Mary, Mother of Us All in the New Year | Dr. Randall B. Smith | CWR
When Mary said her “yes,” it changed everything. This should give us hope in the coming year that if we too say “yes" then this too can make all the difference in the world—the real world that God knows and loves
The Church recently celebrated the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God — a wonderful way to begin the New Year. Some might be inclined to fault the Church for placing this solemnity on New Year’s Day when the holy day of obligation is likely to be viewed with some displeasure by those who have been up late enjoying the festivities of the previous night. I disagree—this is the perfect day for such a feast.
Although the origins of the celebration of Mary Mother of God on the first day of the year can be traced back to the Council of Ephesus in 431, it was only relatively recently, in 1974, that Pope Paul VI placed it back on the calendar of the universal Church. Although the universal Church has not always celebrated the Solemnity of Mary on the first day of the year, great preachers throughout history have often taken the occasion of New Year’s Day to challenge the faithful to gain a deeper appreciation of the things that are truly important in life.
Celebrating the spiritual feast
St. John Chrysostom, to take but one example, a man so eloquent it earned him the sobriquet “Chrysostom,” Greek for “golden-mouthed,” chose to begin the New Year in 388 or 389 A.D., with an eloquent series of homilies on the Parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man. As in our own day, when there is much drinking and drunkenness associated with the celebration of the New Year, so too in the ancient world, the first day of January would have marked the end of their biggest festival, the Saturnalia, the most popular holiday of the Roman year. The poet Catullus described it as “the best of days,” while the Stoic philosopher Seneca complained that the “whole mob has let itself go in pleasures.” The sober, careerist magistrate Pliny the Younger tells us he would simply retreat to his room while the rest of the household celebrated.
As in the modern world, there were church services on the 1st of the month to — how shall we put it? — attempt to dissuade Christians from partaking in too much revelry of the sort so many others seemed to have given themselves over to. Thus St. John began his homily by rallying his flock:
Yesterday, on the festival of Satan, you celebrated a spiritual feast, receiving with all favor the word we addressed to you; spending a great portion of the day in thus drinking in that rapture which is full of sobriety, and rejoicing in company with St Paul. In this way you gained a twofold benefit, since you were both separate from the disorderly throng of feasters, and rejoiced in a spiritual and decorous manner. You also partook of that cup, not overflowing with unmixed wine, but filled with spiritual instruction. While others were following the festive companies of the evil one, you, by your presence in this place, prepared yourselves as instruments of spiritual music, and surrendered your souls to the Divine Spirit that He might influence them, and breathe His own grace into your hearts. Thus you gave forth a melody of perfect harmony, pleasing not only to men but also to the heavenly powers. Let us, therefore, today, take up arms against inebriety, and expose the folly of a drunken and dissolute life.
When Chrysostom called it “the festival of Satan,” he was using that term somewhat metaphorically. Strictly speaking it was the festival of Saturn, so he was likely making a subtle play on words. And yet, on the day of “Saturn,” to what extent were people in town not acting as though they were celebrating “Satan”? His point was that while everyone else was out partying, his congregation was in church at Mass, so they celebrated, not a physical feast, but a “spiritual feast.” Instead of getting drunk, they—“full of sobriety”—drunk-in not wine, but the wisdom of the Scriptures. Instead of getting drunk on “unmixed wine” (wine unmixed with water, to cut its potency), they were drinking from another cup: the Word of God in the Scriptures and present in the Eucharist.
While others were out playing loud music in the public square (undoubtedly disturbing more contemplative souls like Seneca and Pliny), Chrysostom’s congregants were making themselves “instruments of spiritual music.” While others were out “tooting their own horns” (so to speak), Chrysostom’s congregants were perfecting themselves as an instrument, so that the breath of God, the Holy Spirit, might blow through them beautifully with his own sacred music. When men are inspired by this Spirit, they do not make a disorderly and riotous mob, in which all the minds of the individuals are given over to the crowd; rather they become a “symphony” of different voices, all working together in “perfect harmony,” pleasing to both God and man.
This context is not unimportant for appreciating the rest of the homily.
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