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The first half of January contains several days of spiritual and (for me, personal) significance, and I would like to record these here.

January 1---the Octave of Christmas and the Nativity, this is the day in the Liturgical calendar that commemorates the presentation of the infant Jesus in the Temple, and His circumcision, by which, after the flesh, He became a member of Israel.

January 4---a day both joyous and sad, the anniversary of the passing of the twentieth century's greatest Christian Poet. T. S. Eliot:  joyous, because he is in Heaven with Christ; sad, because he is absent from the fellowship of Christians still on earth.  Two of his poems, Ash Wednesday and Journey Of The Magi are among my most favorite poems; but, in my opinion, these two poems and the first two poems of Four Quartets are both spiritual, as well as literary, experiences.

January 6---the Epiphany, the day in the Liturgical Calendar that celebrates the arrival of the Starwatchers (or, as the Apostle Saint Matthew calls them, the Magi) to visit the child, Jesus, who, with His mother and stepfather, was now residing in a house in Bethlehem.  This great Liturgical day has been very personally significant since its occurrence in 1977.  During the previous summer, on Saturday, July 10th, 1976, I had been helped by my First Beloved to find the appellation and c.b. handle, Starwatcher (which, much later in life, evolved into Starward; which it is now, and which will be affixed to the marker on my grave when that time comes).  On Christmas Day of 1976, which was a Saturday, the editorial cartoon in our local newspaper was, for once, not political, but depicted the Magi, on the road to Bethlehem, being guided by the Christmas Star, and the title of the cartoon was The Starwatchers.  That thrilled me on that Christmas Day---having attended the candelight Midnight service, then waking to open presents that morning---a pair of baggy, white painters' pants (then in collegiate fashion), a bulky sweater (belted not buttoned), and Peter Frampton's albumn, Comes Alive---with the full version (which I heard, that day, for the first time in full) of my favorite love song, Baby, I Love Your Way, which has always signified my First Beloved to me.  And, clad in my new clothes, barefoot in the warm house in the middle of a cold spell (defiant of my parents' admonition, as I was only eighteen and a half years old), I listened to Frampton's song, and contemplated that editorial cartoon, The Starwatchers.  It was not yet January 6th, on which day I would be back on campus, and two hours' drive time away from my Beloved, but, I think now, I was celebrating both days on Christmas Day.  And when I returned to the campus, and to the many, snotty upperclassmen who loved to embarrass freshmen by saying, always in front of others, "I'm sorry, I have forgotten your name"; but they could only forget my mundane name, which I hated anyhow.  They could not forget Starwatcher, because I never disclosed it to them.

January 9th---a day that, from 1978 to 1993, was excessively sorrowful; and, from 1994 until my death, whenever that happens, will be exceedeingly joyous.  In 1978, the person with whom I was romantically involved announced, over lunch at a table with several of our friends, that our relationship was over; and then rose from the table (which had gone immediately silent) and walked off, and out of my life.  That was my first horrific break-up (a couple of others, before, had been non-events, and did not matter; this one did).  But, in 1994, I became a Christian in one of the lower rooms, designated the Prayer Room, of a small Baptist Church.  The Christian poetry I have posted on this site all arises out of that day.  And my Faith, regardless of which tradition or denominational form I now practice it (and yes, I need the practice, because I am not very good at it), was given me, by Christ, on that day.  My conversion, although an entirely spiritual and supernatural incident, was largely facilitated by the poetry, and the spiritual example, of T. S. Eliot; and I am grateful that my entrance into eternal life (John 5:24, and elsewhere, indicates that eternal life is a present condition that does not begin at death but begins upon genuine belief) occurred in the same part of the month as my elder brother Tom Eliot's entrance into Heaven.

January 16th---the day on which I was baptized at that Baptist Church.  The conversion, of which Eliot had first planted the seeds in October 1976, was complete.  And though I have failed Christ miserably and far too repeatedly, He has never failed me; and His Promise of eternal life, ultimately with Him in His Heaven, is predicated upon belief, not upon works (this seems to be the entire purpose and point of the Apostle Saint John's Gospel and First Epistle, which I love above all other Scriptures).  Saint John's Gospel, his three Epistles, the first, second and twenty-second chapters of his Revelation (or Apocalypse), Matthew 2, 2 Peter 1, and Jude are my favorite chapters among all the precious chapters of the New Testament.  This is the heritage that Christ our Lord, my regnant Saviour, has bestowed upon me---through the Starwatchers, through His Apostles, and through the Great Poets, primarily Vergil, T. S. Eliot, and the Welsh bardic Poet, Gwenallt.  I am glad eternity is endless, because I will need every bit of it to thank Him for redeeming me, the most undeserving wretch who ever bore the designation, Christian.

Starward

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