A Christmas letter from the ever-feisty Uncle Samuel to his beloved—and often clueless—nephew Hobson
Dear Hobson,
It pleases me to no end that you will attend the Christmas Midnight Mass at the Basilica with Abigail. These last four months since you met my young friend have certainly brought about some remarkable changes in you. By placing Abigail’s happiness ahead of your own selfish concerns, and by respecting her Catholic faith, you are discovering the true meaning of affection, friendship, and love. When I first introduced the two of you, it was my fervent hope that you would see in the lovely Abigail those advantages faith and grace have bestowed on her.
Dear Hobson,
It pleases me to no end that you will attend the Christmas Midnight Mass at the Basilica with Abigail. These last four months since you met my young friend have certainly brought about some remarkable changes in you. By placing Abigail’s happiness ahead of your own selfish concerns, and by respecting her Catholic faith, you are discovering the true meaning of affection, friendship, and love. When I first introduced the two of you, it was my fervent hope that you would see in the lovely Abigail those advantages faith and grace have bestowed on her.
(By the way, dear nephew, please continue to work on your grammar. A university graduate should know that “its” is a possessive pronoun and that “it’s” is a contraction meaning “it is.” Students once learned this usage in elementary school.)
Now to your questions as to why Abigail celebrates Christmas as she does and why she so loves the Christmas story. You might ask her yourself, but perhaps your lack of belief makes that line of questioning awkward.
The Catholic Church teaches that Advent is a time for prayer and preparation, even penance, and the proper celebration of Christ’s birth comes in the twelve days after Christmas.
We Americans have turned this idea on its head. We party and feast during Advent, frantically shop for gifts, and wear ourselves thin decorating, sending cards, and meeting friends. We rip open presents on Christmas Day, enjoy a huge feast, and then, rather than celebrating the Twelve Days of Christmas, we spend those days stripping the house of decoration and moaning over the status of our bank accounts in the wake of our spending spree. As is the case in so many areas of our public and private lives, we have brought disorder into the realm of the sacred.
So this is why for Abigail the celebration begins after the Nativity.
And the real meaning of Christmas remains clear to believers like Abigail. To her and to millions of other Christians, the Nativity, that birth, that baby, is the arrival of God’s love in the flesh and in the world.
Think on it, nephew. Consider how that birth in a stable in Bethlehem two thousand years ago shifted history. Think of how this newborn, fully human and yet fully God, forever broke human time in half. That birth changed the world forever. (To further your literary education and my own argument, I would suggest you read Eliot’s “Journey of the Magi.”)
I wonder: have you ever held a baby, Hobson? (A good friend, age fifty-two, recently took one of my infant granddaughters into his arms. He informed me he had never before held a baby. The mingled astonishment and terror on his face made me howl.) If you have cradled an infant, then you know their utter helplessness. They depend for their every need on other human beings.
Christ came to us as a baby. Weak, powerless, He entered our broken world. His helplessness reminds Abigail and other believers of our own human frailties. As a Catholic and a man, for instance, I am aware of my shortcomings, my temptations toward sin, my sins themselves. With each passing year, I also become more and more aware of the fragility of my fellow human beings. So many people, for example, are desperate for love and understanding in this world, more desperate, many of them, than one would judge from their outer appearance.
That babe in the manager offers us hope. It is the love that passeth all understanding.
Enough. My great wish is that the affection between you and Abigail continues to grow and flourish. You have found a beautiful young woman. Treasure her.
One caveat: as you know, Abigail is my close friend. While it delights me to see you courting her, I wish to remind you of the consequences should you ever mistreat her. I am an old man, and you are young, but we old men can be formidable when circumstances require. Should you hurt her, I guarantee you, beloved nephew, you will never see what hit you, but you will be eating the sidewalk.
With that gentle admonition, I wish you a very Merry Christmas.
With love and prayers,
Uncle Samuel
Now to your questions as to why Abigail celebrates Christmas as she does and why she so loves the Christmas story. You might ask her yourself, but perhaps your lack of belief makes that line of questioning awkward.
The Catholic Church teaches that Advent is a time for prayer and preparation, even penance, and the proper celebration of Christ’s birth comes in the twelve days after Christmas.
We Americans have turned this idea on its head. We party and feast during Advent, frantically shop for gifts, and wear ourselves thin decorating, sending cards, and meeting friends. We rip open presents on Christmas Day, enjoy a huge feast, and then, rather than celebrating the Twelve Days of Christmas, we spend those days stripping the house of decoration and moaning over the status of our bank accounts in the wake of our spending spree. As is the case in so many areas of our public and private lives, we have brought disorder into the realm of the sacred.
So this is why for Abigail the celebration begins after the Nativity.
And the real meaning of Christmas remains clear to believers like Abigail. To her and to millions of other Christians, the Nativity, that birth, that baby, is the arrival of God’s love in the flesh and in the world.
Think on it, nephew. Consider how that birth in a stable in Bethlehem two thousand years ago shifted history. Think of how this newborn, fully human and yet fully God, forever broke human time in half. That birth changed the world forever. (To further your literary education and my own argument, I would suggest you read Eliot’s “Journey of the Magi.”)
I wonder: have you ever held a baby, Hobson? (A good friend, age fifty-two, recently took one of my infant granddaughters into his arms. He informed me he had never before held a baby. The mingled astonishment and terror on his face made me howl.) If you have cradled an infant, then you know their utter helplessness. They depend for their every need on other human beings.
Christ came to us as a baby. Weak, powerless, He entered our broken world. His helplessness reminds Abigail and other believers of our own human frailties. As a Catholic and a man, for instance, I am aware of my shortcomings, my temptations toward sin, my sins themselves. With each passing year, I also become more and more aware of the fragility of my fellow human beings. So many people, for example, are desperate for love and understanding in this world, more desperate, many of them, than one would judge from their outer appearance.
That babe in the manager offers us hope. It is the love that passeth all understanding.
Enough. My great wish is that the affection between you and Abigail continues to grow and flourish. You have found a beautiful young woman. Treasure her.
One caveat: as you know, Abigail is my close friend. While it delights me to see you courting her, I wish to remind you of the consequences should you ever mistreat her. I am an old man, and you are young, but we old men can be formidable when circumstances require. Should you hurt her, I guarantee you, beloved nephew, you will never see what hit you, but you will be eating the sidewalk.
With that gentle admonition, I wish you a very Merry Christmas.
With love and prayers,
Uncle Samuel