26 DECEMBER 2024
A good mystery novel is a work of art. Every scene is significant–even those in which not much seems to be happening–and every detail, no matter how small, has a place in an intricately crafted plot. The same is true of the liturgies of the church. Not just the yearly cycle of seasons from Advent to Ordinary Time, but the cycles of liturgies that mark the special holy days in our parish life, like Easter and, most recently, Christmas. When many think of these high holy days, a single marquee service comes to mind–the Easter Vigil or Christmas Midnight Mass. While these services are undeniably glorious and spectacular with filled-to-capacity crowds, billowing clouds of incense, soft candlelight, and all the liturgical stops pulled out, they are really just the climax of a story that has a beginning and end.
Much of the enjoyment of reading a good mystery, in fact, comes from the beginning and the end. Learning about the characters–their backgrounds, motivations, and life stories–makes them come alive and makes us invested in the narrative. The big reveal at the climax would have much less of an impact without this build up, and without a resolution and a soft landing, knowing what happens afterwards to all of the main characters. I realized that this is also true of our major liturgical celebrations. We wrapped up our celebration of Christmas this year, not with the closing hymn of the Christmas morning high mass, but with the more quiet and meditative service of Vespers that followed after the big crowds had dispersed. Christmas was not just a single service late on Christmas Eve or on the morning of Christmas Day, but a series of liturgies that began with the First Vespers of the Nativity on Tuesday afternoon, flowing into the Latin Vigil Mass, reaching a crescendo with the Midnight Mass and morning High Mass, and finally concluding with the Vespers of Christmas Day on Wednesday afternoon.
Some of these services were very well-attended. Others less so, with a slower and more pensive tone. But it was precisely in those services, with just a few others present, that the real magic of Christmas happened for me. Without the sensory overload of smells, bells, and familiar carols, with just simple psalmody, scripture, and meaningful and intentional silences, I was able to more fully embrace the mystery of the Incarnation, and more authentically able to share in the celebration of the bigger and more ornate liturgies of the day. Just as one cannot truly celebrate the Resurrection without entering into the full liturgical drama of Holy Week, one cannot really celebrate the Nativity without embracing the full cycle of services leading up to, and following, the Midnight Mass.
On my visits to the motherhouse of the Order of Julian of Norwich, the daily round of prayer and Eucharist was not an afterthought or addendum, but the axis around which the rest of the day revolved. With prayer the sole focus, my priorities and perspective began to shift after just a few days. When we celebrate Christmas next year, I invite you to participate not just at midnight of the eve or in the morning of the day, but at the other services - the ones that provide the context for the big, traditional celebrations. You will notice, like I did, a shift in your priorities and perspectives, empowering you to recover the "Christmas spirit" from the schmaltzy Hallmark creation that it has become, and restoring it to the overwhelming sense of gratitude and amazement at the reality of the Incarnation that it was meant to be.
Michael Ida
Oblate of the Order of Julian of Norwich
