I have been hitting the malls for gift buying, and observing the secular "spirit" of the season, the good, and the not so good. The religious Spirit, the second Person of the Trinity whose birth is the nominal genesis of the secular frenzy, is always hovering around and infusing me, although my ability to receive Him varies. I suppose it varies as well when it comes to the secular "spirit".
About a week ago, I was over at the Grove, and I passed the little Santa Clause house they put up smack in the middle of the centre. I never noticed that there was a window that the passerby could stop at to watch the children as they each sat on Santa's lap and had their pictures taken. I am pretty sure it wasn't there before, or I am certain that I would have stopped before, as I did that weekend. It is as if you are watching an old movie, even Miracle on 34th Street. Some children are delighted. Some are fearful, crying for their mothers before the picture to memorialize the occasion can be taken. Outside of American Girl, a father and his daughter open the package to expose the doll she cannot wait till Christmas to carry.
This weekend. Even the weather cooperated to create the sense of fa la la, as much as California can do such things. It has finally rained a thorough rain. I could almost believe I were in New York 30 years ago, as the dark cumulous released their wet force. As I wrote, finally, Christmas cards on Thursday night, the drops sounded on the buildig roof, and the warmth of my wall heater and flannell comforted me. Joy, though, has been hard to come by, even with the prayer, the gift buying, the pre-holiday parties. It comes in transient moments. And then it is gone. This is life. This is the suffering, in very small portion, of which we are promised as our portion before the revelation of all. And I resist it. Right now, as I write, I am in between watchin EWTN, the Catholic Network. They are playing something from the 50's, a program in black and white featuring someone most people would never remember, Pat O'Brien, praying the rosary as the then well known Father Peyton used to encourage, as a prelude to tales of the time just before Christ's birth, with people like Raymond Burr, and Emlyn Williams, long dead actors, playing legionnaires and saints to the television orchestral strains of "Ave Maria". It makes me sad, and happy, at the same time, to remember a simpler time, and I do remember it, that has passed us by in favor of the prideful knowledge of man that laughs at a Higher Power.
Oh, well, it is up to us to save our souls or not, by the light that we have been given, however much or little that might be. I leave that to God, for myself and others, and hope that I don't disgrace Him to much and need to spend too much time in the purification of the Purgatory in which I do believe. I had a rosary blessed today, one I bought in a non-religious affiliated store. It is from Italy. It is colorful, artistic and large. I hope that I will use it well in occasional and honest prayer for myself and the world.
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