Christmas Eve.
And if you waste that miracle, you're going to burn for it.
“I know what I'm
talking about. You have to…to do something. You have to take a
chance. You do have to get involved.
“There are people that
are having trouble making make their miracle happen.
“There are people that
don't have enough to eat.
“There are people that
are cold.
“You can go out and say
hello to these people.
“You can take an old
blanket out of the closet and say, "Here."
“You can make them a
sandwich and say, "Oh by the way, here." I get it now.
And if you give, then it can happen. Then the miracle can happen to you.
“It's not just the poor
and the hungry; it's everybody who has got to have this miracle. And it
can happen tonight for all of you.
“If you believe in this
spirit thing, the miracle will happen, and then you'll want it to happen again
tomorrow.
“You won't be one of
these bastards who says, "Christmas is once a year, and it's a
fraud." It's not. It can happen every day.
“You've just got to
want that feeling. And if you like it and you want it, you'll get greedy
for it. You'll want it every day of your life, and it can happen to
you.
“I believe in it now.
“I believe it's going
to happen to me now.
“I'm ready for it.
And it's great. It's a good feeling.
“It's really better than
I've felt in a long time.
“I'm ready.
“Have a Merry Christmas,
everybody.”
And then they all sing “Put
a Little Love in your Heart”, which is not technically a Christmas piece, but
it certainly supports the theme Cross has going. And it’s something we should
all be considering—the season is about love made manifest, and we can
demonstrate love in so many ways.
So here’s Annie Lennox
and Al Green singing “Put a Little Love in your Heart”, recorded for the Scrooged
soundtrack.
May all creatures find
and expand their capacity for sharing love now and throughout the year.
I’m pretty sure that every war begun since the year 1 BCE touted
that soldiers from both sides would be home by Christmas.
Victorious, of course.
Trying to think of any that lived up to the hype, but I'm coming up empty.
Putin’s current little adventure in Ukraine was supposed to have
over in three days, yet here we are, like 298 later. There will be a lot of Russian families marking
the holidays without Vanya, Pasha and Mitya. And families all over Ukraine will
be making do not only with their brothers and sisters at the front, but in bomb
shelters, shelled-out buildings and in the cold and dark from power outages.
Merry Christmas, y’all.
Well,
it should come as no surprise that “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” was written in
1943 (first recorded by Bing Crosby). Its lyrics encapsulate the longing of
every soldier on every side in every war for the past two millennia to be with
family and friends for the quintessential family-and-friends holiday. So
it’s my choice for today’s Advent piece.
paints an idealized
picture of what the holidays represent. It sounds a little kitschy these days,
but it must have cut deep into the hearts of everyone who’d been displaced by
the war.
Apparently the song’s writer couldn’t sell it to music
publishers until he sang it to Bing Crosby on the golf course. Crosby liked it,
and back in those days, if Crosby wanted to make a record, he did. It was a
substantial hit for him in both 1943 and 1944.
Today’s Advent piece comes again from Ukraine.
I truly cannot find out much about the history of “Shcho z Kyieva tai do
Rusalyma” (“From Kyiv to Jerusalem”), but according to Google translate, it’s
all about the joyous news of Christ.
I would like to know more about the Kyiv to
Jerusalem part—more than 3600 km, which is quite a schlep. When I looked it up,
here’s what Google warned:
No kidding.
I’m thinking of the people of Kyiv, and the rest of Ukraine,
celebrating this season. Either occupied by hostile forces or under attack. I
imagine that nothing Putin could throw at them will stop them from singing; I
certainly hope not.
Here’s an ethnomusical group, Bozhychi, singing
it. I have to say that they don’t look like they’re entirely having a good time,
although that may be the performance style. Like Scottish dancing. Still, the
harmonies are amazing.
May those who fill the air
with song overpower the cacophony of war.
It has been said that the entirety of Jewish
holidays can be distilled down to this triad: they tried to kill us; we won;
let’s eat. Tonight marks the first night of Hanukkah, the eight-day
commemoration of the successful conclusion of the Jewish revolt against the
Seleucids in 165 BCE. A lot of latkes will be consumed over the coming week in
homes around the world, accompanied by the sound of dreidels being spun.
The revolt was led by Judah, known as Judah
Maccabee, “Judah the Hammer”, a brilliant military leader who employed the
kinds of tactics we’re seeing the Ukrainian defense forces deploy against the invading
Russians, of whom it is said that at the beginning of the year they were the
second best army in the world, and now they’re the second best in Ukraine.
Victory against the Seleucids included rededicating the Temple in Jerusalem,
which had been desecrated under the occupation forces. (We’re seeing a lot of
that kind of thing in areas of Ukraine that have driven out the Russian
occupiers—so much pointless vengeful destruction.) In order to perform the
cleansing ritual, the Jews needed to burn pure, unadulterated olive oil in the
Temple’s menorah every night. After all the turmoil of revolution, there was
only enough of the kosher oil to last a single night, and it would take much
longer than a day to lay in a supply to fulfill this requirement.
However, the lamp was lighted and the oil
lasted for eight nights, until new oil could be brought in. Hanukkah is the
celebration of this event, combining joy at the overthrow of tyranny with
delight at the miracle of the oil. Eight nights of light in the temple, eight
candles (and the shamash, the servant candle that lights all the others) on the
hanukkiyah. Plus latkes and the dreidel. It’s another of those holidays that
rejoices at the triumph of light over darkness (freedom over oppression, good
over evil), and I don’t think we can have too many of these.
This year I think the symbolism of Hanukkah,
and especially the miracle of the lamps, is more important than perhaps any
time in the past 80 years. The world needs to believe that there will be light
in the darkness, hope amid the horrors and good that rises above evil.
My song for Hanukkah this year was written by
Peter Yarrow, of Peter, Paul & Mary, in 1983 against the backdrop of the
war in Lebanon. It seems particularly apt now. The folk group performs "Light One Candle" at their 1988 holiday concert. The visuals are as strong as the music.
May each candle add to the light that we all
need so much at this time.
Today is the feast of Saint Lucy, a Sicilian
martyr of the Diocletian persecutions in the Third Century. When you hear the
term “Christian martyr” applied to a woman of the early years of the Church,
it’s almost always a young woman whose only defense of her virginity against
pagan lechers is death. And so it was for Lucy, also known as Lucia, who was
burnt at the stake in Syracuse. Although she did not die until
given Christian rites…
Ah, good times, eh?
Well, interestingly, Saint Lucy (whose name
derives from the Latin lux, lucis; light) was taken up big time by the Nordics.
Interesting, but not really surprising. For one thing, when you live in areas
enshrouded by darkness for months at a time, anything relating to light is
highly valued.
For another, it turns out that, in
pre-Christian Scandinavia, 13 December was dedicated to Lussi, a kind of female
demon, who led her followers around wreaking havoc on everyone. In the period
between Lussi Night and Yule, trolls and evil spirits (possibly joined by
spirits of the dead) roamed the land and committed all manner of mischief.
Lussi could come down the chimney and take naughty children away.
So you can see why folks might want to wrap a
saint rumored to have taken food and supplies to refugees hiding in caverns
(wearing a wreath of candles on her head, so as to leave both arms free for
schlepping stuff) around the Old Ones’ Lussi.
This year we have an unconscionable number of
refugees—from Afghanistan, Latin America, Ukraine, Syria and other places. We
could use the likes of Saint Lucia to provide comfort and comforts to them all,
welcome them to their new abodes (instead of, say, flying them en masse to
Rwanda), show them a human face of caritas in the bleak cold of winter wars.
Ah, a girl can dream, can’t she?
In honor of Saint Lucia, we’re having “Sankta
Lucia”, performed by, uh, some church choir in Sweden.
May the light of love and generosity flood the
darkness of all who are displaced from their homes.
If you don’t know about the
Jacquie Lawson online greeting card empire, I’m sorry to hear that. More than a
decade ago Lawson figured out how to monetize nostalgia for Olde England (and
sometimes Scotland), with animated cards for every occasion. But where she
really nails it is her Advent calendars, each year set in an idealized snow-covered
village.
They work just like the IRL
versions—for the first 25 days in December you click on a number and are given
an experience: kids skating, someone making Christmas cake, dogs and cats rollicking
about. But there’s also an interactive element—you can wrap presents, ice
cookies, decorate a Christmas tree, assemble picture blocks. Just like for
reals, only you never spill the little silver balls all over your kitchen or
step on an ornament.
I’ve been really lucky for
many years to be given the annual calendar and I confess that the rare December
when it doesn’t show up in my inbox is a bit of a bummer. But this year my old
choir-mate The Pundit’s Apprentice and his wife sent it to me and I was just
delighted. Because this year—in addition to the usual—there are games. Like
smashing ornaments, picking out words, solitaire, concentration and others.
Thankfully, I have not downloaded it onto either of my work machines because I
would be so tempted to spend the entire day in that Christmas room, with the
fire and candles lit and the snow falling outside (extra points for the
exteriors of the village being light or dark depending on your IP address’s
time zone), going from game to game.
This year in particular I
treasure this calendar. In past years, my older sister would send it to me. And
when I visited her for the holiday, I’d open my daily surprise and also hear
her in her room clicking on a puzzle or smashing ornaments, with the Christmas
music in the background. (She has severe hearing loss.) So every time I click
on something, I hear her in my heart and it makes me happy.
So today’s Advent piece is the
“Sussex Carol”, because the Lawson village this year is somewhere in Sussex.
And here’s the choir of King’s College, Cambridge, singing it.
May everyone receive gifts that
connect them to loved ones as this does for me.
We’re at Advent III, Gaudete Sunday. This is the one devoted to
joy.
After two weeks of contemplation and preparation (that’s the
plan, at least), this is the break in the stillness, when Christians bust a few
moves and proclaim the joy of the coming of the Christ.
This year—third of the pandemic, seventh of the fascist takeover
of the Republican party, unknown of the climate disaster, first of the
Russo-Ukrainian war—well, asking any cognizant person to give way to joy seems
like a stretch. Let’s face it: the world is just about literally a dumpster
fire. And that’s scary AF.
But I think that’s precisely what we all need—that break to just
take an hour, a day, a few minutes to look around you and find joy. It can be
as small as a baby’s smile or as great as an amazing cloud formation when the
sun hits it just right. If you mindfully give way to joy, it’s amazing how much
your emotional, spiritual, mental and even physical batteries are recharged.
Therefore, today’s Advent music is “Jesus bleibet meine Freude”,
known in the English-speaking world as “Jesu, joy of man’s desiring”, by J.S.
Bach. Here’s the Netherlands Bach Society performing it.
May all the people of the world find joy sufficient to lighten
the burdens we all carry.
