So PJ Media reports this happened in Texas earlier in the month:
A pastor made a scene on Friday by preaching about the falsehood of Santa Claus at a mall. He walked around the Santa exhibit, where kids and parents stood in line to see Santa, shouting that Santa isn’t real and that Christmas is about Jesus Christ.
You can watch the pastor make a fool of himself at the link, which includes a Youtube clip the pastor himself filmed.
I’m reminded of the wisdom of the Catholic Church’s repeated insistence that parents are the primary educators of their children, and everyone else, including ecclesiastics, must defer to them:
- The Catechism calls the rights of parents “primordial and inalienable.”
- In Familiaris Consortio, St John Paul II called parents’ ministry “original and irreplaceable.”
- St Thomas Aquinas compares parents’ duty and right to teach their children to the duties and rights of the priest:
“Some only propagate and guard spiritual life by a spiritual ministry: this is the role of the sacrament of Orders; others do this for both corporal and spiritual life, and this is brought about by the sacrament of marriage, by which a man and a woman join in order to beget offspring and bring them up to worship God.”
Hence I’m in pretty good company calling the Texan pastor’s actions out of order. He has no business subverting the rights of parents.
Apart from that, it’s far from clear that he’s right to decry the Santa Claus myth. The author of the PJ Media item linked above relates the Christian origins of gift-giving from St Nicholas. And even the modern Coca-Cola adulteration of St Nick does a lot of good.
Case in point: Eric Schmitt-Matzen’s apostolate, borne from a chance conversation at his local church, and an uncanny likeness to the real deal.
Put me down as a believer.
I had barely begun in the seminary when Pope John Paul II died. It was a very sad time. It felt like I my own grandfather had died.
In the midst of my grief, I was very impressed by a statement from Bishop Javier Echevarría, the prelate of Opus Dei. He exhorted the faithful not only to pray for the late pope and his successor, but also to love and revere the new pope as we had the old:
This is also the moment to pray for the next Pope, for whom we Catholics are ready from this moment to give all of our filial affection.
I made this my prayer intention during the 2005 conclave (and again in 2013).
A few years later, in 2008, I met Don Javier when he visited Melbourne. It is the custom, when greeting European bishops, to kiss their episcopal ring, but as I bent down to do this, Don Javier sort of scooped me up into his arms and hugged me. I greeted him as “Your Excellency,” but he corrected me in heavily-accented English. “No! You must call me Father, for we are father and son!”
A few years later again, in 2010, the day after I was ordained a deacon, I wrote a letter to Don Javier. (I addressed him as Father, not Excellency!) I requested admission into Opus Dei, to which he gave his assent.
And now, in 2016, this father of mine has died, and the experience is not dissimilar to the death of St John Paul II. Of course I have already started praying for his successor — and also for myself, that I might foster filial affection for the next Father.
Meanwhile, I’m praying for Don Javier with gratitude and admiration.
In the words of the Australian Ordo, “the Christmas novena begins today. At this point, the Advent focus shifts to the Christmas story and the Virgin Mary. These days serve to prepare more directly for the Lord’s birth.”
There are many excellent way to prayerfully observe ‘the pointy end of Advent.’
You might pray with each day’s ‘O antiphon,’ for example. Fr Z has excellent reflections on these ancient prayers of the Christmas novena. Why not pray with the Church? Chant each day’s ‘O antiphon’ — in isolation, or with the Magnificat, or in its proper context in the daily office of Vespers.
Perhaps you’d prefer a devotional novena. EWTN has a nice one. The O antiphons are liturgical prayer, which makes them official and public — a corporate act of the whole Church, on earth and in Heaven. In contrast, EWTN’s novena is private, which in the eyes of many means inferior or deficient. Don’t buy into that. Remember the counsel of the saints: “pray as you can, not as you ought.”
A good confession and daily communion
Of all the excellent ways to keep the Christmas novena, I think this one is the most excellent. It’s no coincidence that Jesus was born in Beth-lehem — “house of bread” — and laid in a manger: a structure used to hold food!
God so desires our trust and intimacy, that when he assumed flesh, he first came to us a newborn baby. How can anyone be wary of, or fearful of, a baby? In the same way, he approaches us under the form of bread and wine, risking the indignity of profanation so that he might have communion with us.
There is no better way to prepare for the Lord’s nativity, I think, than to make a good confession and receive him in the Eucharist each day. There should be no aspect of our life wherein we echo Bethlehem’s inn keepers: “Sorry Lord, there’s no room for you there.” Make the room — invite him into every aspect of your life, including the broken and sinful aspects. Name it to the priest, and permit the Lord to recreate you:
If it’s not possible to make a sacramental communion each day, make a spiritual communion instead. Make the effort to visit a church, and pray before the tabernacle. Offer up any inconvenience this causes in lieu of the holy Sacrifice of the Mass you’re unable to attend.
And make your communion, sacramental or spiritual, in the spirit of Advent. Prepare for the Lord’s arrival. Make room for him.
I wish my Lord to receive you, with the purity, humility, and devotion with which your most holy mother received you; with the spirit and fervour of the saints.
If your Christmas Day celebrations are dominated by food and presents, you might like to introduce this Nativity story-telling to your family rituals. It is a fun and attractive way to be mindful of the birth of Jesus.
I devised this ‘Australian recipe’ last year, hewing as closely as possible to the Gospel accounts of our Lord’s nativity. It has proven to be very popular in my parishes, not to mention in my own family.
All listed chocolates are available in Australian supermarkets. Overseas readers might need to adapt this. (Here’s the UK original.)
- Cadbury’s Dairy Milk
- Furry Friends
- Kinder Surprise
- Mars Bar
- Milky Way
- Rocky Road
- Time Out
- Turkish Delight
1. Download and print The Story of the First Christmas told with Chocolate.
2. Narrate the script and hold up each chocolate as it is mentioned in the story.
That’s it! A guaranteed crowd pleaser, which also keeps Christ in Christmas. There are many adaptions to the method which make it more interactive. Here’s a few examples:
- Gifts for the King. As the story is narrated and each chocolate is named, it’s placed before the manger. This is a nice reminder that just as the Magi presented gifts for the newborn King, so can we. (Not so much chocolate as acts of kindness, works of mercy, small mortifications.)
- Fill the gap. The chocolates are piled in the centre, and as the story is told, the narrator pauses at the naming of each chocolate. Whoever correctly identifies the chocolate wins that item.
- Links in a chain. The story is divided into small portions of text, each extract printed on an individual card, and placed in a numbered bag or box with an assigned chocolate. As each person reads their text, which ends just before a chocolate is named, the next person opens their bag to find the unnamed chocolate, and the next part of the story. People can try guessing which chocolate comes next.
- Treasure hunt. The chocolates are hidden in the garden. As the story is narrated, children have to correctly fill in the gap, and then be the first to find the chocolate. (This is maybe not so good in a heat wave!)
- Pass the parcel. As the story is narrated, people constantly pass a wrapped parcel around the room. When the narrator pauses at the name of a chocolate, whomever is holding the parcel unwraps a layer and finds the chocolate which fits that part of the story.
This year, my nephews have opted for the pass-the-parcel method. We’ll see how it works out. Merry Christmas!
Zacchaeus must have had a burning desire for Jesus. By climbing a tree he makes a fool of himself. That childlike behaviour is a good example for us.
We can ask ourselves, do I want to see Christ that much? Do I do everything I can to see him? Or do I avoid encounters with him? Or, if I already see Christ, do I prefer to keep a distance?
I’m reminded of Graham Greene, a famous twentieth-century novelist, and a famous on-again off-again Catholic. In his twenties, he married a Catholic and converted. In the subsequent years he wrote some outstanding Catholic-themed novels.
But Greene was not a faithful husband, and as his marriage collapsed, his faith lapsed. He stopped going to confession and stopped receiving communion, though for many years he continued to frequent Sunday Mass.
In 1949, Greene and his mistress visited a Franciscan monastery, where they attended Mass offered by by Padre Pio. Greene later wrote that this encounter with the famous mystic “profoundly moved” him, and during the Mass, Greene lost “all sense of time.”
But when Greene had an opportunity to personally speak with Padre Pio, he beat a hasty exit. “I didn’t want to change my life by meeting a saint,” he wrote. “I felt that there was a good chance that he was one. He had a great peace about him.”
Greene was obviously awed in the presence of holiness. He recognised that “great peace” is the mark of a saint. But he feared it too, because he knew it would transform his life.
It’s quite a contrast to Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus climbs a tree, and from that safe distance he can observe Jesus. But when God approaches he doesn’t back away like Graham Greene. He hurries down the tree and welcomes Jesus into his home. Sure enough, his life is transformed, but we can be sure that Christ’s peace becomes Zaccheaus’ peace too.
Perhaps Greene discovered this for himself 40 years later. By then, he had returned to the sacraments, and the man who famously described himself as a “Catholic atheist,” died a holy death.
Graham Greene and Zacchaeus are both outstanding witnesses to the mercy of God. The Lord does not forget his own.
Of all the people in Jericho, Jesus singles out the chief of the tax collectors. An outcast. A traitor. But also son of Abraham. A child of God.
We must never doubt God’s goodness and mercy — for ourselves, and for those whom we love. God’s mercy will always eclipse our human limitations.
As Graham Greene famously wrote in one of his Catholic novels (Brighton Rock):
“You cannot conceive, nor can I, of the appalling strangeness of the mercy of God.”
So I drank some toxic lamp oil on Saturday. The oil was mistaken for water, and I drank it while purifying the chalice at Mass. My weekend wasn’t pleasant, but I’m totally recovered now.
The chapel in the house I’m staying at eschews wax candles. Instead, the altar is adorned with oil lamps made to look like candles. That probably sounds weird, but it looks fine:
I like these oil lamps pretending to be candles. They’re a neat and elegant solution to wax spills and wastage.
Now here’s a picture of the oil used to fuel the lamps:
This oil is clear, it is odourless, and its viscosity is similar to water. In other words, it looks and smells like water. At Mass on Saturday morning, one of the cruets was mistakenly filled with lamp oil instead of water. I purified the chalice immediately after communion, first with wine, and then with the lamp oil. It was only after I had swallowed the oil that I realised.
I went straight from the altar to the bathroom to rinse my mouth out with water. And then I did a very foolish thing. I returned to the chapel for ten minutes of thanksgiving. In other words, I resumed my normal routine.
Office workers at New York’s World Trade Centre who survived the collapse of the twin towers on September 11 fled the buildings as soon as the first plane hit. They were bewildered that co-workers carried on as normal, some making phone calls, others walking into meetings. But under such circumstances, head-in-the-sand behaviour is surprisingly common:
Research has shown that, when a fire alarm rings, people do not act immediately. They talk to each other, and they try to work out what is going on. They stand around.
I read that quote years ago, and memorised it. It startled me. It took no effort at all, to recall the article from which it comes: The Fire Alarm is Ringing. What Are You Waiting For? And yet, when the proverbial fire alarm sounded on Saturday, I stood around. I felt fine, admittedly. But still, I had ingested poison, and then I resumed my routine. (You have permission to yell at me.)
Finally, when I had finished praying, a full fifteen minutes after I swallowed the oil, I returned to the sacristy and inspected the label. It warns:
“HARMFUL OR FATAL IF SWALLOWED. If swallowed, call a Poison Control Centre or physician immediately. DO NOT INDUCE VOMITING.”
A call to the Poison Information Centre was reassuring. Fatality arises when the oil enters yours lungs, which happens if the oil goes down the wrong way, or if one aspirates during vomiting. In my case, I had sculled the oil in one gulp, without coughing or spluttering, and so the poison was localised to my gut. In there it’s painful, but there’s no long-term harm.
Hopefully, next time I will remember the lesson of September 11. When faced with unexpected danger, break routine. Don’t be an ostrich. Keep your head out of the sand and react immediately.
But apart from that lesson, the poisoning episode has also given me a new talent: I can now smell odourless lamp oil! I remember the taste of the oil vividly. In the immediate moment, the taste was not unpleasant. Yet when I recall the taste now, nausea overwhelms me and my stomach aches. Yuck.
Because I know the taste, I can smell the oil! It is subtle. Very subtle. But where others smell nothing, and so still mistake the oil for water, I smell the oil. I’m all over the proverbial Pepsi challenge. Point unscented lamp oil in my direction, and I will dry retch every time!
I see this as a positive development. My very own spidey sense, by which I can always avert repeat accidents. I’m virtually like Spider-Man. But actually, I think I’ll answer to Iron-Gut from now on.
“Good morning Fr John.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that. Call me Iron-Gut Corrigan.” 😉
So I’m on my annual course this week and next, which mostly consists of study. We’re studying Amoris Laetitia by Pope Francis, and doing some always useful revision of the Catechism and moral and pastoral theology.
But the annual course isn’t all work. There’s a few sight-seeing trips, and an occasional movie. I don’t watch many movies — the annual course and long haul flights is it, generally. I think this makes me more discerning, and demanding, than less. I used to persevere with average movies (— and mediocre books, and bad wine —) until the bitter end, but now I walk away much sooner. Life’s too short for bad wine. And the rest.
Hence I’m very confident that anyone who heeds my advice on this occasion will not be disappointed. Hunt for the Wilderpeople is a great movie. It’s laugh out loud funny and fast paced. It evokes a sort of Harry Potter universe, wherein the kids are responsible and the adults are insane. But it’s not fantastical — it’s mostly observational humour, and occasionally absurdist.
It’s also unmistakably Kiwi. Anyone who liked Seven Periods with Mr Gormsby will love Hunt for the Wilderpeople. It’s much more family friendly than Gormsby, which is also a big plus. Rotten Tomatoes gives this one a very fresh score of 98 per cent. It is a very safe DVD purchase. I guarantee you’ll love it.
And — refreshingly — the trailer is very true to the movie. So here’s a useful preview.