WHEN someone powerful or important comes to visit, we tend to go overboard to prepare for the arrival. Nothing is too good for our visitor. We clean up the house, sweep away the cobwebs, polish the silver, roll out the red carpet and make sure that nothing delays or disappoints our honored guest.
Think Apec. Think Pope Francis. We conducted dry runs and dress rehearsals, fine-tuned every single detail. Nothing was left to chance. We made sure our welcome was flawless.
Four more sleeps, and it’s Christmas.
We remember that holy night. Let’s see. There was a big bright star, and a host of angels sang on high. There were shepherds, frightened and confused, on the hillside. Picture the trek from Nazareth to Bethlehem. This was no fun trip for Mary and Joseph. The roads were long and rough. The donkey was slow. Mary was heavy with child. Imagine Joseph knocking on every door looking for shelter. But there was no room at the inn.
No one made ready for the Prince of Peace, the King of Kings. Is it that kind of Christmas for you and me?
Most active
Have we been so over-the-top busy with shopping and parties that we have not paid attention to the reason we celebrate?
An old abbot used to say: “The devil is the most active on the highest feast days. His supreme trick is to have us so busy decorating, preparing food, practicing music and cleaning in preparation for the best of Christmas that we actually miss the coming of Christ. Hurt feelings, anger, impatience, injured egos—the list of clouds that business creates to blind us to the birth can be long, but it is familiar to us all.”
Is Christmas for us just another tableau, one we remember or recreate just as a matter of habit?
My friend does a lovely Nativity scene every year. She takes out her beautiful Lladro figurines, dusts them carefully and sets them up on a special side table near the tree.
First the empty manger; then the shepherds—some shown in sweet slumber and the others, awakened by the angels, on their knees. She sets the star on her shiny blue satin sky. Next come the lavishly dressed magi with their offerings of gold, frankincense and myrrh. She has a little wad of straw and tucks it into the manger.
Finally she unwraps the three exquisite figures of the main protagonists of the drama. The lights go on last. And with a sigh, she announces: “The belen is ready!”
“It’s a ritual for me,” she confesses. “And every year I sadly wonder will I be here next Christmas?”
It may sound a little maudlin, but it is not at all strange. I remember having those thoughts even when I was a young mother, ecstatically celebrating Mele Kalikimaka in Hawaii.
Looking back
I remember Christmas as a little girl. Our ornaments were from Osaka Bazaar. We had a porcelain hobbyhorse. Our lights had a Santa, a Japanese lantern and flowers. The shiny red and gold balls were fragile and shattered easily.
We got all dressed up and wore our new shoes to Midnight Mass. The media noche menu had Chinese ham or jamon en dulce and galantina, flaky empanadas de carne, Russian salad, natillas and sidra el Gaitero.
Then the war came, and we had blackouts every night. But we managed. We ate tocino and drank salabat. What mattered was it was Christmas, and we were together. We had no Midnight Mass. There was a curfew, and armed sentries watched the streets.
My Christmas memories are mostly happy ones. Some are bittersweet and, as old as they are, can still cause a twinge of pain in the heart.
Once in New York after having the works done at a beauty salon on the West Side, I wanted to drink in the sights and sounds of Christmas in Manhattan. I practically waltzed out of the salon, hailed a cab to Bloomingdales. No shopping. I just wanted to be part of the scene.
I indulged myself at the Fragrances counter with Caron’s Muguet, my favorite scent back in the day. I sipped free eggnog and sang along with the Christmas choir. I got a bit emotional.
It was snowing when I walked to my borrowed condo on 60th between Park and Lex.
Waiting for the elevator, I caught my reflection in the mirrored lobby. There I was, all coiffed, flushed from too much eggnog, and, hello! What was that peeking from under my black coat? I was still wearing the ankle-length purple smock from the salon. LOL!
Night of wonder
Let us think about that one silent night when prophecy was fulfilled. “For to us a child is born, a son is given.” (Isaiah 9:6)
How do we prepare today for the event that dazzled the world and made history more than 2,000 years ago?
Does putting up a belen do it? Does the tree make our Christmas? Do our finances determine how we celebrate? Are we all caught up in the business and political correctness of the season?
It’s time to check our hearts.
In the words of life-changing speaker Dr. Steve Maraboli, “Want to keep Christ in Christmas? Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, forgive the guilty, welcome the unwanted, care for the ill, love your enemies, and do unto others as you would have done unto you.”
Merry Christmas!
