Advent. I'm neither Catholic nor attentive enough to have noticed that the Gloria was missing, although, when the priest mentioned it in the homily, I'd swear I felt it right then. I didn't feel terribly spiritual going to Mass this evening, though I didn't feel weighted down by sin, either.
BUT, when I entered the sanctuary, it was but a few seconds when I sensed that it was Advent. It had slipped my mind intellectually. Still, I could not brush away this anticipation. If I didn't know better, I'd call it agitation. I can't call it joyous, at least not yet. What I felt was need. I need Jesus to be here. Even as I felt shame for losing patience earlier this week, and for being timid in sharing my faith. Yet there is something else: I have something to live for. Or rather, someone. And it really does make all the difference.
We all want to seem normal and well-adjusted. But the truth is, none of us are. You can maybe dance it away, or drink it away, or sex it away, but a gaping wound is hard to hide. There are still fleeting joys for the walking dead, but they are even more fleeting than we think. And here I thought I was being kind, not talking about Jesus. These people are dying, and I'm worried they won't like me?
Existentialists aren't totally nuts, you know. This life doesn't have much in it, if you tire quickly of pleasure and distraction. But if you grab the flashes of good and hold on, the magical rope leads to God. You can't build your own meaning in life, but you can find it. And lo and behold, the ordinary moments aren't so ordinary.
Meanwhile, I was watching Columbo yesterday. If you've never seen this show, it ran on and off from 1968-2003 as a series of roughly movie-length crime dramas starring Peter Falk as the titular detective. He always seems absent-minded, losing his keys, asking suspects for a pen, and "One more thing..." But the joke was on them. It still feels to me like Lt. Columbo could only live in a world where Jesus rose from the dead. Think on it: The unfailing politeness, the silly stories, the relentless pursuit of truth. Lt. Columbo is the perfect example of an ordinary guy living a holy life. Peter Falk died last year, having slipped into dementia in 2007. He had apparently accepted one last Columbo script that year, but it was never made. I hope Peter Falk is in Heaven. His character would be, most certainly.
BUT, when I entered the sanctuary, it was but a few seconds when I sensed that it was Advent. It had slipped my mind intellectually. Still, I could not brush away this anticipation. If I didn't know better, I'd call it agitation. I can't call it joyous, at least not yet. What I felt was need. I need Jesus to be here. Even as I felt shame for losing patience earlier this week, and for being timid in sharing my faith. Yet there is something else: I have something to live for. Or rather, someone. And it really does make all the difference.
We all want to seem normal and well-adjusted. But the truth is, none of us are. You can maybe dance it away, or drink it away, or sex it away, but a gaping wound is hard to hide. There are still fleeting joys for the walking dead, but they are even more fleeting than we think. And here I thought I was being kind, not talking about Jesus. These people are dying, and I'm worried they won't like me?
Existentialists aren't totally nuts, you know. This life doesn't have much in it, if you tire quickly of pleasure and distraction. But if you grab the flashes of good and hold on, the magical rope leads to God. You can't build your own meaning in life, but you can find it. And lo and behold, the ordinary moments aren't so ordinary.
Meanwhile, I was watching Columbo yesterday. If you've never seen this show, it ran on and off from 1968-2003 as a series of roughly movie-length crime dramas starring Peter Falk as the titular detective. He always seems absent-minded, losing his keys, asking suspects for a pen, and "One more thing..." But the joke was on them. It still feels to me like Lt. Columbo could only live in a world where Jesus rose from the dead. Think on it: The unfailing politeness, the silly stories, the relentless pursuit of truth. Lt. Columbo is the perfect example of an ordinary guy living a holy life. Peter Falk died last year, having slipped into dementia in 2007. He had apparently accepted one last Columbo script that year, but it was never made. I hope Peter Falk is in Heaven. His character would be, most certainly.
Comments