Finem respice

Well, like probably many other blogs, I'm going to write a little bit about how today is the last day of the calendar year. Before I do so, I would like to first of all wish everyone a Happy Christmas and a similarly Happy New Year.

Today is called Hogmanay in Scotland, and the origins of the word are disputed. Anyway, there are some traditions/superstitions that are no longer carried out, hence why we notice them and talk about it. One of them is called first-footing, where the first person to come through the door after midnight should be a tall dark man (blond-haired men were not welcomed after Viking invasions, so it goes) bearing gifts of coal (for warmth), black bun (for food), salt (for wealth), and a hawf-bottle (an alcoholic drink, usually whisky, for obvious reasons).
Another little fact about Scotland and Hogmanay/Ne'ersday is that in the past it took place of Christmas, since Christmas celebrations were discouraged by the presbyterian Church of Scotland for being too Catholic. In fact, my dad remembers it being so until the 1960s, when my grandfather, a pretty staunch Presbyterian*, would work on Christmas Day.

And so we reach the end of AD 2009, and this inevitably causes everyone to carry out evaluations of the past year. For me, the year has been split in two. The time before me going abroad, which was roughly the first eight months, and then the latter four months in France. During the latter period, with lots of solitary free time, I spent a lot of it researching my faith and learning more, and everyone has noticed in this short time of being back in Scotland.

Finally, I would like to ask you to pray for my parish priest, who had a heart attack on Sunday and is in hospital. It looks as though he will be taking retirement even earlier than was planned (though he was meant to have taken it last September). However, his retirement spells the end of the parish, ultimately, and so please pray for my parish as well.

All the best for 2010.



*an example of how he thought would be the time when he wouldn't speak to my father since he was courting my mother, a Catholic. Nevertheless, my grandfather was always courteous to my mother. Then, there is the story of how he drank quite a bit of whisky in order to endure my parents' wedding in a Catholic church, somewhere he clearly had never planned on entering.