Next-to-the-last day of the year, 2004. Certainly the excitement (if I may put it that way) pales in comparison to about a month ago when we were on the threshold of the new liturgical year. "Secular time" is marked by numeration...2004, ‘05 and so forth...whereas "Church time" isn’t. As I had noted several entries earlier, without blinking an eye the Church can jumble historical events, unheard of by those who keep pace according to the count of time expressed in terms of years.

That’s it for 2004, keeping in line with "secular time!" This blog will continue with another with the designation http://contemplativelife05.blogspot.com/ Postings will probably begin on January 2nd. NB: no "www" in this URL as well as for the 2004 blog.

I was in touch with a friend via email currently writing a book on patristic theology, and we exchanged a few remarks about the tsunami disaster. "Makes this writing project almost reprehensible" said he to which I concurred. Such all-pervasive human misery which will certainly increase as time passes makes you self-conscious of your work which appears out of touch with pressing needs coming in all at once. Then again, what better thing is there to do except going along with what we’re doing? That was the question I asked my friend "in absentia," as it were, later in the day after we finished our email exchange. Better to write a theology book than other things I know people are preoccupied with! One radio commentator noted that India has a rather sophisticated system of privately organized disaster relief organizations because of frequent biblical-like calamities that strike them. Although we’re hearing a lot about the tsunami thing and will for a while, I have a feeling it’ll quickly fade from mainstream consciousness. Seems to be a tacit perception that those people are somehow less than human. An awful thing to say, but that’s what I pick up each time I hear of an earthquake in Iran, tidal waves in Bangladesh and so forth.

This last week of the year or more specifically, the octave of Christmas week, is a kind of bottoming out. It’s a time when the sun has reached its lowest point on the southwestern horizon and begins its slow climb towards the northwest. We’re at an apogee of sorts and pause a while before shifting into another gear...upwards seasonally speaking. When you look back on this week at a later time, summer for example, you get a better idea of it’s uniqueness.

Big news regarding that tsunami ("harbor wave") which devastated many Asian coastal areas. This side of the world it’s hard to comprehend the magnitude of the tragedy, let alone Iraq. Closer to home, two days ago many folks on Cape Cod lost power because they got hit with a much higher snowfall than here, and some still haven’t gotten back on line. Many had to take refuge in shelters. There it was heavy and wet as opposed to ours being light and fluffy. Thoughts of all this go through your mind on an early frigid December morning as right now while safely ensconced in a warm building. Just the slightest thing can go wrong and make what’s so attractive–the snow cover, etc–become so deadly. At the same time awareness of living on the edge close to catastrophe is strangely comforting.

St. John the Evangelist. About four inches last night, enough to lend a holiday atmosphere even if a day late. Even though Christmas is obviously a major holiday in the Church’s calendar, I always find it difficult to find "profound" words to make any observations. Perhaps the Muses are asleep after all the busyness of the past few days. Seems you get more insights through the normal and less appreciated events and times of life as opposed to major ones.

"And the word of the Lord was rare in those days; there was no frequent vision" [1 Sam 3.1]. Some observations about this verse are in order:
-The Hebrew for "rare" is yaqar which more specifically means "precious, dear, magnificent." It applies to the divine "word" or davar; the adjective yaqar seems more appropriate for something visual as opposed to something heard, but this instance is a good instance to see the particular value davar represents.
-"Vision:" chazon or obviously something seen in contrast to the spoken nature of davar. Such vision wasn’t "frequent" or parats. This verbal root means "to break asunder, scatter" and suggests violence as if the vision to Samuel was such an unusual event that it broke through...tore asunder...the silence of many years.
-The verse that follows reads, "At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see..." Two references to Eli’s eyesight which was becoming so dim that it prevented him from seeing clearly, not unlike the rarity of divine vision just noted. At the same time, vs. 3, another symbol of vision, is symbolic of hope: "the lamp of God had not yet gone out."

Sunday of the Holy Family which this years falls the day after Christmas, not much of a gap! Then we’re hit with St. John and Holy Innocents, all in rapid succession. Although you wish there were some space in between, the liturgy follows the regular calendar year which can sometimes jam feasts together. Further reflection shows that while in one year everything is crowded together and another they’re spaced apart, the Church functions superficially on the calendar year but on a deeper level doesn’t. Appreciating this distinction helps to see that the Church’s real keeping of time is of a wholly different plane than the one most people are familiar with.

Expecting 3-6 inches tonight and starting to cloud up early this morning. This pre-snow atmosphere is enjoyable especially because it’s generally very quiet and full of anticipation.

When you’re hit by some meaningful text as often the case in lectio divina, you automatically stop your reading and just pause there, kind of being held in abeyance for an indefinite period of time. This is a real mystery as often as lectio’s practioneers will testify. You can smack the label of prayer onto it, a restful silence, yet the experience is impossible to define. Maybe it has something to do with the structure of the human soul (a topic currently occupying my attention). I use "structure" as opposed to "nature" because the former suggests the way we’re constituted as to the "whatness" of our constitution. Truly a structure is present, not disorder, for the suspension of mental processes through lectio divina has been testified by many down the centuries. Gregory of Nyssa has a neat word for this, akolouthia (Greek). It means not just a structure by a sequence which follows a pre-determined path. He situates it in anything from a text’s composition to physical growth and on to spiritual progress. One of Jean Danielou’s last books (in French) goes by this title, a good read for anyone eager enough to pursue it.

Christmas Day, a lovely bright and seasonally cold dawn with some light snow expected this afternoon. Despite the lack of snow–the six inches of several days ago were washed away during one of the most violent wind and rain storms I can recall–the landscape was brightened by a full moon. Yesterday I visited my mother in the nursing home and drove her around a little to see the lights, etc.; first time she had been out at night in ages. En route home–it was only around 7 pm–I saw some folks walking about though not too many. There’s a definite hush in the air manifest on the strollers, almost as though they were intruding and should be indoors. It was also fun to quickly glance in windows to observe people, many of whom apparently were getting ready for an evening meal or maybe getting presents ready for the kids or waiting to attend a midnight Mass. At special times like these you get a sense that despite the normal wear and tear of daily living (of which the Christmas season is the example par excellance) we’re living symbolic lives. For most folks this insight comes rarely as at Christmas Eve, for it’s is a time when some essential truth larger than us breaks through. On a more watered-down basis this insight comes at transitional times such as sunrise and sunset.

There was a big difference between yesterday and the day before. The latter was marked by bitter cold when people did their point-to-point walking, not bothering to look up but get to where they were going and to do so without delay. The former, considerably milder with no wind, saw people walking with some leisure, not with a sense of urgency. Also yesterday the sound of footsteps on the snow...rather, slush...was in marked contrast to that squeaky-clean crunch of the day before.

Thorlaukmessu, that is, the feast of St. Thorlaukur, patron of Iceland and a major holiday there. The Icelanders use it to jump-start Christmas Eve which is tomorrow, and that traditionally begins at 6 pm. Reason is that 6 pm represents the beginning of First Vespers of Christmas. Christmas is also the traditional release of newly published books, etc. (all by Icelanders) which people give for presents. A friend there told me they’ve cranked out close to 7,000. Not bad for a country a little under 300,000. It’s nice there’s a place which still prides literacy. Quite warm today as predicted, un-Christmaslike, but due to change back to normal tonight. The holiday spirit is tempered–very much so–by the tragedy in Mosul, Iraq which I noted yesterday. Whenever something bad like this happens I recall a now deceased friend who remarked on 9/11, "How could such an event take place? It’s so peaceful when I look out over the countryside; almost as though they’ve made it up." Just finished scanning in Plato’s Dialogues, the 1997 edition edited by Cooper. That’ll be a very useful tool for searching, etc.