The Feast of the Baptism of the Lord. And: Winter Ordinary Time.

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Today is the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord...

I went to morning Mass before heading off to work, but due to a stomachache that's resulted from who-knows-what, I was halfway distracted through the whole sequence.

The Feast of the Baptism is the gateway marking the end of Christmas and the beginning of "ordinary time." Ordinary time, as indicated by its name, is both a time of relaxation, in that our minds aren't turned towards the gospel's inbuilt "crescendos," but also because it marks the numerical progression of the year:

First Sunday in Ordinary Time
Second,
Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Etc.

Ordinary Time is broken into two chunks, one expansively straddling the whole of summer and autumn, and the other narrowly pressed between the end of Christmas and the beginning of Lent. The narrower Ordinary Time, sometimes called "Winter Ordinary Time" is just about my favorite time in the liturgical year.

There is, I believe, a distinct difference between the two Ordinary Times. First, the later period, being situated during the middle of summer invites us to kick back a little and simply enjoy the year, the weather, to put the headier moments or religious life at more of a distance. We're moving away on one hand from the moment of the Church's ascendency (Pentacost) and moving toward, on the other hand, the proclamation of Christ the King immediately followed by the Annunciation. So the period is bookended with "happy" festivals.

Winter Ordinary time, by contrast, takes place during the darkest and coldest time of the year. It is almost as brief as the liturgical seasons that abut it on each end, and so it seems to have a distinct flavor that is only augmented by the reckless to frenzied "Carnival" that increases in pitch in the weeks leading up to Lent. Moreover, the season is bookended between the Baptism of the Lord, which is, for many Christians, one of the more confusing moments of the gospel, and Ash Wednesday, one of the most dire.

There's a sort of risk in this season, almost cultivating our sense of disaster; we're left on our own, and there is temptation and darkness everywhere. As a fan of gothic fiction and horror in particular, I think as a matter of taste that moments of grace are even more sharp and powerful against a backdrop of the surrounding darkness... what some homilies I've heard have actually invoked as the whole drama in the gospel narrative.

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So how can we read the Feast of the Baptism against this time, both as a "winter" time and an "ordinary" time. The contradiction inherent in the feast, and one which virtually every homily I've heard on the subject has tried to address is "why must the author of baptisms undergo a baptism? Why must the sinless be purged of sin?"

The core of both the Feast of the Baptism and Ordinary Time itself are both expressions of humility. Much of the gospel focuses on Christ, not as vengeful winnower, but as a simple man going through his obligations with faithfulness and without complaint. The implication is that if the Son of God behaves with obedience, compassion, and humility, we must do so as well. The Feast of the Baptism, then, is not just a validation of baptisms in general, but it's proof of what had only been implied in the annunciation to Mary and the nativity; that God operates with familiarity and compassion; that he expects us to operate with familiarity and compassion toward each other.

This suggests, to me, the "winter" kicked off by the Feast of the Baptism. If Christ was the first light injected into a world of darkness, and if the the anticipated light would be that of a powerful political and military leader who would blaze forth against the injustice in the world, than what display of glory would be consistant with a humble act of compliance and acceptance. The first public act of Christ (notwithstanding the wedding at Cana) was his baptism. A baptism by a wild prophet in the wilderness may be powerful, but it was not the explicit power expected of the messiah. We must content ourselves with not a torch and not a bonfire, not golden lamps swinging, but with a simple candle represented in a single, genuine act that ushers us into Ordinary Time.

Winter Ordinary Time is isolated and gloomy in a way that escapes even Lent. Yet one of the central Biblical messages is that we are never abandoned and are never forgotten. If we've received a candle instead of a torch or bonfire to keep the evil at bay, we must not discard it in the trying weeks ahead. We must remember that a candle flame, after all, is light, and perhaps a better light for requiring our own quiet and concentration.

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I know this is a somewhat dark take on the whole event, but there are other valid empheses. Actually, this year, reflection on Ordinary Time is very popular among People I Know: Tom has written about the Joy of Ordinariness, comparing the value of the ordinary with the extraordinary, and Damien also has a take on Ordinary Time that goes right to the meaning of an action.

May your upcoming weeks be ordinary and pleasant as well, even if the weather is cold and the sun sets early.

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