“You know, for centuries, we’ve been criticized for grafting our sacred feast on a pagan holiday,” Jim said. “I’m sure you’ve heard the charges. Nobody knows the actual day on which Christ was born. But December twenty-fifth was a great feast to the pagans of the ancient world, the day when the sun was at its lowest ebb and people would gather in the fields, in the villages, and in the depths of the forest to beg for the sun to come back to us at full strength, for the days to lengthen once more. And for warmth to return to the world, melting the deadly snows of winter, and gently nourishing the crops of the field once again.
“Well, I think it was a stroke of genius to put these two feasts together,” said Jim. “Christ, born into this world, is a magnificent sign of transformation—of complete renewal, renewal of the physical world and the renewal of our souls.”
It was remarkably—though not surprisingly—like what Felix had said about Christmas and Midwinter, and Reuben loved it. He was lulled by Jim’s voice as with ease and authority his brother went on talking about the capacity for renewal being the very greatest gift we have been given in this life.
“Think about it for a minute,” Jim insisted. He stopped with his arms slightly raised, hands gently appealing to the congregation. “Think about what it means to renew, to repent, to start all over again. We human beings always have that capacity. No matter how badly we stumble, we can get up and try again. No matter how miserably we fail ourselves and God and those around us, we can get up and start all over again.
“There is no midwinter so cold and so dark that we can’t reach for the shining light with both hands.”
He paused for a moment as if he had to check his own emotions, and then he resumed slowly. walking up and down and speaking again.
“That’s the meaning of all the candles of Christmas,” he said, “the bright electric lights on our Christmas trees. It’s the meaning of all the celebrations throughout the season, that we have the hope always and forever of being better than we are, of triumphing over the darkness that might have defeated us in the past, and realizing a brilliance never imagined before.”
He paused again, his eyes moving over the congregation, and when he saw Reuben sitting there looking at him, there was a faint flicker in his eyes of recognition, but then he went on.
“Well, I’m not going to hold you here in the pews with a long exhortation to repentance. We all need to reflect every day of our lives on what we are, what we’re doing, what we ought to do. We need to make that part of the fabric of our lives. And that’s why I want to talk now about the curious phrase in the church calendar, ‘Ordinary Time.’ There is a simplicity and brilliance to that title. When I was a boy and I first heard it, I loved it: ‘This is the first day of “Ordinary Time.” ’ But the reason I love it is that every season, every celebration, every defeat, and every hope and aspiration that we have is rooted in time, dependent on time, revealed to us in time.
“We don’t think about that enough. We spend too much time cursing time—time waits for no man, time will tell, oh, the ravages of time, time flies! We don’t think about the gift of time. Time gives us the chance to make mistakes and correct them, to regenerate, to grow. Time gives us the chance to forgive, to restore, to do better than we have ever done in the past. Time gives us the chance to be sorry when we fail and the chance to try to discover in ourselves a new heart.”
His voice had grown soft with emotion, and pausing again, he faced the congregation and said, “And so with the Christmas cribs dismantled, and all the Christmas trees taken down and the lights packed again in the attic, we find ourselves, at the end of this Christmas season and once again in the glorious miracle—I mean the pure and glorious miracle—of ‘Ordinary Time.’ How we use this time means everything. Will we take the opportunity to transform ourselves, to admit our hideous blunders, and to become, against all odds, the people of our dreams? That’s what it’s about, right?—becoming the people of our dreams.”
Now when he stopped, he appeared to be reflecting, and slightly undecided, and then he went on.
“There was a point in my life when I wasn’t the man I wanted to be. I did something unspeakably cruel to another human being. And very recently I found myself in the grip of a temptation to be cruel once again. I succumbed to that temptation. I lost my battle with anger, and with rage. I lost my battle with love, with the solemn and inescapable commandment: Thou shalt love!
“But this morning, as I stand here, I’m grateful with all my heart that time is once more stretching out before me, providing me again with the chance to somehow—somehow—make amends for the things I’ve done. God puts in our path so many opportunities for that, doesn’t He?—so many people out there who need so much from each and every one of us. He gives us people to help, people to serve, people to embrace, people to comfort, people to love. As long as I live and breathe, I am surrounded by these limitless opportunities, blessed by them on all sides. So I come away from Christmas—and that great shining banquet of riches—thankful once more for the absolute miracle of ‘Ordinary Time.’ ”
The sermon was over; the service moved on. Reuben sat there with his eyes closed, offering his prayers of thanks. He’s whole again, he’s here again, he’s my brother, he thought. And opening his eyes, he let the intense colors of the church with its grand Tuscan murals and painted saints penetrate him and warm his soul. I don’t know what the hell I believe, he thought. But I am grateful, grateful that he is on that altar again.
When Communion time came, he slipped out of the pew and went outside to the fresh cold air of the courtyard to wait for Jim.
Very soon the congregation began streaming out, and finally his brother appeared in his long white and gold chasuble, to clasp hands, and give greetings and to accept thanks.
Clearly Jim saw Reuben waiting patiently for him, but he did not rush. And it was a good twenty minutes or more before they were finally alone. The courtyard was cold and wet but Reuben didn’t care.
Jim was smiling radiantly when Reuben embraced him.
“I’m so glad you could come,” he said. “You know when I e-mailed you, well, I forget it takes a full four hours for you to get down here. I forget you can’t hop on a monorail and doze till you arrive.”
“Are you kidding?” said Reuben. “We were so worried about you!”