New beginnings...

Over Thanksgiving break I was home in Vineland, so I went to Mass at St. Isidore's to visit everyone. I've been going to Mass at the Newman House since October, and it was so nice to return to all the "smells and bells" for a little while. 

I picked a good day to show up, and admittedly had planned it that way. Our usual elaborate decor has been stripped down, replaced by plain purple banners that hang behind the altar. Most of the flowers were taken away, and evergreen branches laid in their place. The scent was light, but the transition made me aware of the changes to come on more than just an intellectual level.

This past Saturday evening began the Advent season, the beginning of the new liturgical (Church) year. Our year is broken up into seasons:

Advent- Four weeks before Christmas.

Christmas- Dec. 25 and eight days after.

Ordinary Time- The "normal" time of the year; nothing particularly special celebrated.

Lent- Starts with Ash Wednesday and continues for 40 days until Easter, not counting Sundays. (Sundays are treated as breaks in our fasting, so they aren't included.)

The Triduum- Three days before Easter; the most solemn time of the Church year that includes Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil on Saturday night, where new converts are baptized and/or confirmed. (Wikipedia, while usually unreliable, is particularly good with explaining the Vigil).

Easter Season- Begins at the Easter Vigil and continues for 50 days until Pentecost.

Ordinary Time- Picks up again until Advent.

The liturgical year is based entirely on the life of Jesus. It makes sense, then, that Advent is a solemn period of reflection and prayer to prepare ourselves to celebrate His birth. The same thing occurs on a larger scale during Lent, which includes fasting. Advent is also at the end of the standard calendar year, and we use it to reflect on the other arrival of Jesus: the Second Coming at the end of time.

I love Advent. Things may be a bit subdued and solemn, but there's also an expectancy reflected in the prayers, songs and rituals we use. It's time to start over. Joy is coming, and this month is perfect for readying ourselves to receive it.

It also means that the carols start showing up at Mass. ;) Here's one you may recognize, performed by guitarist Trace Bundy and singer/songwriter Josh Garrels. The latter writes very raw, sometimes dark, and entirely non-cheesy Christian music. Do check him out.

Alive again...

Faith is rarely ever easy, and it shouldn't be. The truth is hard to take, too, at times. My friend V once told me when I was struggling with adjusting to my new lifestyle (which involved giving up a few sweet vices), "We should never seek after what makes us happy, but rather what's True."

Admittedly, I resented that comment for a long time. Yet, as I hung on, God continued to console me, to keep me strong, and say "Yes, I am still here." He used a lot of things to do that--friends, books, and long talks with (very patient) priests all included. However, the single biggest thing that kept me going, and still does today, is music.

It was Victor Hugo that said, "Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent." I may sound like a typical college student saying this, but hearing a song that speaks to my situation, and promises hope in the midst of struggle, does wonders for me in my wearier moments.

So, as I cook up my next (actually newsworthy!) post this weekend, here is one song that has been close to me lately.

Matt Maher is one of the only Catholic musicians who has successfully broken into the mainstream Christian contemporary music scene, and with good reason. This song, "Alive Again," is the first single off his new album of the same name. It comes from St. Augustine, a man who went from living a life of promiscuity to the priesthood, eventually being named both a saint and a "doctor of the Church."

Here's an excerpt from the full quote of Augustine's:

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you! You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. In my unloveliness I plunged into the lovely things which you created. You were with me, but I was not with you. Created things kept me from you; yet if they had not been in you they would not have been at all. You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness. You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. You breathed your fragrance on me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you. I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more. You touched me, and I burned for your peace.

And a live acoustic performance: