Quick and Dirty

We were in and out of the Christmas tree farm in less than thirty minutes, including the five seconds it took our bumbling tree guy to break the perfect point off the top of the tree as he tied it up to Ye ‘Ol Suburu. New record.

Granted, the sun was on its way down, and it was darn cold, which sped us on our way. I don’t think G felt we had sufficiently considered his opinion—or that we had given him any time at all to form an opinion—but once John put saw to trunk, he was satisfactorily convinced.

Predictably, it’s of the Charlie Brown sort. What does that make this? Charlie Brown 10.0? 

Gabriel is about all things Christmas. His delight in the tree (and its ornaments) is quite electric. He visits his guitar on a regular basis, and checks in with the various Santa ornaments. Once a day he opens the tree in the shape of a pear and laughs at the naked partridge therein.

This year we have been particularly considering just what to make of Christmas. We celebrated the real St. Nicholas on December 6th by attending a Vespers service the evening before, during which time J donned his altar robes and did his best not to fidget (“I had to pee the whole time mom!”). He also kept smelling his hands and wiping them on his robes (“My hands got all sweaty mom!):

The boys put out their boots on the eve of the feast. Predictably, Gabriel awoke around 4 a.m. to look and see what the Great Nick had put in his boot. I wrestled him in my bed for a good forty-five minutes to no avail; he’d caught a glimpse. It was all “Count Dooku” this (he got a Lego keychain) and “My own microphone!” that (walkie talkies). J awoke not much later, and the rest of the morning was spent trying to keep them asleep for a reasonable amount of time.

G is in a state of confusion about the multiple manifestations of Santa Claus. J is riding the fence as to whether he exists at all. And then there’s the question of gifts, of consumerism, of waste. And of course, money. It’s so fun to get; I’m as delighted as the next person to receive something I’ve really wanted or admired. That said, I have taken at least five trips to the used kids’ shop in the past year, selling back unused, forgotten toys and outgrown clothes.  

Yet Christmas is my favorite and my best. My name day (Ruth) comes right before (Sunday of the Genealogy). The familiar refrain of “God with us” resets me; the cold weather and skeleton trees invigorate and make the contemplative girl in me wake up.

But the way to “do” Christmas remains a question we test and wrestle with every year. Especially far from family and the established traditions we grew up with.

In weather-related news, today is crystalline cold. We bundle up periodically to get outside and get our crazies out, not that that works. Someone at church remarked to me Sunday, “At least they’ll conk out at night.” Not necessarily.

Nicholas

Yesterday was the feast of St. Nicholas. Jonah and I attended Vespers Wednesday night, after which he was delighted to receive “the big holy bread and wine” (which he had earlier informed me would be his dessert). The bread was blessed in a service directly following Vespers called the Litiya—a fervent, prolonged prayer blessing bread, oil and wine on the eve of a major feast. In the prayer of blessing we ask our Lord that as He blessed the five loaves and fed the five thousand, to bless the loaves, wheat, wine and oil, and to multiply them in all the world; and to sanctify all the faithful who partake of them. Along with the bread, we were anointed with the blessed oil.

My boys love church bread, be it in the form of the Eucharist or the Antidoron (αντίδωρον, antídōron, i.e. a “gift returned” or “in place of the Gifts”), which is received both after the Eucharist and then at the end of Liturgy. Anyone can partake of this holy bread, and it’s fun to share—though difficult to keep the crumbs off pews and shirts and floors. I was very emphatically taught in my home Church that anything blessed should never touch the floor, including bread crumbs. I follow the boys around like a dog trying to catch their crumbs, instructing them to lick their hands, brushing the traces from the corners of their mouths and eating them myself. I know. Sounds a little weird, but we Orthodox take our sacraments seriously. If a thing is blessed, it’s holy dagnabit, and should be treated as such.

But as this holy bread tangent is taking over my post, let me return to St. Nicholas. He is beloved not only in our home (who wouldn’t love a saint who leaves gifts in your shoe in the night?) but across the world—for Protestants, Catholics and Orthodox alike. I like saints who bring the people together. A new friend of mine reminded me of a site (The St. Nicholas Center) pertaining to all things Nicholas, where I discovered these illustrations by Elisabeth Jvanovsky. They initially reminded me of the woodcuts done by Fritz Eichenberg for Dorothy Day’s Catholic Worker (though significantly pared down). I profess no expertise in art whatsoever, but the simplicity of woodblock prints appeals to my sensibilities. Elisabeth Jvanovsky’s images show and tell as much as any story.

[If you want to read more about the specific events represented above, go Here.]

The Apolytikion or Troparion (Hymn) of St. Nicholas
the Wonderworker and Archbishop of Myra in Lycia 

In truth you were revealed to your flock as a rule of faith,
an image of humility and a teacher of abstinence;
your humility exalted you;
your poverty enriched you.
Hierarch Father Nicholas,
entreat Christ our God
that our souls may be saved.