Tradition

Tradition.

I had to think of it this weekend.

Tradition is a marvelous thing.

Yet, we must realize that one thing about tradition is that it isn’t permanent; it does indeed change.

It doesn’t as a rule change in a “revolutionary” way, of overthrowing all that has gone before, but an “evolutionary” way, of adding or taking away from past traditions.  Changing as the household changes, in fact.

As children grow up and meet those of other traditions; and bring those into the home; or marry and the couple mixes traditions, then things alter in a natural confluence of life forces.

Why am I off on this?

Well, this past weekend is what used to be called Gaudette Sunday.  The third weekend in Advent; when we pause in penitential observance for anticipatory joy.

I won’t get into my present circumstances that have kept me from packing up an artificial Christmas tree for quite some time; but per family tradition I lit up the tree for the first time this weekend [in a “normal” year, were there such a thing, I’d  have trimmed it from the start this weekend.]

I wrote a short story, once, that talked about “who” is on the tree.  Which referred to people associated with certain trims or ornaments on the tree who have gone before and are no longer of this world.

And . . . I didn’t light the tree last year for very personal reasons, so though it is well trimmed, it is two years since I saw it lit.

And . . . as I gazed at it on Sunday, the first day I lit the tree; that is again what I saw.

A cherished ornament from a long-deceased friend; crafts from others long gone; inherited family ornaments; crafts from various church bazaars I’ve patronized; some of my own crafts from days when I had both more energy and more leisure.

Ways of setting up the tree, so that Jesus’s Incarnation and Nativity are “front and center.”

These things struck me on Gaudette Sunday as I gazed at the lit up Christmas tree.

This was our tradition in my family as I grew up.  It was on this weekend:  Gaudette, that we began the celebration.  We would procure the tree [sometimes artificial; but more often a real tree], set it up, and begin the trimming --- and the listening to Christmas music by choice on our own tapes or records versus the radio’s dictates --- on this weekend.

In a way, I have carried forth that same tradition.  And that is to cherish.

Happy Gaudette to all who read this.