the life in don quixote

several days ago i finished reading don quixote. i have been reading it since september, and i now i am somewhat sad that it is over. more than once i have found myself remembering the voices of quixote and sancho. i thinking about what they might say in a situation, and i miss those voices.

it took me awhile to begin really enjoying the book. in fact, it took about 200 pages. thankfully, this left about 800 pages more to enjoy. i think started out reading incorrectly. i was waiting for things to happen in the story, and i was reading too quickly. i was missing much of the playfulness and creativity that makes cervantes so delightful to read (and which, apparently, comes through even in translation, at least in part). i was skimming over lines i should have savored.

thinking back on don quixote, what stands first in my mind is the way that life fills its pages. and not just life at its noblest or grandest, but life in the mundane and commonplace as well -the life of village peasants and shepherds, soldiers and prostitutes, religious pilgrims and pirates. in the situations he sets up, and even more so in the dialogue he writes, cervantes somehow captures the rollicking abundance of human life. cervantes, of course, is a master of poking fun at human folly, whether the folly of knight-errants or inn-keepers. but in making fun he is also celebrating life. in the laughter there is an acceptance of life, an affirmation.

augustine made much of the connection between love and delight. i wonder if something similar is not at work here: cervantes seemed to delight in life, and that sense of delight pervades don quixote. that is why the joking, in the end, does not give way to cynicism or despair, but rather expresses and builds up a love of life.

at the same time, however, there is also a subtle but unshakable melancholy in don quixote. perhaps it is the melancholy of time's passing: the sense that the age of chivalry is over, the feeling of a world grown old. in feeling this melancholy, we recognize that something wonderful is passing, and that the wonder which is our own lives will also pass. such melancholy is not the negation of the love of life, but rather its companion. it is because we love life that the awareness of life's impermanence fills us with sadness. this sadness is not the same as fear or despair. it is mixed with pain, because it a recognition of loss. but it is also mixed with thanksgiving, because this fleeting life is so unspeakably beautiful.

a christmas reflection: the silence of zechariah

in the gospel of luke, the angel gabriel takes away zechariah's ability to speak for the entire time his son, john the baptist, is in the womb. the reason zechariah is struck dumb, it seems, is that he expresses doubt when the angel tells him that his wife elizabeth, who is advanced in years, will bear a son. the scene is reminiscent of the divine announcement to abraham and sarah that she will bear a child, where sarah laughs and is rebuked by the divine visitor. when gabriel tells mary that she will have a child, she too is incredulous, because she has never been with a man. curiously, however, her doubt does not earn her a rebuke, but rather an explanation that the child she will bear will not come by a human father but by the holy spirit. i am not sure why gabriel responds differently to each of them.

zechariah's silence is a rebuke, and it is a forced silence. nevertheless, i find myself feeling that there is some meaning to his silence, and that if this silence is a curse, it is also somehow a blessing. the first words zechariah speaks after his silence are praises to god after john has been named. (lk 1:64) two verses later, luke records the psalm, or canticle, of zechariah (1:67-69). this hymn of praise is part of larger network of hymns and canticles in luke's narrative about the births of john and jesus. there is also mary's song, the magnificat (1:46-56) , and the song of the angels to the shepherds (2:14), and the song of simeon when jesus is presented to the temple (2:29-32). unlike these other hymns, the hymn of zechariah is referred to specifically as a prophecy.

as these chapters illustrate, there is more music in the scriptures than we tend to realize. when we read the new testament, it is easy to read over the hymn fragments and quotations from the psalms. in doing so, however, we miss out on moments of lyric force and suppleness. moreover, we also fail to catch the rythm of the text, fail to discern the music that is always just beneath the surface of scripture. i once had a teacher who spoke about the need to read the scriptures in a doxological way -aware that the writers are always on the edge of song, that they can hardly keep themselves from praising. the texts of scripture are saturated with music and we must learn to read them musically.

it seems to me that zechariah's silence finds its meaning in this context of song, in the symmetry of of his long silence followed by his joyful singing. there is also silence in mary, as she stores up the things that happen and ponders them in her heart. (2:19) i know nothing about buddhist practices of silence, and i know very little about christian ones either. but perhaps mary is a figure for christian silence: she begins with the words of the angels and of the shepherds, but then she takes these words and them ponders them in silence. thus christian silence is not the silence of a void -not a blank, or a zero- but the silence of the heart in meditation on the words, and ultimately the Word, of god.

likewise, when zechariah is stuck dumb, he is given the gift of silence. not a blank silence, but a silence filled with the word that has been spoken to him by the angel concerning john, a silence filled with the words of scripture he has prayed his whole life. it is a silence in which he is able to ponder and to pray. it is not the silence of pascal's infinite spaces, but a word-filled silence. and it is from this silence that his prophecy and praising come forth.

this christmas and new year, may god grant us the grace of good silence, and ears to hear the music of the Word made flesh.

o come let us adore him, christ the lord.

a christmas reflection: the slaughter of the innocents

for the past several years, i have tried to spend some time during advent reflecting on the gospel narratives of jesus' birth. this year, i have once again found myself drawn to the story of jesus' flight to egypt, and herod's slaughtering of the innocent children. the story is found only in matthew's gospel, and it occupies a mere six verses (2:13-18). but it is brimming with images and emotions that stick in the mind: the frightened family escaping in the night, the power-mad and murderous ruler, the women weeping for their children and refusing to be comforted.

as a trip to many art museums will attest, the slaughter of the innocents was a story that captivated the imaginations of people in the medieval are early modern periods. it is not nearly so popular today. most every christmas pagent has its shepherds and wise men, but how many have you seen that include herod's rage and rachel's weeping? granted, this probably has something to do with the fact that the parts in our pagents are mostly played by children, and few parents want their child to play a murderous soldier or a slaughtered baby. but this story also cuts against the grain of the sentimentality and cheerful consumerism that form the core of our contemporary approach to christmas. there is little heart-warming about a tyrant's willingness to kill children in order to maintain his power. it is difficult to imagine a gift-bag of any sort that could incorporate a depiction of this event.

of course, christmas is a time to celebrate the incarnation and birth of the savior, and not a time to mourn. in this sense, the slaughter of the innocents is peripheral to the meaning of christmas. but in another way it is central, because it shows us without flinching a picture of the world that the Son has come to redeem. it is not the world of our advertisements and shopping malls. it is not a world without pain or despair. it is not a world that knows only how to be clean and bright. rather, it is a world of greed and fear, of pathetic hatred, and of lust in all its forms. it is world where power is abused, the weak are exploited, and suffering goes on without relief. in short, it is a world of sin and death. and it is into this world that the eternal logos comes with light and love beyond comprehension.

we are, i think, invited to find ourselves in the story of jesus' birth, as we are invited to find ourselves in the other stories of the gospels. we are invited to come to jesus as shepherds or wise men, worshipping him and singing songs of praise. but we are also invited to come to him as weeping mothers, offering him our suffering, even as we know the suffering within is so great we are not yet willing to be comforted.

and we may also come to jesus, if not as herod, as persons who know we could be herod, as persons who have a herod living within them. for we not only live in a world where all is not yet right and good, but we live with souls not yet fully freed from sin and death. in great and small ways, we are not only the victims of evil, but also its perpetrators. and thus christmas gives us occasion not to sit back and be thankful that, when all is said and done, we are good people after all. rather, christmas is a time to celebrate that we are people who, along with the whole world, are being redeemed. and our redemption has come through this beautiful absurdity: that the second person of the trinity has taken flesh as a human being -as an eating and shitting, screaming and laughing, helpless baby boy.