Break, break, break

"Break, break, break

   On thy cold grey stones, O Sea!

And I would that my tongue could utter

    The thoughts that arise in me."

                          - Tennyson

My thoughts have been turning towards the liturgy of seasons again as Advent approaches. When I spent most of the year in Michigan, the shifting seasons were always near the front of my consciousness. And why not? With crunching leaves and buckeyes underfoot in the fall, gorgeous, deadly ice storms in the winter, and lilacs in the spring, Hillsdale had it all. One always knew what to wear, what to drink, what to expect---the weather let you know what to do.

Colorado's version of the seasons is much more nebulous. The mountains mess with the hot/cold fronts in ways that I don't pretend to understand. Summer was chilly, fall has been bright, spring is a joke. All I know is that it can be sunny and charming in the morning and still hail like the dickens in the afternoon. And three years of residence in this state has given me absolutely no advantage in predicting changes. 

Without temperature and sky to guide my internal clock, I'm more grateful than ever for the liturgy of seasons celebrated by the Catholic church. Even if the landscape shows no change (except going from dry and brown to a little dryer, perhaps), I know I can count on the colors of the vestments to rotate as they should, and the tune of the Gloria to alter for each period of expectation or celebration. The constancy of the changes is calming and comforting.

Last week at RCIA, the cathedral liturgist gave us a crash course in Sacred Stuff 101---we learned about the full church calendar, the significance of colors in the church, and which days (besides Sundays) are Holy Days of obligation. It was by far the most practical and interesting lesson I've had at RCIA thus far. Yes, yes, I know about the three parts of the Trinity and I can deduce a system of ethics from the 10 Commandments. But what I really need is someone to tell me where the tabernacle is, and what the Bishop's ring is made from, and why the priest wears white on Christ the King Sunday.  These are the things that distract me and make me feel out of place. When I should be listening to the homily, I sit there and wonder, "Why do they cross themselves after receiving the Eucharist? Isn't that redundant? But not everyone does it. What's going on? What if I bow too closely and I smack the Body with my forehead and Jesus spills? What if I spill wine on my shirt? I always spill stuff on my shirt. Does that make my shirt holy? Or profane? Probably profane. I'm just going to kneel now like everybody else."

I've been told that Eucharistic anxiety is a common problem for candidates. My instructor tries to emphasize preparation of the soul for receiving the sacrament so that we don't worry so much about the mechanics of the process. (As if calling to mind my sins will quell anxieties...)  But I take comfort, again, in the season we're in right now: a season of waiting, of anticipation. This is no church of instant gratification---and thank heaven for that. The Lord knows I'm not ready.