Being asked to reflect on my favorite iconic pop-culture Advent tradition, I was excited to have an excuse to revel once again in the glories of the Griswold family Christmas and their hilarious misadventures in “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.” Thinking theologically about the Generation X/Millennial classic was not as difficult as one might imagine.
The basic plot centers on the somewhat bumbling, but ultimately well-intentioned, attempts at either making or trying to recapture the perfect holiday celebration. The harmlessly dysfunctional family encounters endless gaffes along the way, but eventually realizes that the true meaning of the season can’t be found in lights that fail to twinkle or dried-out turkeys or the endless repetitions of the Hallelujah chorus from Handel’s “Messiah” (as much as I love the latter). It is rather in a community of loved ones dedicated to one another and to the effort to appreciate each celebratory moment, that they are able to forge a dynamic experience of this holiday season in this place this year, even and always if far from perfect.
The Catholic family reflects some of these experiences. Our brothers and sisters in faith may not agree with us or each other on everything, but treating one another with dignity, respect and love, as the family patriarch in the movie puts it, “isn’t charity, it’s family.” Eddy graciously takes this to heart, providing him with an alphabetized list of potential gifts for everyone in the house.
The recent new translation of the Roman Missal can be seen in a similar light. The ever-ancient, ever-new memorial and re-presenting of Christ’s mission, suffering, and death, comes to Catholics of every generation in the liturgical life-blood of the church, “the source and summit of the entire Christian life.” And so, while not everyone may favor the changes and difficult transitions will undoubtedly ensue (my personal recidivism rate of “and also with you” remains high), it is unquestionably a good thing to pay more careful attention to the language in which we pray and to take this opportunity to interiorize the invigorating truths which lie behind the provisional and time-bound articulations of these realities.
When Clark gets trapped in the attic, he finds himself watching old reels of films of his holidays long past. In this of all seasons, one cannot fail to reflect on bygone moments of happiness, tranquility and love from our past. Sometimes this longing moves beyond nostalgia to an unrealistic glorification of days gone by. And while our past no doubt touched and formed us in ways that are irreplaceable and hope in the future often drives us to accept and seek new experiences, neither can replace the present — that moment of the human narrative “all lit up with eternal rays.” Present is the most like heaven, for there is no “before and after” in God. It is only in immersing ourselves in the present that we can experience “the mixed novelty and familiarity of snowdrops this January, sunrise this morning, plum pudding this Christmas.”
Let us take the time to appreciate what the re-entry of God’s presence in our lives means this year and cultivate gratitude for that fact in this unique go-round of the holiday, without fearing what is to come or lamenting what we have lost. I assert that El divino nino, the Christchild, comes once more to this specific moment, here and now. Let us prepare a place for him to heal and gladden us. “You serious, Clark?”
Michael M. Canaris of Collingswood is an administrator at Fairfield University’s Center for Faith and Public Life and is on the faculty for the Department of Philosophy, Theology, and Religious Studies at Sacred Heart University.
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