About the power of the hearts

from the Austrian poet Karl Heinrich Waggerl

Advent is told to be the quietest time of year. But in my childhood, it wasn't.

Beginning of December, at the time when Santa Claus and Black Peter are wandering around, I was sent in the forest to get a Christmas tree. I left with axe and saw, wrapped in wool up to the neck, a holy penny in my pocket, so a good saint could find me in case I lost my way. A miracle of a tree was in my mind, high, with a lot of branches, so that it could carry lots of candles and gifts. I spent hours searching, but a tree is different in the forest than it is inside a house. Once I had pulled my prey home, the strong straight tree had turned into a crooked and meager creature, which my father considered gravely. He needed all his handicraft to straighten it up before presenting it to our mother.

My mother! During these weeks, she ran around red-cheeked like charged with gunpowder, and the air was filled with slaps. But there was such a good smell all over her! Advent truly carries wonderful aromas. It smelt like wax and charcoal, like incense and roasted apples. I am not against lavender and Rose water, but vanilla smells much better, or cinnamon and almonds.

I was then in for endless hours of dough-stirring. Four "Our fathers" for the butter, three for the eggs, one full rosary for sugar and flour. All of my mother's cooking was measured in prayers, and they had to be said loud and clear, so that there was no chance to dip a finger in the dough. Had I only been a grown-up!  I then swore to myself that the day would come when I would eat up a whole pot of dough, all by myself, and the cook would have to stand there and watch me! This never came true however.

After diner was when we made the Christmas tree decorations. Another troublesome affair. We used to get some real gold leaves for a few pennies at the corner store. We then had to dip walnuts in a glue-water mixture and blow the gold around the shell. The trick was not to breathe. We all sat around the table turning blue until, despite our efforts, someone inevitably had to sneeze. Flashes of lightning immediately lit up the place, if looks could kill!  Whoever did it, I got the slap. I was sent to my room where I had to wrap gingerbread into silver paper - uncounted gingerbread, fortunately.

How about us today?

Aren't we living a perpetual Advent? Don't we often consider the dark side of things ? Don't we all long for joyful lives ?  We are anxiously waiting for the angel and his message of peace, but ignore that those words only address to those of good will. There is neither help nor refuge in the wisdom of the wise or the power of the mighty. Because the Lord did not come down to earth so that mankind becomes wise, but with the intent that mankind becomes kinder. And this is the reason why, eventually, only the power of our hearts can save us.