Watch!

Watch!

Despite a bit of concern that I might start to be viewed as a presumptuous would-be-homilist, I’m reflecting about the upcoming gospel reading again, on this December First Saturday of 2023.

But as a writer, I’ve always been intrigued by diction, the word choices we make to convey what we want to say.

While we have no way of easily confirming the accuracy of transcription or translation in any of the traditional readings for the First Sunday of Advent, the customary gospel uses one word, “watch,” four different times, in three different ways, within a 98-word passage.

Any word used every 24.5 words in a single brief teaching monologue must surely be significant, especially when that teacher was Jesus. So, I feel it’s a worth a little bit of dissection, to consider why Our Lord placed so much emphasis on this one concept.

“Jesus said to his disciples:
“Be watchful! Be alert!
You do not know when the time will come.
It is like a man traveling abroad.
He leaves home and places his servants in charge,
each with his own work,
and orders the gatekeeper to be on the watch.
Watch, therefore;
you do not know when the lord of the house is coming,
whether in the evening, or at midnight,
or at cockcrow, or in the morning.
May he not come suddenly and find you sleeping.
What I say to you, I say to all: ‘Watch!’”

— Mark 13: 33-37 (https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/120323.cfm)

Our first encounter with the word “watch” is as part of an adjective, “watchful,” and we’re immediately given a synonym, “alert.” Jesus seems to be describing a habitual condition that he would like his disciples to inhabit. That condition could also be described as “paying attention.” Attentiveness appears to be an internal quality that we are encouraged to develop.

Then, we are introduced to two nouns, a “gatekeeper” who is “on the watch.”

Lovingly-preserved Medieval house in a contemporary Medieval neighborhood, viewed from the city wall, Rothenburg, Germany. Photo Credit Fr. Lawrence Hoffmann, published with permission.

From paleolithic times, there have been lookouts on hills overlooking valleys, guardians on mountain peaks above passages between cliffs, gatekeepers in watchtowers embedded in city walls, who have served to help keep their communities safe.

The noun “a watch” has most often described a defined a unit of time with specific limits — “I’ll take the first watch, and you can take the second” — during which the person on duty was expected to provide vigilance for all.

So now, a dimension of community responsibility has been added to the internal personal quality of alertness.

And immediately, it is repeated, for the first time as an imperative verb, “Watch.”

“Watch me!” Children shout as they wave going by, up-and-down, round-and-round, on a carousel.

We “watch” the sky for incoming storms, traffic on the freeway for wayward drivers, the bathtub filling, so it won’t overflow.

We “watch” our cakes and Christmas cookies baking in the oven, often while others in the family are “watching” a parade or football game on television.

As writers, we are always “watching” our budgets, and our word counts. 

The Cambridge English Dictionary offers this definition for the action verb “watch”: “to look at something for a period of timeespecially something that is changing or moving.”  (https://dictionary.cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/watch)

There are two important elements here.

The first is “a period of time.” The verb “to watch” does not mean a brief glance; it means focused attention for long enough to take in the nature, conditions, and dimensions of what is being watched.

The second is “something that is changing or moving.” “Watching” involves engaging in, and recognizing, a process of change and a direction of movement.

Christmas Market Square, Rothenburg, Germany. Photo by Margaret Zacharias, published with permission.

The Christmas markets in Europe, of which Rothenburg is one of the most famous, do offer material goods for purchase as gifts. But their most memorable value is in the experience itself — a satisfying bite into a hot brat on a bitterly cold day; the comfort of a hot cup of chocolate or gluhwein; live musical notes, floating with ephemeral snowflakes in the air.

Do we want broken budgets from too much online shopping this Advent? Do we want morose, unhappy households from endless consumption of ugly world news? Do we want stressed out children from too much sugar, and too many toys?

Or do we want the peace of gratitude for our blessings, the warmth of a simple, unhurried family meal, and the grace of acknowledging that we have enough?

Our Lord’s words speak directly to our authentic needs as human beings, and to the world as it really is.

There have always been wise servants “watching” — and there have always been thieves.

In this new Advent Season that we are about to embark on together, may we be the disciples of Christ who can look into the eyes of our children and grandchildren, our neighbors and friends, with awareness of who they really are, and who they are striving to become.

May faith, hope, and love fill our hearts, and theirs.

Watch.

Featured Photo: Watchtower in the Medieval City Walls, Rothenburg ob der Tauber, Bavaria, Germany, on the plateau overlooking Tauber River ravine.  Author’s personal photo, published with permission.

© Copyright 2023 by Margaret King Zacharias

Mom Hated to Clean!

Mom Hated to Clean!

My mom was a typical mom in all but one thing. She hated to clean!

Mom was a good Catholic girl who went to work in a restaurant at 16 and didn’t finish high school until she got her GED at the age of 32, followed by a college degree in art. Later, she was an optometric dispenser for Montgomery Wards and several other companies before she retired. She didn’t make millions of dollars doing it, but she loved what she did. She’d help pick out new glasses or calm those who were told they needed glasses for the first time, or—several times a year—she would be there for people who were told they would lose their sight or lives to a tumor that was found because of an eye examination. Many of these people became lifelong friends; for others, she would go to their funerals, comforting their families.

How did she get to know all these people? Simply by offering to clean their glasses.

Now, you would think that cleaning is cleaning. Not so to her. If she cleaned at home, she would immediately elicit my and Dad’s help in whatever project she conjured up. Then, after the couch was moved, or everything was out of the cabinet, or the beds were moved to a different room, the white tornado clouds of Lysol, Pine Sol, or vinegar would appear. As much as she hated cleaning, she loved the results and always commented, “Well, that wasn’t so bad. We should do this more often.”

The other thing mom loved to do was go to church. She was always the most comfortable—not at Sunday Mass—at the Tuesday night Novena Mass. She loved being in a church at night, with the votive candles flickering and the sight and smell of incense wafting upward—especially during Advent, when the sun went down around 5 p.m. She would usually drag me along and plop me down in the pew next to her, sometimes to pay attention to the priest, others to sit on the kneeler and use the seat for a desk so I could draw a boat or dog or house. I once asked her why she liked the Tuesday night Novena Mass so much. With a calm look and a slight smile, she said, “Because I feel so clean and straightened after.”

Now that I think about it, Mom was very similar to Saint John the Baptist. Since John was the son of a High Priest of the temple, I’m sure he grew up in a comfortable life with finer things—the best cuts of meat, great clothes, never going hungry. But as he got older, he felt restless. He wanted to work, not go to school. He wanted to do what God was telling him to do. He wanted to help people. And, just like Mom, he would go to heroic lengths to “clean.” He went to the desert; he wore only scratchy, stinky camel skin and ate locusts and honey. He would look out in the night sky, not at votive candles flickering, but at stars. He would see the smoke rise, but instead of incense, it was from his small fire for warmth. And just like Mom, John would comfort the people who came to him. He would tell them there was a better life, a life with God, and a life worth “cleaning” for.

So, he would get right down in the river, roll up his sleeves, and clean. He would baptize with Lysol for the spirit, wash away sins with the Pine Sol of the Holy Spirit, and lift them out of the Jordon with the cleaning vinegar of sanctity running down their cheeks and back. And, just like Mom, John would take whoever came to him—young or old, rich or poor, woman or man, heathen or heretic … they were all God’s children, and he was there to serve.

In Advent, we read in the Old Testament,

Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and proclaim to her that her service is at an end, her guilt is expiated… A voice cries out: “In the desert, prepare the way of the Lord! Make straight in the wasteland a highway for our God! Every valley shall be filled in, every mountain and hill shall be made low; the rugged land shall be made a plain, the rough country, a broad valley …” (Isaiah 40:1–4)

In the New Testament, we have John appearing “in the desert proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins… and [they] were being baptized by him in the Jordan River as they acknowledged their sins” (Mark 1:4–5).

Like Mom and John the Baptist, we have heroic cleaning to do. Advent is the perfect season to clean the closet—of our souls. Vacuum up the carpets—of the times we know we missed the mark. And clean your glasses—so your heart can see the goodness of God in everyone you meet during this season of expectation.

Copyright 2023 Ben Bongers

Getting Ready for the Season!

Getting Ready for the Season!

Christmas is near! The stores are filled with activity. People are buying gifts, candy, food, and other supplies. Everyone is getting ready for the season. Joy and excitement are in the air. The decorations are up. Most of the kids are staring anxiously at the fireplace, waiting… impatiently for Santa to arrive.

A little story

I, however, did not have a fireplace as a child. This concern was very important to me. How was Santa Claus going to get into my house? This question bugged me. I wanted Santa Claus to bring me presents. I didn’t want him to forget me just because I did not have a fireplace.

Thankfully, on Christmas Eve, the bottom of the tree was filled with presents. I knew, later on, that it was actually my parents and extended family members that gave me presents. I was not forgotten.

Sharing the excitement

Christmas is my favorite time of the year. Not because of the presents (although that part is fun, too) but because it reminds me of the birth of Jesus. Thinking about him coming into the world fills me with joy. It’s the perfect reminder of what Christmas is all about. Without Jesus, Christmas would not exist.

A sweet memory

My grandpa used to dress up as Santa Claus. He had this special tradition of handing out gifts to me and my cousins. After doing this little event, grandpa sat down on a piano. My cousins, Aunts, and Uncles sang Christmas songs.

What are your favorite Christmas traditions?

Is it reading the book of Matthew out loud together as a family? Traveling on Christmas Day to extended relatives? Eating summer sausage, crackers and cheese? Ham and mashed potatoes? How about eggnog? Watching

A Christmas Carol or It’s A Wonderful Life?

As you gather around the Christmas tree, think about how God has blessed you and your family this year. Write down the graces that you have received on a piece of paper.

In the meantime, enjoy celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ, on Christmas Eve with friends and loved ones. May God bless you!

 

Copyright 2022 – Angela Lano

Journey to Bethlehem

Scripture and our imaginations give us an image of Joseph and a pregnant Mary setting out on foot from Nazareth to travel to Bethlehem. Perhaps they brought a donkey along for Mary to ride as the road became more treacherous.

In fact, that road winds for considerable distance around dusty mountains as it ascends into the Judean highlands, where the town of Bethlehem stands perched on a cliffside. (I sure hope Mary did have that donkey.)

Today pilgrims ride the bus. In 1997, when I made my first visit to the Church of the Nativity, we traveled urban highways without obstacle, straight to an underground parking garage in Bethlehem.

In 2012, when I made my last visit, we were stopped at a passport checkpoint for almost an hour, while armed soldiers determined whether we should be permitted to pass into Palestine. This ritual was repeated as we returned to Jerusalem in Israel.

The journey to Bethlehem has never been easy.

Consider the Three Kings who traveled for months to pay their homage to the Christ Child. They did have animal transport, of course: camels, creatures that are reputed to be even more stubborn than donkeys.

Perhaps the most important journey to Bethlehem involves a sometimes-frightening walk down a church aisle with “everybody watching.” This trip is performed annually by small children dressed in outlandish costumes; a few of them might manage to enjoy the experience, but I suspect those are probably the exceptions. No, it’s us, their parents and grandparents who relish—in fact, insist upon—this yearly spectacle.

For more than a decade my fellow catechists and I joined forces to organize a typical extravaganza specifically for our public-school religious education children. Our students were not going to suffer because, for a variety of reasons, they did not attend Catholic schools! We would present our own Christmas pageant for the parish, no matter what it required.

In Matthew’s Nativity story, there is little mention of Mary; his focus is on Joseph. Aside from speaking to Joseph in his dreams, angels don’t appear, either (certainly not to shepherds in the fields). Joseph’s vital decisions, and important conversations the Three Kings hold with King Herod, drive the action in Matthew’s Gospel.

We know the angelic chorus and the shepherds from Luke’s Gospel, written much later in historical time. The Annunciation, the Visitation, a heavenly host of angels, and shepherds who keep watch over their flocks appear only in the Gospel of Luke. In Luke’s narrative, the Three Kings are notably absent. Neither Mark nor John offers a comparable birth narrative.

But the tradition endures.

At the Church of the Nativity, they tell pilgrims that there were once pictures of the Three Kings painted on its exterior walls. When Ottoman Turks swept through the Holy Land destroying Christian holy sites, this birthplace of Jesus was not razed. The invaders recognized their own faces in those mural portraits and spared the shrine.

For that reason, the precise site of Jesus’ birth is relatively more certain than many other Christian monuments in the Holy Land.

We often were told, “This may not be the exact spot where it happened. But it was somewhere very close by. These stories have been handed down, generation after generation, by families who still live right here today.” That’s the reason we love our Christmas pageants, too. They’ve been passed down in our families as part of our religious heritage. They may mingle different gospel stories; they may create a lot of extra work; they may drive sensitive elderly pastors crazy with their noise and chaos; but they are metaphors for something sacred that we all cherish.

One Advent, several years ago, I stood in a crowded church with a long line of people. We were all waiting to see a popular confessor when, ahead of me, I noticed three energetic teenage boys. They bounced on their feet as they waited and traded playful punches in the shoulder. Behind them, right in front of me, stood a teenage girl who had brought the boys with her into the church. I had watched her organize them into their current semblance of order with a charming personality that matched her physical beauty.

I kept thinking, “She looks so familiar.”

Finally, I touched her arm. “Forgive me. I think I might know you, but I don’t remember your name.”

She gave me a sweet smile and said, “I remember you. I’ll never forget the person who gave me my first Rosary. You cast me as Mary for the Christmas pageant in second grade.”

It matters how we travel.

May your journey to Bethlehem this Advent be blessed.

 

Copyright 2022, Margaret Zacharias

Cath-Lit Live: 5-Minute Prayers Around the Advent Wreath

Cath-Lit Live: 5-Minute Prayers Around the Advent Wreath

“Cath-Lit Live!” features brief interviews with Catholic authors who are releasing new books. Hosted by Catholic author and speaker Amy J. Cattapan, “Cath-Lit Live!” gives viewers a glimpse into the latest Catholic books while getting to know a bit about the author as well.

 

 

5-Minute Prayers Around the Advent Wreath by Lisa M. Hendey

Spend just five minutes a day praying around your Advent wreath with popular author Lisa M. Hendey’s heart-felt reflections and you’ll experience the promise, renewal, and hope of the Advent season. Hendey—founder of CatholicMom.com—invites you to take up the centuries-old tradition of lighting candles and gathering around an Advent wreath in prayer with family and friends. These Scripture-based devotions are perfect for any age and setting, and offer a few minutes of simplicity, focus, and sacred longing as you contemplate and prepare for the great gift of Christ’s birth. Each day includes an opening antiphon and a closing prayer, a Scripture reading, a short reflection, and questions to ponder, journal about, or use in conversation. (Ave Maria Press)

 

 

About the author: Lisa M. Hendey is the founder of CatholicMom.com and a bestselling author. She has journeyed around the globe to hear and share messages of hope and encouragement. Her Chime Travelers series for kids is read and studied worldwide in homes, schools, and churches. A frequent TV and radio guest, Lisa also hosts two podcasts. Lisa and Greg Hendey worship and live in Los Angeles, CA.

 

 

You can catch “Cath-Lit Live” live on A.J. Cattapan’s author Facebook page. Recorded versions of the show will also be available to watch later on her YouTube channel and Instagram.

 


Copyright 2022 Amy J. Cattapan
Banner image via Pexels

When You Think You Think You Have Nothing to Give, Bring Your Drum…

At least that is what a young boy did thousands of years ago when he wanted to honor a new king. You probably can hear the drum beating as he asks “Shall I play for you? On my drum?”  You know the rest. tribal-1215118_1920

Most of my life, I’ve felt I had nothing worthy to put at the feet of the King of the Universe.  Instead, I often ran away from him. But in his wisdom and love, he carried me to the point where I am today.

It was in my parish family during a small group retreat by Father Michael Gaitley, the study on “Consoling the Heart of Jesus” gave me a whole new insight into the love and longing Jesus has for us. Early in the book, Father Gaitley shares a simple message he perceived from Jesus:

“All I want is for you to be my friend. All I want is for you not to be afraid of me and to come to me.” (Page 71)

Loving and Consoling Jesus through His Living Body the Church

 I found great joy in meeting with like-minded souls to talk about our growing love for Jesus and the resulting desire to put faith into action.  It was nothing short of miraculous. God bears his light to us, first through his son and then through others.

They come heeding the call of the Holy Spirit to be in the right place at the right time. We all know people who are beacons – radiating goodness, kindness, love and action. Sometimes, we are the steadying signal, but I never forget who is at the origin.

Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe;  Hebrews 12:28 

Jesus is the burning heart, the center of this wonderful body of Christ and in loving others, we love him.  In consoling others, we console him. We truly are branches nourished by his living vine.

Bringing Our Drums

heart-2862156_1920So we come back to the little shepherd boy. I hear his drums, “pa rum pa pum pum” a physical declaration of his heart beating with love for the king, a testimony to all that is required of us–offering our own hearts without reserve.

I once thought I had nothing to give, but I was wrong.  Jesus smiled at the drummer boy and his gift while Mary nodded and the ox and lamb kept time. I am certain he smiles at each of us too; we just need to bring him our drum.

 

What Christmas songs stir your heart?  Bring loving memories to mind?  Feel free to share in the comments section.

Celebrating Our First Christmas with Alzheimer’s Disease: Laughter Allowed

IT MAKES SENSE TO ME

by Larry Peterson

I guess the first time I realized that something was really wrong was about a year and a half ago. I have a bedroom I turned into an office, and I was sitting at the keyboard clicking away. I sensed someone behind me and turned to see my wife, Marty, standing there. She had a strange look on her face. I remember the moment because fear was etched across her face. “Hey,” I said. “What’s the matter?”

Then I noticed she was trembling. I stood up and went over to her and put my hands on her shoulders. She stammered and sort of whispered, “I don’t know. I think I need your help.”

“Okay, what is it?”

Marty turned and headed down the hall past the living room and into the kitchen. I followed and noticed that she had her “cookie” stuff out.  As she had done so many times in the past, she was about to make the best old fashioned, home-made, chocolate-chip cookies I have ever had. Like a child, I said, “Oh, awesome, you’re making cookies. So, how can I help?”

She sighed and shook her head.  She began to cry and, looking at me, said, ” What is all this? I don’t know what it is for?”

The woman who had made thousands upon thousands of these cookies over the years had no memory of previously doing what she had done so many times before. She had placed the needed supplies on the counter and went to use the bathroom. When she returned a few minutes later, what had been virtually second nature to her had been erased from her mind. It was all gone.

She had come back to me for help because she KNEW something was terribly wrong inside her head, and this time the sudden, specific memory loss was scaring the hell out of her. She sobbed, “What is happening to me?”

She had been sick with Lymphoma since 2011. She had endured numerous cycles of chemotherapy to fight the disease. Anesthesia, required because of surgery in August (needed to repair a broken ankle), and an attack of A-Fib (Atrial Fibrillation) in September exacerbated the cognitive dysfunction. She was officially diagnosed as having Alzheimer’s Disease* on September 28.  And now we are approaching our first Christmas together with Alzheimer’s as our unwanted Christmas guest.

Guess what? It is OK. He will not ruin our Christmas. He is welcome to join us. That is because we have started to laugh again, more and more. And we are laughing at the insanity of living in Alzheimerville. And trust me, it can get quite wacky.

I have always had a bit of a flip attitude. It probably has helped me get through some tough times. So when Marty goes to the cardiologist and goes to sign in and cannot remember her name she looks at me for help. I smile and say, “Who cares Lucy, they know who you are. Just put down Lucille Ball.” She starts to laugh and I laugh and I write her name down for her. Not an issue.

The past ten years of her life seem to have literally vanished from her brain. She does not remember us getting married. (We were both widowed and married eight years ago. She has no clue.) So she asks me if we are really married. I show her our marriage license and pictures from our wedding. She is shocked. “I can’t believe it, ” she says. We really ARE married.”

Now, every night I say to her, “Okay, we can sleep together tonight. It’s not a sin.” She always laughs at that.

There are so many little, extraordinary things that happen every day. Being asked the same question over and over can become unnerving. I have turned it around to where I start by giving her the answer. For example, she asks me ten times a day, “How do you feel today?” After a few times I answer, “Today I feel like seeing you and that makes my day shiny.” It is a ridiculous answer but she likes it and I like it too.

I cannot count the things that have been moved to the strangest places. I have found the Parmesan cheese in the towel closet, unwashed clothes in the dryer. She makes coffee and tells me it is the worst coffee she ever had and I should let her make it. She has hair curlers that keep vanishing. I have found them in the garage, in the refrigerator, and under the kitchen sink. We had been searching for them and when I found them in the refrigerator I said loudly, “Here they are.”

She was standing nearby and turned to see me lifting the bag from next to the milk. I quickly asked, “Can I use these for curly fries?” I began to laugh and she shook her head and smiled. I gave her a hug, opened the freezer door and tossed the curlers in. “They are not frozen enough,” I said.  She began to laugh and so did I and, although shrouded in a dark moment, we laughed our way into the brightness of a new moment.

Marty has been captured and imprisoned by the most insidious of diseases. It is like a computer virus slowly deleting what is in memory. So far the last ten years are gone. That cursor is still clicking delete, delete, delete. The day will come when she will not even know who I am. I will do my best to keep her laughing and smiling as long as I can, and as long as she understands why we laugh.

As for me, I must admit, this entire situation has been wearing me down. There is a lot to do as a caregiver. I traveled a similar road with my first wife, Loretta, who died 12 years ago from cancer. She was sick a long time, but she never lost brain function. That is a very difficult thing to deal with 24/7. But you do what you have to do. If a man and a woman love each other that is the way it should be, HAPPY to be there for each other, no matter what. We both took vows before God and man to that effect and, for me, they remain in full force until death.

Our biggest friend in all of this is our Catholic faith. It is there for us through the Holy Mass, through Our Lord Jesus, through Our Blessed Mother and through the examples and intercessions of so many great saints, reinforced every day by prayers from our family and friends. In fact, I did attend Mass this morning and I had a bit of an epiphany. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself when I realized I had been given a Christmas gift from God Himself.

This gift is my ill wife afflicted with a disease that is unstoppable and incurable. She is foremost God’s child, and now she needs someone to take care of her just as she did years ago when she was a child. We met at church and were married in church. An unlikely couple, I know that God brought us together. Maybe this is why. Because during the Christmas season of 2014 I realized that besides a wife, HE has given me one of HIS children to care for. I will do my best to make Him proud. I will also do my best to keep us laughing. It is all GOOD.

MERRY CHRISTMAS
________________________________________________________________________

* In case you do not know this, Alzheimer’s Disease and dementia are NOT the same thing. Alzheimer’s is the number one cause of dementia but there are over 150 different causes.

 

Copyright Larry Peterson 2014

The Nativity of Our Lord

NativityLuke 2: 1-20 The Infancy Narrative

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that the whole world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. So all went to be enrolled, each to his own town. And Joseph too went up from Galilee from the town of Nazareth to Judea, to the city of David that is called Bethlehem , because he was of the house and family of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. While they were there, the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

Now there were shepherds in that region living in the fields and keeping the night watch over their flock. The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were struck with great fear. The angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying:

“Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

When the angels went away from them to heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go, then, to Bethlehem to see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went in haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the infant lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known the message that had been told them about this child. All who heard it were amazed by what had been told them by the shepherds. And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart. Then the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, just as it had been told to them.

We, too, keep all these things, reflecting on them in our hearts, and give glory and praise to God for all we have seen and heard, just as it has been told to us.

Merry Christmas