So once again, it is Christmas time, which means that I’ll be away from the site for a little while. Probably only a few days, rather than a couple of weeks…but even so, it will be quieter around here. But then, realistically, it would be my hope that few if any of you who frequent the site have cause to be here during the course of the Christmas week; hopefully you are able to spend the time in the warm love and presence of friends and family.

Not that you’re not welcome to drop a comment here if you need to take a moment away from the holiday hubub.

If you’re a fan of John C. Wright (and if you enjoy science fiction, you should be), I’ve always enjoyed this little missive he tends to post on or about the feast of St. Stephen. And I hope you will too:

We all know the Twelve Days of Christmas from a famous nonsense song about a lady whose true love gives her 184 birds of various types, not to mention 12 fruit trees, 40 golden rings, 106 persons of the various professions either musical or milkmaidenly, and 32 members of the aristocracy variously cavorting.

No doubt you have ever wondered how the lady in the song feeds all the leaping lords and dancing ladies, pipers, drummers, and milkmaids now living in her parlor, the answer is that she feeds them the 22 turtledoves, 30 French hens, 36 colly birds, and 42 swans, not to mention the nice supply of eggs from the geese, milk from the cows and pears from the pear trees.

You may have heard that the lyrics contain a secret meaning, referring to Catholic doctrines or rites forbidden by Oliver Cromwell. This is true. The secret meaning is that the Walrus is St. Paul, and if you listen to a record of the carol backward, it says “Cromwell under his wig is bald.” All this is well known.

What is not as well known is that traditionally, these are twelve days of feasts which start on Christmas Day and run through to Epiphany on January 6th, which is the festival variously of the Adoration of the Magi and the Presentation in the Temple. (Really hard core Christmasteers extend Christmastide 40 days, ending on Candlemas February 2).

Before Christmas, during the season of Advent, while everyone else is shopping and partying, we who keep the traditions fast, pray, do penance, and make ourselves miserable. It makes the holiday much brighter by contrast.

Now, understanding that Wright has a penchant for exaggeration, I think there is a point to be made here in terms of how we might best approach Christmas. The wait that characterizes the four weeks prior to Christmas — what I and others call Advent — is, or should be, characterized by acts of prayer and fasting, penance and quiet contemplation. I’d argue that misery is optional, and perhaps even contraindicated; a better description for the mood might well be trepidation, although that term also has far too negative connotations given what Christmas represents. But equally, I can’t think of a better term…at least, not in my English vocabulary. (Before you suggest it: no, anticipation is too bland and generic a descriptor to employ here.)

The coming of Christmas, in the Christian mindset, in some way both parallels and images the Second Coming, and should be approached in a similar mindset. Hence my confusion in terms: what is the best way to describe the combination of eager and anguished waiting that one feels when one contemplates the End of All Things, and both the suffering and final victory that will characterize it? An analog might be the emotions of an imminently pregnant woman, waiting upon the birth of her child; a mixture of dread (of the pain that attends the event) and joy (at the dawning of new life and the welcoming of a child into the world). It’s a fitting metaphor for Christmas, all things considered.

Preparation: that is ultimately what this all concerns. Preparation for what is ahead, for what may come. It is a good thing to spend time in quiet contemplation and other humble pursuits in advance of an event of great joy; this is (or should be) true whether or not one is religious. Being human, we tend to appreciate things by way of contrast. Celebration seems richer and deeper if it is balanced by quiet and calm; frivolity and mirth lose their charm and meaning if they are all — or most — of what constitutes our daily activity. Joy absent sorrow is…formless, I suppose might be a term to use.

Western culture, at least, tends to place a high priority on material acquisition in general, and this seems more egregious in the run-up to Christmas and Boxing Day. Which, I suppose, reinforces the need to find opportunities to pause, to put aside material trappings and focus on those things which are not objects themselves, but are instead the objects of our love.

Of course, as with the birth of a child (there I go again), the proper response when the event itself transpires is to express profound joy. And hopefully you and those whom you hold dear, good Reader, are able to find time and cause to do just that today and tomorrow. Merry Christmas to you, and good cheer also. I’ll see you next week.