{"id":39708,"date":"2022-12-29T00:01:19","date_gmt":"2022-12-29T05:01:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/setonshrine.org\/?p=39708"},"modified":"2022-12-29T10:00:21","modified_gmt":"2022-12-29T15:00:21","slug":"lessons-from-my-christmas-conversion","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/setonshrine.org\/es\/lessons-from-my-christmas-conversion\/","title":{"rendered":"Lessons From My Christmas Conversion"},"content":{"rendered":"

Esta reflexi\u00f3n se public\u00f3 anteriormente.<\/em><\/p>\n

In earlier times the Christmas season lasted forty days, through February 2, the feast of Candlemas.<\/a> In scripture the number forty is always associated with extraordinary times of transition or conversion. Jesus fasting for forty days. The Jews wandering forty years in the desert. And many more.<\/p>\n

This led me to reflect on my own Christmas conversion this season.<\/p>\n

For years I\u2019ve cooked dinner on Christmas day for my friends. It\u2019s something I very much look forward to. I spend the whole of Advent preparing my heart and my home. I make sure to go to Confession at least once and as always, to attend Mass several times a week.<\/p>\n

I hang the paper mach\u00e9 angel from Italy from the light fixture over the dining room table. I fill bowls with vintage ornaments. I arrange cards above the lintels and drape fairy lights. I scour my recipe books for new side dishes and buy a good cut of meat and pick persimmons from the back yard for the pudding.<\/p>\n

I go to Mass on Christmas Eve, so I\u2019ll be rested up for a long day of cooking, neatening, and hostessing on the day itself. I wake at dawn, like a child, hardly able to contain myself.<\/p>\n

All of this has brought some lovely memories. It\u2019s also brought some unreasonable expectations that, as unreasonable expectations tend to do, have blown up in my face.<\/p>\n

Last year, for example, a friend I\u2019ll call Kathy called at the last minute to announce that she\u2019d invited a friend\u2014was that okay? I have a very small apartment, the dinner is sit-down, and it was now December 24. So I said \u201cYes, she can come, but just in case a similar situation arises down the road, it would be nice to be asked first.\u201d<\/p>\n

Two hours later, Kathy called to cancel, saying\u2014get this\u2014that the theater had changed the screen time of the film she planned to catch before coming to my place (sure). Then the next day, during dinner<\/em>, a guy I\u2019ll call Greg (Kathy\u2019s very dear friend) e-mailed to say, \u201cI guess I can\u2019t come.\u201d Not \u201cThank you,\u201d not \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

These people don\u2019t know they need to put on a wedding garment! I thought (cf. Matthew 22:1-14) . I\u2019m happy to invite people in from the hedgerows but for heaven\u2019s sake, let\u2019s have a little class.<\/p>\n

It did cross my mind that perhaps I\u2019d overreacted (one of my many failings). But no, this time I was right, I decided. The holidays are hard for everyone! I\u2019m <\/em>making an effort. Get over yourselves and participate.<\/p>\n

Needless to say, Linda and Greg had been permanently stricken from the invite list, but I have several other friends who are single or strays or social misfits like myself. So this Christmas just past the call went out as usual. My brother who lives in town could come as well!<\/p>\n

A couple of weeks before, one of the prospective guests, Bill, asked, \u201cIs Greg coming?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGreg!\u201d I replied. \u201cNo! You were there last year when he bailed as we were carving the prime rib. Absolutely not. I will never ever invite him over here again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, okay,\u201d said Bill. \u201cBut\u2026isn\u2019t that just Greg? Plus we all love him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBill!\u201d I exclaimed. I think I might have put my hand over my heart. \u201cGreg hurt <\/em>me.\u201d<\/p>\n

But after our conversation, my conscience started to gnaw at me. Wasn\u2019t there some hugely ridiculous conflict between on the one hand weeping and praying over God coming into the world as a poverty-stricken baby and, on the other, my deeply hardened heart?<\/p>\n

It was Christmas after all. At Christmas all bets are off. At Christmas everyone get a free pass. At Christmas, we can afford to be vulnerable, and we can afford to be rejected. What we can\u2019t afford is to lock the door of the inn.<\/p>\n

So I emailed Greg (I\u2019d deleted his number) and invited him to Christmas dinner and told him he was always welcome. I told him he didn\u2019t need to decide beforehand and could just show up the day of and stay for as long or as little as he pleased.<\/p>\n

I knew how deeply this was in accord with God\u2019s will because it didn\u2019t require the slightest thought. I didn\u2019t deliberate over the wording. I hit \u201cSend\u201d without hesitation.<\/p>\n

And in doing so, I suddenly saw how much my supposedly generous Christmas dinners had been about me. Not outwardly\u2014I really am a pretty good hostess\u2014but inside. My<\/em> hard work, my<\/em> love for Christ (which my non-Catholic friends of course did not remotely \u201cunderstand\u201d), my<\/em> desire to \u201cmake it nice\u201d for everyone. Well if I wanted to make it nice for everyone, here was something to consider: \u201cEveryone loves Greg.\u201d<\/p>\n

Most to the point, I\u00a0loved Greg!<\/em><\/p>\n

In fact, Greg replied right away, in the nicest possible manner, saying he\u2019d come if he could but would probably play it by ear.<\/p>\n

My sober friends and I had flowers and candles and we toasted with Martinelli. We had slow-roasted pork with fennel and garlic, and salmon, and a cheese board. We had carrot and avocado salad, rice with shallots, pecan pie and persimmon pudding.<\/p>\n

Forty minutes into dinner, the conversation turned to politics: the absolute last subject I would have chosen, really ever, but especially for Christmas day. Here\u2019s the miracle: I let it be. I didn\u2019t put on my annoyed voice and interject, \u201cUm, could we talk about something else?\u201d I didn\u2019t flounce into the kitchen and sulk, or come back to the table with a faraway look, sit down as if my feet hurt, and sigh.<\/p>\n

I let my guests talk about what they wanted to talk about. They were happy and absorbed. They bonded in the way that fit their sensibilities and desires, not mine. I didn\u2019t even feel sorry for myself that no one wanted to have a three-hour conversation about childhood wounds\u2014my own favorite subject,<\/p>\n

St. Elizabeth Ann Seton knew all about Christmas crises. In 1803, after the near bankruptcy of her sick husband William, she travelled with him and her daughter Anna Maria to Italy. Upon disembarking, they were quarantined in a freezing cold \u201clazaretto\u201d because of a yellow fever scare. After 25 days they were released, but William’s tuberculosis had taken a turn for the worse. He died on December 27.<\/p>\n

Mother Seton experienced myriad other setbacks and tragedies over the course of her relatively short life: religious bigotry after her conversion to Catholicism, the death of two daughters, poverty, anxiety. She also managed, after returning to the mid-Atlantic area, to raise five children, found a religious order, and inspire parochial school education in the U.S.<\/p>\n

She also knew well that, whatever our vocation, Christ is the principal; we are the agents. \u201cCould you but know what has happened in consequence of the little dirty grain of mustard seed you planted by God\u2019s hand in America,\u201d she wrote, and elsewhere, \u201cLook to the kingdom of souls, the few to work in the little vineyard. This is not a country, my dear one, for solitude and silence, but warfare and crucifixion.\u201d<\/p>\n

For my own part, I always thought surrendering to Christ would mean tending to the lepers of Calcutta, or being guillotined by the Nazis for refusing to renounce my Catholicism or, like St. Elizabeth Ann, exhibiting great powers of organization and leadership.<\/p>\n

Turns out that surrender, this year, meant letting my Christmas guests have our holy day feast on their terms.<\/p>\n

HEATHER KING is an essayist, memoirist, blogger, speaker and Catholic convert. She \u00a0has authored numerous books, among them\u00a0Holy Desperation;<\/a><\/em> Parched<\/a>; Redeemed<\/a>; Shirt of Flame<\/a>; Poor Baby<\/a>;\u00a0<\/em>y\u00a0Stumble: Virtue, Vice and the Space Between<\/a><\/em>. She contributes a monthly column to Magnificat<\/em>, and writes a weekly column on arts and culture for\u00a0Angelus News<\/em>. Heather lives in Los Angeles and blogs at\u00a0www.Heather-King.com.<\/p>\n

Haga clic en aqu\u00ed<\/a> para ver todas las Reflexiones de Seton.<\/em><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

We used to celebrate Christmas for forty days, a period symbolizing conversion. Mother Seton\u2019s own life-changing Christmas experience prompts us to ask ourselves\u2014did we open our hearts to the Christ child this year? Or did we lock the door of the inn?<\/p>","protected":false},"author":106,"featured_media":39707,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"mc4wp_mailchimp_campaign":[],"footnotes":""},"categories":[1187],"tags":[3659,3660],"class_list":["post-39708","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-seton-reflections","tag-chrismas","tag-conversion"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nLessons From My Christmas Conversion - Seton Shrine<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"We used to celebrate Christmas for forty days, a period symbolizing conversion. 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