Keeping time with Benedictines in the Desert

It’s hard to keep track of what day it is during the holidays. We’re off our regular patterns of school or work and weekly routines and so the question, “What day is it today?,” is one I’ve asked myself more than a few times recently.

The question, “What day is it?” is rather more interesting when we’re not content with the simple answer “December 26th” or “Tuesday.” Most of us, whether we realize it or not, are keeping time by the Gregorian calendar, which has been in place since 1582. There is, though, an even older calendar, namely the liturgical calendar, or Church year, which in Western Christianity is recognized in one form or another by the Roman Catholic, Anglican, and Lutheran churches, and some other Protestants.

In the Church year, we’ve just completed the season of Advent and are now in the season of Christmastide. Christmas Day or The Nativity of the Lord is the first of 12 days of Christmas, sometimes also referred to as “Twelvetide.” (If this doesn’t sound familiar to you, think of all the times you’ve sung “On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…”)

This year was a bit unusual though: Sunday, December 24th was both the last Sunday of Advent and Christmas Eve. (Usually there are several days between the last Sunday of Advent and Christmas). As a result, Advent themes of expectation and waiting, and Christmas themes of fulfillment and arrival, occurred on the same day.

Thus the lectionary for December 24th provides readings for both the Fourth Sunday of Advent and for Christmas: The Advent scriptures are read on Sunday morning, while the Christmas scriptures are read in the evening.

During the last few days of Advent and the first few days of Christmas this year, I have been staying at St. Andrew’s Abbey, a Benedictine monastery in the Mojave Desert.

During Sunday’s services of Morning Prayer (Lauds) and the Eucharist (Mass) at the Abbey we heard the Advent readings, including Luke 1:26-38:

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and he will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” Mary said to the Angel, ‘How can this be, since I am a virgin?’ The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth has also conceived in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

Stations of the Cross, St. Andrew’s Abbey

After the Sunday Advent Mass, I left the chapel and meandered up the incline in the rocky, desert sand above the chapel in the bright, early afternoon sun and found myself, unintentionally, on the path for the Stations of the Cross. Stations is typically intended as a Lenten or Holy Week walking meditation leading up to Good Friday, to the Cross. Yet in Advent we also walk toward the humbling of God, by his becoming human in Jesus Christ, who “though he was in the form of God” as St. Paul writes in the Epistle to the Philippians, “emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.” So I stopped and waited awhile at this final station before walking back down.

After making my way back and resting for awhile in my room, I walked to the chapel to attend Evening Prayer (Vespers) where we heard the first readings of Christmas, including Luke 2:1-14:

In those days a decree went out from the Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered…Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for him in the inn.

Mojave Desert, St. Andrew’s Abbey

In the space of only a few hours, between Mass and Vespers, Advent had become Christmas; in liturgical time, Mary had both conceived and given birth. Time, like the slowly moving tectonic plates of the San Andreas fault below the Abbey, had been shifting under my feet and I hadn’t even noticed it.

Between the rising and setting of the sun in the Mojave desert, seeking had become finding, and the future had become the present.

When we first entered the chapel (which was built in an old barn, as if made for the Manger) for Vespers, we could look up and see the creche in the Nativity scene in front of the altar. As we kept walking closer to the front, though, the more we had to look down to see the creche. It is low, as low as an infant on the ground.

Lest we begin to think that we arrive merely by our own preparation, will, strength, and intentions, we are reminded that “To us a child is born. To us a son is given.”

To us. A child. Given.

That being so, what should our mornings and evenings look like between now and the new year?

Well, it depends. If we’re on our own, left to our own “will power” and preparation, then let’s make resolutions for January 1st. If, however, we have received the Infant in God’s chosen weakness, then let us rejoice and be glad, throughout Christmastide!

As we leave Christmas Day behind us, I am reminded of Jesus’ words in Matthew 11:30, "My yoke is easy and my burden is light." A friend recently wrote to me, “More and more, I find myself pondering receptivity, recognizing you can't grunt and grit your teeth into it, and yet there is some kind of work or will involved.” I think that’s right. We can either strive with clenched teeth, or we can allow the Gospel’s patterns and rhythms of grace to carry us with joy to Twelfth Night and beyond into the new year, as we resume school, work, and our weekly routines.

Merry Christmas!

M. F. Davidson
St. Andrew’s Abbey, December 26, 2023

—

Scripture references from the New Revised Standard Bible (NRSV)