The Christmas Tree that Wouldn't . . . Ah Ha!

And so the days rolled on.
And soon enough it was Ash Wednesday and Lent was starting.
And, yes, that stubborn Christmas Tree (or what by then was left of it) still stood in its place right there behind the altar, still demanding attention of all who would gather in that place.
By this time it was merely trunk and branches, pine needles were now all fallen and vacuumed.
No doubt as Ash Wednesday drew near there were many who thought (and hoped?) that that ugly thing would now be removed.
Whatever it's purpose, its time certainly had come.
Or so they hoped.
But that was not to be.
The remains of that once great and glorious tree remained.
And as the faithful prepared to be marked by those Lent-beginning ashes, finally - finally! - they began to be invited to understand.
The explanation began to come.
That tree . . .  The Christmas Tree that just wouldn't go away . . .
Remember when it was so elegant? So beautiful? So radiantly reflecting the joyfulness of Christmas?
Remember?
In its own way that tree was a reflection of us, we, People of Faith.
We are so filled with joy at Christmastime.
We rejoice in so many things but underlying all of that joy is the realization of the One who has come to dwell among us, to walk our journey with us, to share our joys and our sorrow, to assure us by His very presence that God so loved the world.
We were radiant with joy at Christmastime.
We rejoice to welcome the Long-awaited One.
But then . . .
As the days of our lives journeys roll on we tend to grow cold and indifferent and forgetful. We tend to take for granted.
The enthusiasm wains.
The joy diminishes.
The radiance fades.
Like those long fallen pine needles.
We fade.
Our faith becomes routine.
We begin to look more and more like that faded Christmas Tree that still stands before us.
It is hard to look at now.
And come Ash Wednesday, as we look seriously and honestly at ourselves . . . well, truth be told, we can be hard to look at.
We are still People of Faith but something has happened to us.
We have grown cold.
We have lost something of our fervor, our vigor, our excitement.
We need to be renewed.
We need a time of repentance.
We need to be marked with ashes, dirt that calls us to restore the beauty that once was ours, that should still and always be ours.
That Christmas Tree that Wouldn't go away still stood before us.
Only now it was calling us to  look, not so much at it as at ourselves.
Where is the beauty of our Baptism?
What has happened to the enthusiasm of our First Eucharist?
Can we commit ourselves to the task of restoring the beauty that should be there? that should be ours as a People of Faith.
That Tree stood there challenging us, making us uncomfortable . . . not so much at it as at ourselves.
And that Christmas Tree that Wouldn't go away continued to stand there before us.


Oh, yes! Still more ahead!


And stay safe and stay home!