Bad Weather Makes Us Good

The sunbelt is booming and has been for half a century. The suburbs of Phoenix, Dallas, and other major southern metros keep bleeding further and further into the countryside. 

Why are people moving there? Because they fear the cold. They fear privation. A winterless world is a huge draw, but it fosters a godless attitude. 

Michigan weather may be feast or famine, but the southern lifestyle will always leave you wanting, especially during the holidays.

Michigan’s seasons map onto the liturgical calendar, which Christians use to mark the year.

It begins in December with Advent. The days grow shorter in this time of waiting. Families stay indoors as the slush and cold make the world undesirable. We are left to contemplate the thinness of things. 

And in the South? Clear days in the 60s and 70s. Such temperate days don’t force the faithful to grapple with the insufficiency of the world.

Advent culminates in Christmas. The first sticking snow sometimes lands on that holy day. It’s whimsical, joyous.

In Miami, they’re eating lunch by the pool, hot tubbing in the early dusk, breaking a sweat during Christmas photo shoots, and donning vests to battle the 60-degree weather. It’s surely celebratory, but it isn’t solemn.

Here, the brisk air that hits your face leaving Christmas Eve service gives “O Holy Night” a deeper resonance.

And in the old tradition, the joy of the Christmas season doesn’t end at the epiphany on January 6. It ends on Candlemas in early February. That’s a long time to keep your tree alive, but the celebration can pull you through most of the northern winter if you let it. 

Then, after a brief respite of ordinary time, during which many Michiganders take their annual trip to Florida or Myrtle Beach or wherever, the faithful begin their mortifications.

Lent comes when the winter has stretched on far too long and the Pistons have lost far too many games. As the faithful fast and pray, the weather tells them that this is probably the best use of their time. 

Around the water cooler, workers start cursing that groundhog in Pennsylvania. Could it really snow in May? Everyone knows it can and fears it might.

But then Easter, the holiest day of the year. Many years it’s the first day you can leave the house without a jacket. You’re free. Jesus is risen. It’s magnificent. 

In America’s warmest climes, Easter marks the start of summer, with the constant dread of 90% humidity, shoe-melting blacktop, and neverending air-conditioner hum. Not the ideal headspace to be in when celebrating the chance for eternal union with God in heaven.

Michigan’s winter weather might be brutal, but it sanctifies us. Can the South claim the same?

Mark Naida is managing editor of Michigan Enjoyer.