Happy Feast of Christ the King

A Sacramentary from the Getty Collection.

I can’t believe it is the week of Thanksgiving.  The sun is shining. We went snorkeling and hiking in shorts this weekend. I have a sunburn.

I know it’s snowing back in the states. But out here, we’re still in perpetual summer. I guess I’ve noticed that the Halloween candy bins are now full of Christmas candy, and in the front of the commissary, there are flats of pumpkin pie filling, canned cherries, canned yams, flour and brown sugar, but the reality of the season hadn’t really sunk in until we were invited to a Thanksgiving dinner last week with friends who are traveling over the holiday. 

And now today was the Feast of Christ the King.  We have twice attended parishes called Christ the King, and the one we belonged to used to put together quite a celebration for the feast day, complete with a group from the symphony playing at Mass. The service today was much simpler, but moving, nonetheless. Our priest gave a stirring homily about serving Christ, in worship and in the poor, and preparing for Advent, but more memorable was the blessing he gave to his Sacramentary. As he closed Mass, he explained how he had been given this book 17 years ago by his parents and had used it every day since then.  He got a little choked up as he prayed over it, retiring it, after its last use this morning. I wonder what he’ll do with it when he switches to the new missal. 

He started incorporating some of the changes several weeks ago, and really the only one that trips me up is the “And with your spirit.”

So now my spirit needs to prepare for the holidays, as does my body. We went to the Exchange this weekend, and the kids picked up the toy catalog. They’ve been crafting wishlists for the past 24 hours, asking for junk that I don’t want in the house. For instance, although we have a great wooden kitchen set I scored at a garage sale years ago, my five year old was getting spun into a tizzy describing how on Christmas morning she was going to wake up and find a new Little Tykes walk-in kitchen. It would be the biggest present in the room, and I would think it was mine, but then her dad would say, no, that’s for her! I quashed her dreams, saying that Santa would not bring things that we already have. Nor would he bring any of those the ugly dolls advertised lately – Monster High and the button eye dolls?   The Exchange stocks the newest and most popular toys – not the finest quality.

But there are not many other places to shop.  One of the nice side-effects of living on a small island is that shopping opportunities are limited. I can’t just run to Target or Walmart for one thing and spend $100 anymore. While a number of wives complain about this, I find it liberating to no longer feel compelled to browse through dollar bins. I'm freed somewhat from buying what I don't want or need because it's on sale. But I'm fearful my kids may turn out like what Thomas Merton describes: 

The modern child may early in his or her existence have natural inclinations toward spirituality. The child may have imagination, originality, a simple and individual response to reality, and even a tendency to moments of thoughtful silence and absorption. All these tendencies, however, are soon destroyed by the dominant culture. The child becomes a yelling, brash, false little monster, brandishing a toy gun or dressed up like some character he has seen on television. His head is filled with inane slogans, songs, noises, explosions, statistics, brand names, menaces, ribaldries, and cliches. Then, when the child gets to school, he learns to verbalize, rationalize, to pace, to make faces like an advertisement, to need a car and in short, to go through life with an empty head conforming to others, like himself, in togetherness."

In order to liberate my children from the gimmes, I trashed the catalog after they went to bed tonight. I would like to liberate them from the idea that Santa will bring them whatever they want, but even though I don’t promote Santa fantasies, I can’t bring myself to disabuse the youngers of their beliefs, and the olders haven’t taken the opportunity to deflate their siblings’ dreams. Perhaps since we're talking about ancient Greece, I'll have them copy this from Socrates: "He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have."

Furthermore, I’m going to make them write their lists of what they are grateful for as a handwriting list.  They so quickly forget how much they already have.  Maybe we’ll cut up pictures to make a gratitude poster, or at least try to do some activity that diverts their attention for a short time from what they want to what others need.

Since we don’t have family within a few thousands miles, we’re going to go serve dinner with the Salvation Army this year, something I’ve always wanted to do. I’m even going to dry out our own turkey to consume after our shift at the Salvation Army. We’ve put out an open invitation to some friends and some single junior officers to join us. Maybe nobody will come, but at least I’ll have the motivation to scrub the bathrooms.

It won’t be the same as being with family, but we’ll gather some photos and paste the cousins and grandparents into our poster. At least they’ll be present in thought.