Happy feast of St. Joseph! We here in the baby district are very fond of St. Joseph, carpenter, husband of Mary, earthly father to Jesus, and all-around brave, patient dude in some pretty nutty circumstances. St. Joseph, thank you! Pray for us!
We also love to wear red and celebrate St. Joseph’s day in honor of the special Italian young men in our lives: Joseph, James and John.
Ezra wants to give a very special shout-out to his godbrother Joseph today on his special day. We love you! And he sends a big hug and toy bite to his beloved cousins James and JP.
St. JOOOOOSEPH! Woot!
(Sorry, Ezra is not really in focus, but I still love this photo. It reminds me of James at 14 months.)
We want to (somewhat belatedly) give a shout-out to St. Nicholas, who kindly showered us with treats on his feast day, Dec. 6th.
Ezra woke up to discover a Nutcracker in his shoe. Then St. Nicholas’s helper, who also happens to be one of Ezra’s godmothers, brought us a basket of beautiful and delicious treats!
Here you can see Ezra showing some early enthusiasm for the foil-wrapped chocolate Santy, but what he truly LOVED was the pea soup.
Score another one for St. Nicholas! Christmas miracles all around.
For Jews, today is Rosh Hashanah. Happy new year! For Christians, today is the (lesser known) holiday of Michelmas, the feast of St. Michael and All Angels. Or as it is known around here, the feast of St. Mick and the Fly Boys.
The Catholic Encyclopedia tells us: St. Michael is one of the principal angels; his name was the war-cry of the good angels in the battle fought in heaven against the enemy and his followers.
He is often pictured with a sword and a slain dragon or Satan at his feet.
Since it is so near the equinox, Michelmas is also a marker for fall. (If we were fancy Oxford kids, we’d be in our Michelmas term, I believe.)
There is much to celebrate today. We are thankful for our good friend St. Michael and all his angel compatriots. We are thankful for the heavenly hosts, praising God and fighting evil. St. Michael is also the patron saint of chivalry (because if an angel is not chivalrous, who is?), and we are thankful for our own family dragon-slayer, Mr. Pdubs, on his half-birthday. AND today we are celebrating the fact that after a long drought, Ezra smiled, laughed a little and has been mostly friendly again. (PRAISE THE LORD, THANK YOU JESUS.)
So HAPPY DAY INDEED.
St. Mick’s sword is a little bent, but that’s just because it is such hard work slaying dragons.
Today people will wear green, seek pots of gold, lay claim on tiny slivers of Celtic heritage and crowd “Irish” bars all over the city to toast Guinness with friends and strangers. It is a jolly ole time! But behind all this tomfoolery (patrickfoolery?), is an actual man, Saint Patrick, bishop and apostle to Ireland in the fifth century.
In Patrick’s youth, raiders captured him in Britain and took him to Ireland as a slave. There he tended his master’s flocks, learned the local language and prayed day and night. He escaped after six years and later returned to Ireland as a missionary. He is credited with establishing Christianity in Ireland and is now its patron saint.
Here our tiny Saint Patrick uses the shamrock to explain the doctrine of the trinity.
I have been a slack blogger. Forgive me. I have recently learned of some wee fans of Ezra (Hi Kara!) who make frequent requests to see his likeness, and I do not want to disappoint. From henceforth I hope to resume some modicum of frequent, short blog posts.
For now, at long last, here follows what Ezra did for Christmas…
On Christmas Eve, we decorated the tree. We had meant to do it earlier, but it was actually quite lovely and fitting to deck the tree on Christmas Eve.
We really enjoyed reading everyone’s Christmas cards.
Then some dear friends came over on Christmas Eve night and basically made Christmas for us, bringing a lovely spread of appetizers and cooking delicious oyster stew (with local Chesapeake Bay oysters). Oyster stew is new to me, but a traditional Christmas Eve dish. It was a perfect way to start the season. Preston and I made Ensalada de Noche Buena, a dish that is served in Mexico, exclusively on Christmas Eve (at least, that is what my liturgical cookbook tells me). It is basically a fruit and vegetable salad sprinkled with pomegranate seeds and peanuts. I think we will make it an annual culinary tradition, as it was tasty, easy to prepare and lovely to behold, what with all the festive, colorful fruits and vegetables. (Slideshow has bonus repeat pictures because I couldn’t make them go away.)
Then we headed to church for midnight mass. I was concerned how Ezra would take it. For his sake, of course, but also because Christmas Eve mass is very important to me, and it would have been a bummer to spend it in the nursery. But Ez had snoozed through every Advent sunday in his carseat, and we hoped this service would follow suit. However, this was our first time attempting church at 11 pm, and at this stage in Ezra’s development, the hours when adults wanted to go to bed were the hours when baby wanted to cry. He was awake, unhappy and hungry when we arrived at church, so I nursed him (in a meeting room). At five minutes to 11 I thought, “I will never make it to church.” He was still crying a bit when it was time for church to start, but I wanted to hear the first hymn, so I wandered in that direction, expecting to retreat back to the common room immediately. But no, as soon as we walked toward the church his little body relaxed on my shoulder. We made it inside for the second verse of “Once in Royal David’s City,” and he slept in heavenly peace for the whole service. MA-GI-CAL! This is a baby who loves church.
There is something incredible about holding a wee tiny babe while hearing about that first Christmas. It was my favorite Christmas Eve mass, and one I will never forget. I was in awe of the fragile human form God chose to come to us on Earth. And as the choir sang “Bethlehem Down,” I shed tears with Mary, who held the infant Jesus in her arms and would later see him crucified. I cried for mothers of martyrs everywhere. It is one thing to celebrate saints in the abstract, but when I started looking for saint names for my future child, I found myself wincing at the suffering they endured and the too-often tragic end to their lives. I want Ezra to grow to love and serve the Lord, but as his mother, I want him to be able to do so easily — ideally without any real pain or harm. I am not sure that is possible, but I pray he has many days of peace and more than a short while for dreaming.
Bethlehem Down, by Peter Warlock
“When he is King we will give him the Kings’ gifts,
Myrrh for its sweetness, and gold for a crown,
Beautiful robes,” said the young girl to Joseph,
Fair with her first-born on Bethlehem Down.
Bethlehem Down is full of the starlight —
Winds for the spices, and stars for the gold,
Mary for sleep, and for lullaby music
Songs of a shepherd by Bethlehem fold.
When he is King they will clothe him in grave-sheets,
Myrrh for embalming, and wood for a crown,
He that lies now in the white arms of Mary,
Sleeping so lightly on Bethlehem Down.
Here he has peace and a short while for dreaming,
Close-huddled oxen to keep him from cold,
Mary for love, and for lullaby music
Songs of a shepherd by Bethlehem fold.
DC, baby! 