Illum oportet crescere, me autem minui

Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI), writing in The Spirit of the Liturgy:

The fact that the dates of the Lord’s conception and birth originally had a cosmic significance means that Christians can take on the challenge of the sun cult and incorporate it positively into the theology of the Christmas feast. There are magnificent texts in the writings of the Fathers that express this synthesis. For example, St. Jerome in a Christmas sermon says this: “Even creation approves our preaching. The universe itself bears witness to the truth of our words. Up to this day the dark days increase, but from this day the darkness decreases…The light advances, while the night retreats.” Likewise, St. Augustine, preaching at Christmas to his flock at Hippo: “Brethren let us rejoice. The heathen, too, may still make merry, for this day consecrates for us, not the visible sun, but the sun’s invisible Creator.” Again and again, the Fathers take up the verse about the sun that we have already quote from Psalm 18(19).For the early Church, this became a real Christmas psalm: the sun, that is, Christ, is like bridegroom coming forth from his chamber. An echo of the Marian mystery was also heard in this psalm, which was interpreted as a prophecy of Christ. Between the two dates of March 25 and December 25, comes the feast of the Forerunner, St. John the Baptist, on June 24 at the time of the summer solstice. The link between the dates can now be sen as a liturgical and cosmic expression of the Baptist’s words: “He [Christ] must increase, but I must decrease” (Jn 3:30). The birthday of St. John the Baptist takes place on the date when the days begin to shorten, just as the birthday of Christ takes place when they begin again to lengthen.

I had only just re-joined the Church when I started asking about the diaconate. I met with a priest who wisely suggested that I take some time to mature in my newfound faith and instead devote myself to study for awhile. This seemed like a pretty advice, and one of the things I did was address some gaps in my reading. I started college wanting to become a scientist, but Chemistry II cured me of that, so I switched to English Literature, intending to teach. I eventually landed in the journalism school, though I never went into the field. We got married right after I graduated, I took an office job, and never looked back.

Well, not often anyway. Beyond early coursework in British Romantic and Southern lit, I missed most - OK, nearly all - of the Great Books, so I set out to fix that over a number of years. My main list was Mortimer Adler’s, and between the library and the used book stores in my area, I got through most of them. I spent a lot of time reading the Classics, and still associate some of them - Plotinus in particular - with the bus ride to the office. I had switched to mass transit for awhile and found myself with about two solid hours a day which lined up perfectly with this effort.

Familiarity with the western canon accomplished a few things. First, it let me in on other conversations and writing where I had previously felt at sea. References and parallels were lost on me before, but now I ‘got it.’ I felt like I had a seat at the table. Second, and this should go without saying but it probably doesn’t: these books are classics for a reason, and the reason is frequently that they are great reads and more fun than I had anticipated. Yes some of them were something of a slog (looking at you, John Calvin), but others had me thinking “holy mackerel how I have missed this?”

But most subtly, a deep re-immersion in poetry had me noticing the natural world around me with new eyes, and the movements of the sun and moon in particular - the color of afternoon light in late summer or mid-winter. There were some days that I felt like I was seeing these things for the first time. The heavens, indeed, proclaim the glory of the Lord, as do the shadows tracing across the yard throughout the day.