CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©
Yesterday was Assumption Day. According to Roman Catholic theology, it is the anniversary of the day when the BVM, Blessed Virgin Mary, was bodily assumed into heaven, before her body could begin to decay, representing our own assumptions about resurrection.
I tend to get Assumption Day and Ascension Day confused. They sound alike, and come at the same time of year. This year Ascension Day is May 15, one month after Assumption Day, 40 days following Easter, when Christians commemorate the bodily ascension of Jesus into heaven.
Sort of the same idea, isn’t it? Muslims have a similar day, when Muhammad ascended bodily into heaven. I have seen “the rock” in Jerusalem, which still has Muhammad’s foot print that he left, his last bodily mark on earth, as he ascended.
When Nick King came to Normal, IL to be Episcopal campus minister at IL State U, the local paper did an introductory article on him. It mentioned that his home town was Assumption, IL.
Shortly after, he received a long letter from a disgruntled Episcopalian, excoriating him for believing in the doctrine of the Assumption, and explaining all that is wrong with it.
Talk about assumptions! The letter writer saw only the word “Assumption” in the article and did not read carefully enough to realize it referred only to geography, not theology.
A whole lot of trouble in the world comes from our assumptions, basing our relationships on incomplete reading of what Anton Boisen called “the human documents.”
I always worry when someone starts a sentence with “I’m the kind of person who…” because they are almost always wrong. They are making assumptions about themselves based on poor reading of themselves. Or at least, that’s my assumption.
I can’t do much about the assumptions of others, about themselves or about me, but I can try to control my own assumptions by being careful.
My home town is Oakland City. Yes, I believe in the doctrine of Oakumption, that mighty oaks coming from little acorns. Don’t assume anything about that.
John Robert McFarland
The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula [The UP], where life is defined by winter even in the summer! [This phrase is explained in the post for March 20, 2014.]
I tweet as yooper1721.