Maggie’s Kitchen – December 05
FROM MAGGIE’S KITCHEN . . .
By now, the vanity of my intentions to “get ready for Christmas” before the First Sunday in Advent (so as to leave the Advent season free of unnecessary encumbrances) will no doubt be painfully apparent. Some of the spiritual preparation came very early, however, so perhaps it will all balance out.
That early preparation occurred on a November journey with my daughter and family to Cincinnati for the 100th-birthday celebration of her Godmother, an Anglican nun whom I have known since my early teens. We stayed at the convent as honoured guests during our several days there. One evening after Evensong, their chaplain did a simplified Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, a “first” there, and optional even for the sisters. Afterward, Susan’s Godmother, who by reason of infirmity hadn’t attended, asked me if we had remained for Benediction. I replied, “Of course!” Surprised, she said, “I didn’t know it was part of your spirituality.”
Admittedly, Benediction is a rare thing in my life here in rural New Brunswick, but I had never thought of it — or daily Mass, or any number of other devotional practices — in the subjective terms of “my spirituality”. The next morning, in the midst of one of their 1979 Rite II Eucharistic canons, it came home to me that in the modern U.S. Episcopal Church, our Lord’s Presence in the Sacrament is treated as a very subjective affair indeed: In the epiclesis, the Father was asked to sanctify the elements “by your Holy Spirit to be for your people the Body and Blood of your Son” — though our Lord had already said quite plainly, “This is my Body” and “This is my Blood,” not “might be, depending on circumstances”.
In turning all this over in my mind, I realized to what extent the Mass, when properly constituted, and (by extension) Benediction stand the world’s reality on its head. They are uncompromising statements of the objective reality of Christ’s Incarnation. They ought to throw us onto our knees before His Presence, which depends not a whit on our ability or desire to comprehend It, and is as true for the unbeliever as for the believer, though for the former it is, as St. Paul warns us, a dangerous proposition.
Of the feasts of the waning year — Hanukkah, Kwaanza, Divali, Christmas, and no doubt may others — only Christmas, the Feast of Christ’s Incarnation, is a Feast spread out for all people everywhere and at all times, for all creation visible and invisible, for all of heaven and earth. Christ didn’t become incarnate for a few followers, or even for millions of followers, but for all, friend and foe alike. It makes me wonder why we Christians are so apt to treat it as our feast alone, as if it had no real significance for Jew or Moslem or pagan. These would probably be just as happy if Christmas went away altogether. I imagine that to accommodate them we could “spiritualize” Christmas by sweeping away our material observances, the way some Christians “spiritualize” the Sacraments by dispensing with the outward signs. But those little matters of cookies and gifts, of festoonings of house and church, are little statements of our Lord’s Incarnation — little reminders of the wonder of His coming into the world in human flesh — little echoes of His Words of Institution which we will have still ringing in our ears from the Christ Mass. Little proclamations of the Good News.
So herewith, some more material preparation for Christmas:
SPRINGERLE
My grown children care only that I bake three kinds of Christmas cookies, including these favourites of their childhood. Over the years I’ve collected various molds, including cookie stamps of angels, stars, and sheep. Beat 4 eggs until very light-coloured, about 15 minutes if you have the patience; gradually beat in 2 cups sugar until creamy. Stir in flour to make a stiff dough; turn out on counter and knead, adding more flour as necessary, then roll out to a bit more than 1/4-inch thickness. I use a total of about 4-1/2 cups flour, plus some for rolling out the dough. Press firmly with springerle molds or roller, or cookie stamps, or sharply-defined butter molds, having lightly dusted the surface of the dough with flour to keep the molds from sticking. If the dough still sticks to the mold, pick up and roll out again. Cut around the shapes with a sharp knife or biscuit cutters. Transfer the cookies to a lightly-floured breadboard, and roll out the remaining dough again, until you’ve used up the last scrap. Let cookies stand overnight to dry. Pre-heat oven to 300 degrees. Grease cookie sheets and sprinkle evenly with 1 Tbsp slightly-crushed anise seed. Place cookies on sheets and bake about 15 minutes, only till the bottoms are lightly coloured. Cool on racks. Store in an air-tight container. You may wish to soften the cookies before eating by adding a slice of fresh bread to the container for a day or so.