"A-Weigh-in" on the Manger

Setting the (Nativity) Scene

This year, the Nativity scene in St. Peter’s Square is causing quite a stir.

And not in a good way. 

Take a look …

Nativities from Yesteryear

It may be hard to imagine, but St. Peter’s Square did not have a Christmas tree or Nativity scene until 1982 when Pope John Paul II asked the Vatican Governor’s Office to put some decorations in the square under his office. With that simple request a tradition was born.

For 30 years the same traditional Nativity figures were used, although new background scenes were commissioned each Christmas. Then, in 2011, Pope Benedict approved the idea of each year having a Nativity donated from different regions of Italy, with the first one set up a year later. Ever since, the unveiling of the Christmas nativity in St. Peter’s Square is a much-anticipated event.

Over the years there have been traditional Nativity scenes, many of them reflecting both the region from which they hail and a significant event that happened during the year. For example, the 2016 Nativity from Malta featured damaged buildings and rubble to reflect the recent earthquake that struck Amatrice and Norcia. The scene also featured a cross on its side as a tribute to the many churches that were lost or damaged in the earthquake, as well as a Maltese fishing boat to reflect the refugee crisis.

There have also been some controversial Nativity scenes, such as the “Nativity of Mercy” donated by Naples in 2017. The scene, featuring the Corporal Works of Mercy, caused an outcry because it featured a semi-nude man (clothe the naked) and a dead arm hanging off a stretcher (bury the dead).

Delving Deeper

And then there is the 2020 Nativity.

It seems the immediate reaction is to comment on what it is not: It is not tender, warm, or nostalgic! It does not reflect the beauty of the Nativity story! It is not traditional!

The next reaction is to comment on what one sees: The toy-like faces! The astronaut! The spark plug angel! The Darth Vader-like figure!

But as with anything in art (and faith), it helps to delve deeper into the emotion, to go beyond what one sees, and to understand the background.

This year’s Nativity is a small part of a 54-piece set that was originally made by art students between 1965-1975 in the town of Castelli in the Abruzzo region of Italy. The town has a ceramic history that dates back to the 17^th century, so the human figures in the Nativity scene are made of stacked ceramic rings resulting in figures that are cylindrical rather than curvy (like the natural human form).

The curved neon light is the Gran Sasso mountain, a symbol of Abruzzo and where Pope John Paul II used to go skiing.

The colors used in the figures are the traditional colors of Castelli ceramics.

To reflect the idea that Christ is born for everyone, contemporary figures were added. The astronaut was created after the moon landing in 1969 and he is offering the moon to Jesus as an expression of worship.

The helmeted soldier figure represents a great sinner, which makes the comparison to Darth Vader (a fallen Jedi) especially interersting. 

Yay or Nay?

What do I think? Honestly, I do not hate it. I appreciate the context from which it was created, and while the figures would not be considered aesthetically pleasing, in their own way they are beautiful.

And in a year when NOTHING has been conventional, maybe it is fitting to have a non-conventional nativity.

On the other hand, I understand the harsh criticism, and maybe this was not the right year and St. Peter’s Square was not the right place. During a time when we are longing for normalcy, when many are looking to the church for comfort, maybe a traditional nativity would have been a better choice.

What do you think?

[photo credits: National Catholic Register, Catholic News Service]

And To All a Good Night . . .

Tonight I will sleep.

I won't be listening for odd noises, or getting up to make sure windows and doors are locked, or have a sleepless night like I do whenever Joe is out of town.

I won't toss and turn worrying about Jonathan in Atlanta.

Or stay awake thinking about Nicholas in Little Rock. 

And I won't wait for Timothy's text informing me he's driving home from work. 

No, I won't do any of those things because tonight ... we are all home.

Together.

So tonight I will sleep.

 

 

Speak to Me Sunday: And So We Wait ... Actively

 There is a YouTube video of Fr. Manno giving a lesson on what we should be doing during Advent. His answer? We wait. But then he explained the difference between active vs. inactive waiting, and how during Advent we should be actively waiting; that is, as we wait for the Christ Child we are not meant to sit around doing nothing. Instead, we prepare. 

His commentary reminded me of the motto verso l'alto (towards the height), words often associated with the life of Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati. While on one level the words refer to our earthly struggle as we climb toward the summit of eternal life, on a very practical level the words are also a rallying cry for what we do while climbing. 

For we should always be doing something, just like that waiting time before a trip. That period of preparation for a future action, a period of activity in waiting for the moment we can finally take that step and go forth ... 

The suitcases were packed and standing in a line by the back door; I was in that in-between place of being ready, but not yet going.

I have often said that preparing for a trip is almost as fun as the trip itself. In the months leading up to that pile of luggage by the back door I applied for a brand new passport, purchased some new clothes, and managed to pack everything I needed. For months I gathered maps, read guide books, conducted Google searches, made reservations, and planned daily itineraries; in short, I did everything I could to help guide me into the unknown, and it was terribly exciting to imagine the possibilities and anticipate the adventure.

But it was also all kinds of scary because despite the preparation, there are no guarantees. 

Then something happened the morning of our departure as I stood between two worlds – the one I was leaving (familiar and safe) and the one I was headed toward (full of the unknown). As I reached into my purse to check (yet again) if I had my passport, I remembered the Dutch proverb that goes like this: He is who outside his door, already has the hard part of his journey behind him. It's a proverb about taking that first step which, without a doubt, is the hardest step of all.

So that’s exactly what I did – I picked up my suitcase and took that first step out the door, and for the first time in months I was completely and wholly at peace. I was on my way, come what may.

During this Advent as we embark on a journey connecting memory and hope, I am reminded how any journey – spiritual, physical, redemptive, etc. – begins with that first step, one for which you have prepared and hoped for. It may be the biggest step you may ever have to take, seemingly impossible and impossibly difficult. It may be a hesitant step, or a bold one. 

It may require a leap of faith. 

But in the end all that preparation begins with a single step.

And with that one step, you're on your way.

My friend, Karla, designs these unique etchings on slate taken from 

the roof of her family's 100 year old dairy barn in rural northeast Ohio.

Not whipped cream ...

 but beautifully frothed almond milk.

The Story Behind the Book

I will always associate this time of year, early December, with the moment I finally announced the release of my book. The ensuing response was so supportive, and I received so many heartwarming notes, emails, texts, and Facebook messages. Soon, I embarked on a journey of book talks and presentations. I got better at at these as I went along, so by the time I spoke to over 100 women last February at the Aiken Newcomers' Club, I felt comfortable telling my story. Who knew I could make people laugh and cry during my talks? And invoke something within them which makes them come up to me afterwards and share their own memories? 

So here I am, in early December, once again remembering. Earlier this year I had a few more book talks planned when the Pandemic hit, and as you know the world came to a sudden halt. But An Ocean, an Airplane, and Two Countries Full of Kisses is still available on Amazon, and I am always ready and willing to do a presentation. If you would like a copy now, I keep several at home. Just let me know. 

My first book, and I am not done. I have ideas, outlines, stories. I am writing, writing, writing. 

And since there is always a story behind the story, here is mine ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once upon a time, my high school Spanish club held a fund raiser which required each member to sell boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. This was so out of my comfort zone. We had only recently moved to Georgia and I was struggling – to fit in, to be less shy, to be happy when I just wanted my old life back in Italy. So the thought of going door-to-door selling doughnuts to strangers filled me with anxiety. In the end, I sold two boxes to an elderly couple who lived behind us and a few boxes to our neighbors across the street. I used my babysitting money to buy the rest. 

Why am I telling you this story?

In December 2018 I formally announced that my book, An Ocean, an Airplane, and Two Countries Fullof Kisses, was officially released and available for purchase. Truthfully, I could have made the announcement earlier, but I delayed because I wanted to do it in a way that didn’t make me feel as if I were selling those boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

And yet, if there is one thing I learned from writing this book is that I’m not that same person anymore. During those first years when we first moved to Georgia, when I was trying to figure it all out, it was the written word—in all its forms—which gave me comfort. I read voraciously (my first job as a teenager was working in a library), I kept a journal, and I wrote stories. But mostly, it was the weekly letters from Nonna, my Italian grandmother, that gave me what I needed to keep trying. Nonna’s words (and her love) grounded me in ways nothing else could.

Eventually, I did find my way. Things became good, then better, and then even great.

It wasn’t until many years later when my mother and I were going through Nonna’s letters—years and years of letters—that I realized the true power of the written word. Just seeing Nonna’s handwriting helped me remember her hands, large and strong and thick-veined. Just reading her letters made me remember her passion, her laughter, and even what her voice sounded like. Her written words evoked memories, feelings, and more than a little nostalgia, and I recognized how so much of what she wrote and who she was could be woven into the fabric of my life—of who I was, am, and always will be.

The very next day I began writing An Ocean, an Airplane, and Two Countries Full of Kisses.

So, while contemplating how to announce my book in a way that was meaningful, the image of the Spanish Club fundraiser and those pesky boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts popped into my mind. But you know what? The memory made me smile. I am not selling doughnuts anymore; in fact, I am so beyond those doughnuts.

I’m telling a story.

Because that’s who I am.

It’s that simple.

Bathroom selfie before my talk at the Aiken Newcomers' Club

It took me a while to feel comfortable signing books. 

Angels at the Mall

ONCE UPON A TIME, I went to the mall during the Christmas holidays. As I was wandering through a department store, I heard some unusual sounds in the form of groans and loud outbursts. Eventually I realized the noises were coming from a group of disabled men who were on a field trip to the mall.

These elderly men were curled up in wheelchairs, wearing bibs, and shouted out occasionally. Each wheelchair was pushed by a healthcare worker. I could tell these men were well taken care of. They all sported bright Christmas sweaters and it was obvious that the healthcare workers were trying to make things as festive as possible for them. Some of the wheelchairs were even decorated.

And I was touched at the effort of these healthcare workers to give these men—many of whom were unaware of their surroundings—a little Christmas spirit.

As I was standing in line to make a purchase, some people in front of me were clearly uncomfortable with the outbursts these men were making. Some even expressed their annoyance, rolling their eyes and sighing at the disruptions.

And there, with Christmas music playing and the salesclerks wearing Santa hats, surrounded by tinsel and glitter and sparkle, I looked at those healthcare workers caring for those poor men and thought that they, more than anyone else I had encountered at the mall that day, reminded me of that stable in Bethlehem. They deserved better than the dirty looks they were getting because, heaven knows, they were doing a job not many of us could do.

I know I could not.

So, I got out of line to go and speak to them. In a voice that carried back to the register, I touched one of the workers on the arm and said, "I think it is wonderful that you bring these gentlemen to the mall so they can experience a little holiday spirit." The healthcare worker gave me the warmest smile, we chatted for a couple of minutes, and when I walked away I felt as if I had been in the presence of someone great.

Like an angel.

At the mall.

"To love another person is to see the face of God."

Les Misérables, Victor Hugo

How's this for a post? What to Give, Something Holey, Smart Decorating, Christmas Yoda

1- Want to know who is stressed out? Teachers. Whether they are teaching in person, online, or a combination of both, teachers have been rock stars trying to keep our  children educated during this time. Buy your child's teacher a Christmas gift. Seriously. And make it a big one.

2- Speaking of gifts ... want to give a thoughtful, fun gift? Try LoveBooks, a personalized book that you can write and customize any way you want. The online site is VERY EASY to use, and honestly, it's a lot of fun. Give it a try. As you can see, I'm working on an anniversary gift (our 30th) for you-know-who. (Don't tell him.)

3- Our penguin inflatables--the ones given to me as a joke from my thoughtful brother-in-law--have officially expired. Two words (one reason): Holey Penguins

4- Smart decorating. That's what I did. The past few years it has just been Timothy and me decorating the tree (Joe carries it down from the attic, and after wrestling with the lights he is DONE). This year (on Black Friday to be exact) I pulled out our ornaments and handed them to three young men and one fiancée. The entire tree was decorated in less than 30 minutes!

5- Our Christmas Yoda ... love him, we do. 

Two years ago, in Publix I was when a Yoda I spied.

Called my name, he did, so I resisted not. 

How could I, hmm? 

(Also a Darth Vader, there was, but him I wanted not.)