The Secret Anticipation of a Greater Joy

   Today is the First of September. Yipee! Another Arizona summer gone. Well, as everyone around here points out to me, we have maybe another month of hot weather. It's like a marathon.
   But September is September. It counts. At least in my mind I can say "It's over! On to the Holidays!"
   For me, that's the real difference. This weekend is Labor Day. I'm going to meet my brothers and my sister for Sammiefest One. Having nothing more worthy to do, we will gather at Eileens' house. Everyone is bringing half a dozen sandwhiches to spread out on the table among chips, salads and casseroles. Then, like a buffet, each diner chooses among the delectable spread whatever appeals, entices or perhaps challenges. It's all great fun.
   Yes, I know. I've done the math. The weird thing about any kind of potluck is that, though each person brings enough food for everyone else to eat (six sandwhiches times ten adults equals five dozen sandwhiches) it never seems to be rediculously too much food. I know I can't eat like a twenty-year-old. But it doesn't seem to matter. Maybe among all us old guys there are now a lot of family members in their twenties, with friends and relations, to sort of harmonize and balance things out. Whatever the dynamic, it works perfectly. We're family and it feels right.
   Now, what this all means is that we kick off the "winter season" with a party and we keep right on partying 'till some time around Easter. And no matter what else is going on, politics, economy or just old age, we all seem to make it through to the day when we get out of bed, open the front door and look summer in the knees again.
   September marks the beginning of gardening season. It's the time when the empty seats at church begin to fill up again. It's the time when people actually seem to have time to get back in touch. We go outdoors, look around, take inventory. How are the neighbors faring? Which houses survived the monsoon? How many trees were knocked over? How tall is my lawn? I just had an interesting thought... I wonder if going to Heaven isn't a lot like September in Arizona? Will there be sandwiches...?

   But every year must be different. Not everyone completed the journey. Some of us have gone ahead to God's pot-luck, bringing the covered dishes which are our hearts. The Saints and Angels gather 'round the table to peek. Sweet smells, savory smells, all the fragrances of life lived. "The smell of someone who's ridden the backs of a thousand summers." There is something in the air now, if only a memory. September is the beginning of the season of drawing-in. Behind every gathering, every celebration, there is the secret anticipation of a greater joy.
   In October we will celebrate the feast of Saint Francis, eight-hundred and one years, I think (I'm not good with family dates). I needed a stopping place between Labor Day and Thanksgiving. December is for the quiet elegance of Advent and the deep-heart celebrations of Christmas. I love this time. Each year we are more simple about it, and yet it is all so much more profound. It goes quickly, really, but it is all so wonderful. These are the celebrations of the traveler, the days for Pilgrims. It doesn't matter if you're in town only a short while. The door is open, the table is set, the heart is eager to embrace you. It is the season of fellowship and bygones. It is the season of Holy Anticipation. Even now, on the first day of September, it is like stepping outside and breathing fresh air.