Today is the 2nd of December, and the first
Sunday of Advent. I will be flying stateside for Christmas in about a week,
thus commencing a month of visiting, baking, spending a few hours a day with the
dissertation, and most importantly: cuddling with The Boyfriend. Actually, most
importantly, cuddling with the boyfriend while hoarding The Boyfriend’s mom’s tiropita, which I have been craving for well-nigh two months (as
The Boyfriend is soberly aware of, since despite the fact it is a fasting season,
and despite the fact that tiropita is
a Greek food, I recently caved in and
took the woman at the Turkish market around the corner up on her offer when she
nearly forcefed me the little Turkish tartlet version of the cheese pie they stole
from the Greeks after she had adamantly insisted I do so, in a way that was not
unlike a certain Greek mother I know).
OK, where was I? Oh, yes. Since it
is almost time to take some time off from this place, I am happy to announce
that it is finally the End of the End of the World for me. For several reasons.
The first and best reason, I suppose,
is that today marks the “First of Advent”—and Advent is a big deal, here. I am
pretty sure the Germans invented Christmas.
I mean, I know they didn’t invent Christ and all of that, but they
pretty much invented everything else—the Christmas tree, Silent Night, St.
Nicholas and/ or Santa Claus, Advent calendars, Christmas lights (candles) and
a lot of other things. Christmas here is not a day, it is at least a month, and
it starts today—the first Sunday of Advent. Not surprisingly, and indicative of
the punctuality engrained into German culture, even the snow seems to arrive
right on time—I opened my shutters this morning, the first Sunday of Advent—to findthe first flakes of the year sprinkling down from the heavens.
I say the end of the end of the
world because Advent means “the coming,” i.e. the coming of Christ in the form
of a baby through the Incarnation. But
that’s not all, oh no. Traditionally, advent was supposed to remind Christians
of the second coming—you know, the
big shabang. The End Times. Which brings me to the second reason why this is
the End of the End of the World for me.
The raciest chapter in my dissertation is about Apocalypticism
in early modern Germany (1500-1700). To say that the people living in this
period of German history were highly apocalyptic would be an understatement.
They—especially the Lutherans—didn’t just believe in the nearness of the Final
Judgment, they were obsessed with it. Every storm, comet, solar eclipse, and
child born with a slight birth defect was grounds enough for people of all
stripes to publish pamphlets and tracts predicting the end of the world. The
printing of these publications could number into the thousands and were
consumed by a very wide readership.
But my chapter doesn’t talk about apocalypticism in general,
but the ways in which apocalyptic beliefs where shaped by calendars and keeping
time by calendar. The sixteenth century was the period in which birthed the
modern civil calendar, and when calendars became commonplace staples of the
home. So I want to see if the increasing prevelance of both calendars and
apoclaypticism overlapped. For example, did people predict apocalyptic events
using new calendar dates? Did they think of the End of the World, which would
occur at a specific point in time, as something that could be penciled into a
calendar? What season of the year was it more likely to happen in? These
questions may seem rather, uh, primative and silly, but trust me—the early
modern period was a different world in some ways. This is how they thought.
I dedicated the last two months of my time here to doing the
research for this chapter. Given the abundance of sources that talk about the
end times, I did not think it would be a problem to find material—and it
wasn’t. I started by looking at expositions on the Revelations
of St. John (the final book of the Bible, you know, the one with the lake
of fire and final judgment, the mark of the best, these are a few of my favorite things). I was soon inundated and suffering from TMI--too much information. Way too much. One
of the mid-length sources I found was a book of 79 sermons on the Apocalypse
written by a Lutheran preacher in 1645. The average length of each sermon was
30 pages, single space. I think if I had been one of his parishioners, I would
have committed suicide sometime around sermon 34, right in the pew in front of
him just to spite him. I can honestly say there are a few things in this life
that are worse than standing before
the Almighty God on the Day of Judgment—and one of them is listening to 79
hour-and-a-half long sermons in a row about the aforementioned Day of Judgment.
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| There is so much renewal in nature, even when winter is coming and everything is "dying," or shall we say... getting ready to be reborn someday. |
As bad as all this is, however, it’s
not exactly the Apocalypse’s fault. I mean, the End of the World has feelings,
too you know. Kind of.
Unfortunately, I think that the
Apocalypse gets kind of a bad rap nowadays. It seems we can’t even have a
hurricane or earth quake around here without a certain segment of the population
proclaiming it a “sign” of the End and condeming other segments of the
population—usually homosexuals—to hell. Everyfew years or so, we see people
making specific statements and predictions concerning the end of the
world—gaining numerous followers, and numerous lifesavings, in the days and
months leading up to the so-called Apocalypse that never seems to materialize.
In addition to all of this, it would not surprise me if, besides the Bible, the
book(s) that have grossed the most sales in modern “Christian literature” is
the Left Behind series. This
fictional collection features a handful of protagonists whose lack of faith meant they were neglected to be taken up in
the rapture, a theological construct with no bearing in the Bible nor
traditional Christian interpretation, but rather has its roots in a very narrow school of interpretation from
the 19th century. I have read several of these books to see what they were about, and met a number of others who have read more. Nonethless, I have yet to meet someone who gained any hallmarks of true
spiritual edification as a result of this type of literature (by the way, fear and sensationalism created by fiction
is not the same as edification or spiritual growth). Then again I have not met all ten million+ owners of the copies of these books that have been sold, so I could be wrong (yes, that puts the authors on par with the likes of JK Rowling and Stephen King for having sold more than 2 million book copies in their lifetime.)
Since my childhood, I have oscillated between engaging in and remaining critically distant from matters of apocalyptic importance, having been raised among people whose end-time expectations were more
pronounced than that of the average twenty-first-centurian. I have seen
first hand that when one's faith and worldview are focused too much on the End of the World, emotional and spiritual problems often follow. For one thing, people--their emotions, experiences, and sometimes life savings--get manipulated, for one thing. Their understanding of reality and the future get grossly distorted--they often loose the ability to plan, save and steward their resources for the future, for example. Other people easily become mere objects--either to be condemned or save--rather than human beings to be loved.
But as bad as all this is, however, it’s
not exactly the Apocalypse’s fault. I mean, the End of the World has feelings,
too you know. Well, kind of.
 | |
| December 2010, from a Christmas market in Berlin (Gendarmenmarkt). So, ok, the Germans commercialize Christmas | too |
After that 1645 sermon booklet, or
should I say the sermon never-ending-story, I knew I needed to switch gears in
my research strategy. There was simply no way I would ever be able to finish
milking the early-modern-German-excessively-verbose-fixation-on-St.-John’s-Apocalypse cow—not if I wanted to avoid
killing someone, or myself.[1]
I needed to look at some other genres of sources that were more feasible to get
through.
One of the genres that ended up being extremely relevant
were Advent sermons and publications. Advent, you say? Yes, Advent. In fact, it
is in Advent-related documents that the two topics of this chapter collide:
calendars and the Apocalypse. Even though they didn’t have Advent calendars
back then, they still had Advent wreaths (or something similar, as I’ve heard
them mentioned) which were a quasi calendrical way of meditating on time,
Christ, and the Incarnation. There was a specific rhythm to the weeks of Advent,
then as now, that was in the 16th century becoming melded to the
prevelance of keeping time by calendar.
And from an apocalyptic perspective, during the early modern
period, the warmth and fuzziness of the Advent season so familiar to us
moderners was significantly drowned out by the traditional focus on the second
Advent of Christ. The second week of Advent in the western Church, for example,
focuses exclusively on the second coming. But back then, they didn’t
methaphorize the second coming—they preached it like it is: fire, brimstone,
heaven, hell, and all. They prayed for the second coming like some people pray
for the packers to win the superbowl. In sermon collections for Advent—which,
thank God, can only contain four sermons because there are only four weeks of
Advent—often focus just as much on the second coming of Christ than the first.
By the time I finally found these documents,the days here
were getting shorter and the weather was getting colder. And it was only the
end of October. And so it was that I hunkered down for remaining one-and-a-half-months
I had dedicated to end of the world. Come
Lord Jesus, Come, I thought. Which
is my own mental
[1] Note:
I am not suicidal and this is not a cry for help. Actually, in general I am
opposed to the making of suicidal jokes. But you read 79 sermons on the
apocalypse by a man who apparently struggled with a crippling guilt complex as
well as an overstated judicial view of God, and wanted his whole congretion to
struggle with these things as well. And then try telling me that suicide jokes
are not about the healthiest way you can come up with to vent some of your
irritation about the whole ordeal. Lord have mercy on me a sinner.
 | |
| Looking through the window at the home of some acquaintances, | in Fulda (Dec2010) |
Like I said, having grown up witness to some of the ugly ways in which apocalyptic expectations can take
life hostage for years on end, I really used to hate anything that smacked
remotely of end-times fanaticism. Global warming, for example, is kind of its
own brand of apocalypticism—though it tends to rest on a highly secular and
materialistic view of nature, as well as a unredeemable view of human
interference in it. In the global warming wordlview—just like the Christian
end-of-times beliefs--there’s an end of the world in sight, and but we can
avert the Final Judgment of Mother Nature by repenting (i.e. recycling more and
stuff).
But if my experience is in any way
indicative, then good luck avoiding the Last Times. You can run from (or
better: pray for) the fanatics, you can pretend the New Testament ends with the
book of Jude, and I guess if you were
really dead set, you could stop believing in God altogether. But no matter what
you do, you can’t get very far from the End of the World, because I think all
of us—as human beings—are eschatological creatures (eschaton is Greek for “future,” specifically the final or
cumulative point of the future). That is, we have a future-oriented thread in
us right in the very core of our being. We are humans,
and we need a direction in this life; the present moment only makes sense when
it is somehow bound up with our origins and final ends in a deep way. This is why some of us skip to the end of the book before reading the middle--it just makes more sense that way (plus we're just impatient). This is why, in leadership class in highschool, I was taught to make daily goals by thinking about what I wanted to accomplish by the end of my life--and work backwards. And this is why we will gladly endure a ten-hour plane trip sitting next to a very loud snorer--because we know what is waiting for us at the end. This 'sense of endings' is a crucial contour to our lives (see Frank Kermode's 1966 study on the philosophy of fiction with the same title).
I have come to see that to completely avoid the eschatological part of existence can lead to eventualities that are just as destructive as handing one's life savings over to an end-times prophet. Without any sense of the future, we become epicurean. We become slaves to the winds and whims of the time and our own caprices. The classic humanist mottoe is to remember death--memento mori. For it is by remembering your future death you can truly live to the fullest in the present. But I believe it was St. Basil who, concerning the Apocalypse, argued that it is also important to live with the end of all things in sight, because it is in that end that all of our singular deaths are bound together: "For in the end of one is the end of all; and in the end of all is the end of one."
I don't know what it means to be apocalyptic or believe in the apocalypse. I don't know if there will be a beast with seven horns, or maybe just the melting of the polar ice caps. But my point is, the condition in which we find ourself as humans--living in the present, but longing for both our origins and ends--can
be, if not envigorating, then at least a deeply meaningful awareness to
hold within ourselves. And that, I think, is one of the reasons why so many
people here in Germany celebrate Advent, both Christians and not-so Christians.
 |
| MY advent window + the fresh (and first) snow + a cup of tea= Heaven. |
One of my favorite things about
these Advent sermons is that they are so
apocalyptic--I mean, unapologetically apocalyptic. If you allow it to, it can be good comic relief. One example of
this was a sermon collection I came across in which the pastor opened his
remarks with a rather thunderous and creative introduction that, I’m sure, slapped the Christmas-time-fuzzies right out of his overly joyous parishioner. Heaven forbid we have any merriness whatosever in this dismal life lived in a sinful-by-nature body.
He begins his sermon:
“Hold it right there, you traveling
pilgrim!” In my mind, I imagine the pastor’s beady eyes staring holes into that
scoundrel Johan Doe, who made the stupid and morally debatable mistake of walking
into church late that morning. As the pastor began his tyrade, Johann Doe had
been trying to find a pew inconspicuously. Luckily, the preacher’s
megaphone-like voice likely made him stop dead in his tracks, giving him a
taste of what the final judgment really would be like oneday.
“… and behold,” the rapturous introduction continued (get
it? Rapture-ous?). “What a terrible
storm that will rise up against you on the day of final judgment!” OK, so, at
this point, poor Johann Doe is seriously freaked out. Serves him right for
showing up to church late. Probably out milking the cows on the Holy Sabbath
again. This way he gets a good dress rehearsal for what it will really be like
to stand before the Almighty God!
“At that time, the gentle and patient little lamb, the
Christ child Jesus, will transform into a growling Lion. Oh, what a dastardly
day that will be! Oh, what a terrible tempest that will befall you at that
time, you shameless sinner!” Think about it, Johann, try and get it through your head: gentle lamb or Lion of Death--which one do YOU want to encounter when you stand before the Lord Almighty! Next time you'll think twice of milking Ol' Bess on the Lord's day, won't you? [1]
In case it was lost in the translation, which I tried to make more literal, that is early modern speak for "Happy first of Advent!" Well, Merry Christmas to you, too, Herr
Pastor. You old scrooge.
[1]
Sermon by Tobias Johann Becker, 1697. Translation mine. Note: Johann Doe is not
mentioned in the source. I made that part up in the most unanalytic,
unscholarly away because I think it would be really funny if that had happened.
 |
| In many cases, the appearance of a dead fish in early modern Germany could be interpreted as a sure sign of the end of the world as we know it. In this case, fortunately, it was a sign that I was about to have a really good dinner last night. Mr. Trout wishes to each and all a very Merry First of Advent. |
I used to think of Advent merely as the winter equivalent of
Lent, and indeed you can find others who think this way—see, for example, Fr.
Thomas Hopko’s The Winter Pascha. At
least in western Christianity, however, I think it’s a little different. Of
course there are crucial similarites: both are times of waiting, both lead up
to two of the biggest events in Christ’s life. But, Lent is leading up to the
event which signifies the redemption of man—the resurrection of Christ. In
many ways, however, even though the temporal telos of Advent is Christmas (i.e. the birth of Christ), the
spiritual telos of Advent is never
fully realized even after the 25th of Christmas. This is for two reasons: first, when we
celebrate the birth of Christ, we are—on a spiritual level—still just
anticipating the death and resurrection. Secondly, however, Advent is not
supposed to just be about Christ “the birthday boy,” as Rick Steves puts it in
his Christmas in Europe documentary.
It is about Christ the Sun of Justice on the last days. In this way, Advent
book ends the origins and finality of our faith: first coming of Christ in his
incarnational birth, and the second coming of Christ at the End. The first, of
course, we commemorate and re-actualize each year. The second, however, we don’t
commemorate. We anticipate. That is, for those who are still following my
tangential theological-temporal meanderings: every year during advent we
commemorate our anticipation, we not only look forward to Christmas and the 2nd
coming, but we also are looking back upon all the years that Christians have
lived through this season in hopeful expectation of Christ’s coming. Because of this, Advent binds together the
cyclical, past-oriented and the eschatological, future-oriented threads of our
being.
It is my opinion that Advent glorifies the spiritual
discipline of waiting and hope to an even greater degree than Lent does,
because Advent encompasses Lent within its temporal book ends. It is my opinion
that the eastern Orthodox Church, of which I am a communicant, knows how to
practice Lent more meaningfully than the western Church, who has forgotten many
of the practices and beliefs that belong to the season. It is, however, my
other opinion that the western Church has either learned or remembered how to make
Advent a more meaningful spiritual exercise than the eastern Church, especially
in Germany, which is practically the capitol of Advent according to Rick
Steves. Here, Advent calendars, wreaths, candles, incense, devotional readings,
church services, not to mention the northern latitude’s long nights (and days)
of darkness are all so prevelant here as to instruct all five senses in the
spiritual art of waiting, expecting, hoping, anticipating. And a little Glühwein doesn’t hurt either.
So, for the next week I will be
scrambling to fiddle with a few last minute sources and pick up some German
goodies for those in exile in the states. And I find myself, per usual,
reflecting… Upon time, history, and God; on what I want to buy and make for the
holidays, on my dissertation and how I am ever going to get enough research
done, on changing weather and changing times and changing years… On Advent. On
my own advents, my own comings and goings from this place and to other places.
I am glad to be putting this apocalyptic season of my dissertation research
behind me, i.e. I am glad to be putting the End of the World to an end for now.
Although, like I said, you can never really get away from the Apocalypse—not
when you are a human being whose soul is woven together by an eschatological
yearning. And especially not when you are a historian of this period. And
especially, especially not during Advent.
‘Tis the season, after all, to be jolly, merry, and… apocalyptic.
As is the customary greeting here at
the end of november and beginning of december: Happy first of Advent!
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| Now go get yourself some roasted chestnuts! |
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