Advent reminds us of the Incarnation and the Second Coming
The recent Gospel reading from Mark warns of cosmic signs and the coming of the Son of Man — a message that begins the Advent season. Early Advent was a 40-day, penitential period modeled on Lent, but it later blended with winter festivals like the Roman Saturnalia and Germanic solstice celebrations. These traditions gave rise to Christmas customs such as evergreens, lights, and the Advent wreath.
Christmas itself was placed on Dec. 25 to Christianize pagan holidays and align with older beliefs about creation and the Annunciation. Over time, festive customs overshadowed Advent’s original somber focus on repentance and the Second Coming.
Though doomsday themes appear even in modern songs, today’s prosperous society tends to shrug off warnings about the end times. Yet Jesus’ message was less about destruction and more about conversion, justice, and inner renewal — signs that God’s Kingdom is already breaking into the world.
And if the world really were ending, at least this weekend’s overspending shoppers wouldn’t have to worry about bankruptcy court.
Abridged Version:
Christmas shopping season begins with familiar festive images, yet the Christian Advent season starts with a more somber call to repentance from John the Baptist. While some worry about Y2K or imagine doomsday scenarios, the biblical “apocalypse” actually means “vision,” a symbolic way to describe crises rather than literal predictions of the world’s end.
Apocalyptic literature, ancient and rooted in cultures from Egypt to early Judaism and Christianity, typically arose during times of oppression. Its message was ultimately hopeful: despite present suffering, good would triumph over evil. Yet throughout history people have mistakenly taken these symbolic visions as literal forecasts, especially during century or millennium markers.
Jesus taught that God’s reign was already beginning through acts of justice and compassion. He called his followers to turn away from selfishness and toward caring for the vulnerable — the hungry, homeless, and forgotten. At the final judgment, he said, what matters is whether we recognized and served those in need.
This perspective challenges the consumer mindset of Christmas. Gifts exchanged among those who can reciprocate mean little spiritually; helping the needy — or working to change the systems that create poverty — is what truly counts.
And this is the real meaning of the season.
‘Just looking’ this holiday season
Despite the traditional start of holiday shopping, Americans in late 2001 were hesitant to spend. The effects of Sept. 11, layoffs, war, and uncertainty over a stimulus package all dampened consumer confidence. The administration’s plan focused on tax cuts for corporations, returning taxes already paid, and hoping businesses would invest the windfall and create jobs. But many economists noted that corporations already had capital—what was lacking was demand.
When inventories are full, companies delay investing until consumers begin purchasing again. At that time, families—including the author’s—were postponing major expenses such as home purchases, cars, or electronics because their jobs and incomes felt uncertain.
Millions of Americans were likely to behave similarly, meaning the economy would not restart through investment alone. Efforts in the Senate aimed to send money directly to consumers, while House proposals favored corporate benefits. Without restoring consumer confidence, the result would be a “just looking” shopping season—and continued economic stagnation.
Christmas message is lost among the holiday clutter
Christmas has become so cluttered that many people no longer remember even the basic story of the Nativity. Yet Christmas was not always the major celebration it is today. In early centuries, Christians focused more on Easter, and the birth of Jesus was remembered either in spring or tied to the January celebration of Epiphany. Eventually, Western church leaders moved Christmas to Dec. 25 to replace Roman winter festivals and to place it nine months after the Annunciation on March 25.
As Christianity spread through Europe, missionaries adapted local winter traditions, such as England’s yuletide, transforming them into Christmas customs. Gift-giving likely came from the feast of the Magi and, in some places, from old customs in which lords increased food rations to commoners at winter’s end.
Over time, these added customs and festivities have grown so much that they can overshadow the spiritual meaning of Christmas. Attempts to simplify the holiday or remove celebrations altogether miss the point that traditions can be made holy when they serve to remind us of God’s presence among us.
The answer to a cluttered Christmas is not to reject celebration, but to focus on simplicity and the message of salvation at its heart. Have a simple, blessed Christmas.
Abridged Version:
Thanksgiving Day is the great American communion service
Growing up in Mexiquito, my mother never baked the “American” apple pie. She cooked exclusively Mexican food, giving even meatloaf a Mexican flavor. Only hamburgers and fries, picked up from the highway stand, broke the pattern.
But once a year, on Thanksgiving Day, everything changed. Determined to prepare an authentic American meal, my mother followed an English-language cookbook step by step — turkey, stuffing, yams, cornbread, and even the mysterious cranberry slices she could hardly pronounce. The aunts arrived from San Benito, and even expert cook Tía Finita deferred to my mother, who alone could read the recipes.
For my mother, Thanksgiving was a solemn celebration. She admired that the United States dedicated a day to thank God for its origins, growth, and security. Before the meal, she prayed with deep gratitude that her family belonged to this nation.
Without knowing it, we were participating in a kind of American communion service — a day when families across the country pause together, share the same foods, and set aside differences. The holiday’s story is a national epic of Pilgrims, Native Americans, and divine providence.
Though history holds many complex layers — trade, colonization, slavery, the impact on Native peoples, and older Spanish-Mexican settlements — Thanksgiving is a day not for critique, but for unity. It is a moment to remember that we are one people, striving for justice, and thankful to God
Thanksgiving is a powerful national ritual — a kind of American communion service — that unites families and affirms our shared identity. Families gather around the same traditional meal, offer thanks, and reconnect with one another and with the season’s sense of abundance.
Growing up, Thanksgiving in my parents’ home carried the special anticipation of preparing una comida Americana. Later, my brother and I experienced our first Thanksgiving away from home when a classmate, Dave Ullrich, invited us to his family’s celebration. Their warm, bustling German-Texan household welcomed us with laughter, formality, and kindness, making us feel included despite our differences.
Such gatherings taught me how this holiday fosters reconciliation and belonging. Over the years, the diverse cast of relatives and in-laws at our Thanksgiving table has reminded me that the ritual allows each of us to be ourselves while becoming part of something larger.
This year, our daughters will spend Thanksgiving with other families, and I trust the ritual will help them feel at home wherever they are. In the same way, Thanksgiving helps all Americans reconnect as one nation, even after times of division. It encourages us to let go of quarrels, return to our common roots, and give thanks for the bonds that hold us together.
Despite our imperfections, we remain one people — and for that, we offer thanks to God in this season.
“Apostle of Democracy Returns”
Francisco I. Madero’s 1910 challenge to Porfirio Díaz’s long
dictatorship led him into exile in San Antonio, a key setting for his
preparations to launch the Mexican Revolution. A new book, Madero in Texas
by David Nathan Johnson, and the unveiling of a Madero statue at HemisFair
Park, highlight San Antonio’s historic role in this movement.
Madero had gained national attention with his book The
Presidential Succession of 1910, which criticized Díaz and called for
democratic elections, earning him the title “Apostle of Democracy.” When Díaz
had him arrested during the campaign, Madero escaped, disguising himself as a
railroad mechanic and fleeing to San Antonio on Oct. 8, 1910.
San Antonio had long-standing ties to the Madero family, and
once there, Madero worked with allies to plan the revolt, purchase supplies,
and evade Díaz’s agents. Important meetings were held at locations such as the
Hutchins House, and on Oct. 27, Madero’s supporters secretly printed the Plan
de San Luis Potosí at a local print shop—calling for Mexicans to rise
against Díaz.
Although the initial revolutionary call did not spread
quickly, Díaz was eventually toppled. Madero became president in 1911 but was
later assassinated, sparking renewed revolutionary fervor and decades of
political turmoil in Mexico.
With Mexico’s democratic shift in recent years, Madero’s
vision has regained meaning. The new statue in HemisFair Park symbolizes the
lasting importance of his time in San Antonio and his enduring legacy as
Mexico’s apostle of democracy.
17th-century Mexican nun eloquently spoke out for women
In 1695, Mexico lost one of its greatest authors and early feminists, Sor (Sister) Juana Inés de la Cruz. Her writings include more than a hundred sonnets and ballads, plays, comedies, and songs, but she is best remembered for her defense of women’s intelligence and creativity.
Born in the mid-1600s, Juana Ramírez y Asbaje educated herself in her grandfather’s library and wrote poetry from an early age. Denied access to a university because she was a woman, she entered a convent, where she studied and wrote for more than 25 years.
Protected for a time by Mexico’s viceroy and his wife, Sor Juana engaged in theological and literary debates. When her patrons left for Spain, her enemies—chief among them the archbishop of Mexico—moved to silence her.
In La Respuesta (“The Answer”), Sor Juana defended women’s right to study and express themselves, arguing that denying women education deprived the church and society of wisdom. Her eloquent reasoning, couched in 17th-century style, still resonates as a powerful statement for women’s equality.
Although silenced in her lifetime, Sor Juana’s words continue to speak across the centuries, while those who opposed her have faded into footnotes.
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