William Petruzzo

Halloween is a strange holiday. I think we all kind of know this. I’m sure there’s a completely legitimate explanation for how the traditions came about, but they sure don’t make much sense today. And lets be honest, traditions in and of themselves are kind of weird things. Especially when they entail dressing absurdly and giving away free candy (who does that, really?).

Well, we were talking about it tonight at the Halloween party I decided to attend. It’s kind of like, children start very young. Their parents take them out. They have no idea why their dressing up and have really no idea why they’re getting candy for free. In fact, for all they know, dressing up at any time and knocking on random doors would result in free candy. Good thing most parents keep a fairly tight leash on their kids.

Eventually, kids get older and look foreword to the one night a year when they can walk from door to door dressed up like something scary and they get free candy for it. Of course, that doesn’t last long. Sooner or later, kids hit the age where they learn to work the system. Cover the maximum number of doors in the minimum amount of time with the least amount of effort put into the costume. This is about the age where you stop hearing “trick or treat” when they knock on the door.

At this age though, it’s pretty much all over. Not because it stops being fun, no. It’s right about this age where kids have a profound realization: candy doesn’t cost very much. As soon as they figure this one out, it’s done. Why walk from door to door dressed like a fool for something you could buy a year supply of after mowing one lawn?

So, what’s left? Go to Halloween parties. Drink too much. Go to bed and look foreword to having your own kids and getting to start the cycle all over again.

I suppose traditions are important, right?

Today is Mother’s day, and never in history has there been a mother quite as remarkable as Jesus’ mother. So remarkable that some have come close to deifying her. Some have gone all the way. Although we know that she, in her self, was no different from you and I, she was blessed above other women and experienced a greater mercy than all other women in all of history. She was beloved as the mother of our Savior. She experienced greater joy than all other women, but at the onset of her son’s execution, she also experienced deeper sorrow than any woman. In an extended quotation from A.W. Pink’s Seven Sayings of the Saviour on the Cross, we see the glory of Christ in his mother’s sorrow. This quotation is worth the read.

In accordance with the requirements of the Mosaic law, the parents of the child Jesus brought him to the temple to present him to the Lord. Then it was that old Simeon, who waited for the Consolation of Israel, took him into his arms and blessed God. After saying: “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: for mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel” (Luke 2:29-32) he now turned to Mary and said: “Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising again of many in Israel; and for a sign which shall be spoken against; (Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also,) that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed” (Luke 2:34, 35). A strange word was that! Could it be that hers, the greatest of all privileges was to bring with it the greatest of all sorrows? It seemed most unlikely at the time Simeon spoke. Yet how truly and how tragically did it come to pass! Here at the cross was this prophecy of Simeon fulfilled.

“Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother” (John 19:25). After the days of his infancy and childhood, and during all the public ministry of Christ, we see and hear so little of Mary. Her life was lived in the background, among the shadows. But now, when the supreme hour strikes of her Son’s agony, when the world has cast out the child of her womb, she stands there by the cross! Who can fitly portray such a picture? Mary was nearest to the cruel tree! Bereft of faith and hope, baffled and paralyzed by the strange scene, yet bound with the golden chain of love to the dying one, there she stands! Try and read the thoughts and emotions of that mother’s heart. O what a sword it was that pierced her soul then! Never such bliss at a human birth, never such sorrow at an inhuman death.

Here we see displayed the Mother-heart. She is the dying man’s mother. The one who agonizes their on the cross is her child. She it was who first planted kisses on that brow now crowned with thorns. She it was who guided those hands and feet in their first infantile movements. No mother ever suffered as she did. His disciples may desert him, his friends may forsake him, his nation may despise him, but his mother stands there at the foot of his cross. Oh, who can fathom or analyze the Mother-heart.

Who can measure those hours of sorrow and suffering as the sword was slowly drawn through Mary’s soul! Hers was no hysterical or demonstrative sorrow. There was no show of feminine weakness; no wild outcry of uncontrollable anguish; no fainting. Not a word that fell from her lips has been recorded by either of the four evangelists: apparently she suffered in unbroken silence. Yet her sorrow was none the less real and acute. Still waters run deep. She saw that brow pierced with cruel thorns, but she could not smooth it with her tender touch. She watched his pierced hands and feet grow numb and livid, but she might not chafe them. She marks his need of a drink, but she is not allowed to slake his thirst. She suffered in profound desolation of spirit.

“There stood by the Cross of Jesus his mother” (John 19:25). The crowds are mocking, the thieves are taunting, the priests are jeering, the soldiers are callous and indifferent, the Saviour is bleeding, dying - and there is his mother beholding the horrible mockery. What wonder if she had swooned at such a sight! What wonder if she had turned away from such a spectacle! What wonder if she had fled from such a scene!

But no! There she is: she does not crouch away, she does not faint, she does not even sink to the ground in her grief - she stands. Her action and attitude are unique. In all the annals of history of our race there is no parallel. What transcendent courage. She stood by the cross of Jesus - what marvellous fortitude. She represses her grief, and stands there silent. Was it not reverence for the Lord which kept her from disturbing his last moments?

            Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with twelve full posts about Christmas; in fact this is probably the last one for another 364-ish days.

            As I shared a few days ago, gift giving is not a huge deal in my family. We select names out of a hat and buy gifts only for the person whose name we drew. When buying for that person there is a fifty dollar limit that cannot be exceeded (at least not without getting a bunch of grief from the family). This year, I selected my mother and my father selected me. Here’s a run down, for all of your anxious to know what I got:

1.) Badly needed camera bag, large enough to hold my gear and comfortable enough to wear on my back for an extended period of time.

2.) Small square table to set next to my chair so that I can read and drink coffee/tea more comfortably.

(What can I say, I really like reading)

3.) Citrus zester; Santa overheard me complaining about using a cheese grater to zest a lemon the other day.

4.) A replacement lens cap for one of my poor lenses who’s UV filter is taking a heck of a beating.

            So this Christmas, I got pretty much everything I needed and asked for and abundantly more than I deserved when I consider the Life that we celebrate on this day.

Christmas Eve and Christmas are two dates out of the year where the Petruzzo family gets together for some serious tradition. Which frankly, is kind of weird. Most other times there’s really not too much tradition involved in my family. But tonight and tomorrow night are among the exceptions.

Tonight, Christmas Eve, we share a simple dinner passed down through my father’s family. It came from the tradition of meat abstinence before Christmas. Originally, my father’s family would have plain olive oil pasta and seven kinds of seafood (I can’t say for certain what they were, although I know eel was in there somewhere). After my oldest sister was born the meal became simpler; only green salad, olive oil and bread crumb pasta, and shrimp. Over the years the simple Christmas Eve meal elaborated itself in other ways. Today we usually share the meal with a small army of people who enjoy a few hours of each other’s company and the free beer.

Tomorrow will be a smaller affair, although no less tradition involved. Joining us will be our family’s closer friends. We’ll eat homemade cheese ravioli with my grandmother’s homemade meat sauce, escarole soup and a salad dressed with my father’s recipe. In our family, it is this meal that is the most coveted. We look foreword to eating the ravioli all year long and when it finally comes we usually stuff ourselves stupid.

Of course, in the end it’s always the conversations and the relationships that are remembered and it’s the tradition we hold that they ride in and out on every year. So, I guess tonight, more than anything, I would simply like to thank God for a season in the year that gives families reasons to gather around each other. Thank you Jesus.