Before the crack of dawn today, bells rang in churches from Aparri to Jolo. Simbang Gabi has begun. There’s a nip in the air at that time of morning. The enticing aroma of bibingka, puto bungbong and salabat beckon to the faithful, inviting them to fill their stomachs as they fill their hearts with the spirit of Christmas. Oh, how wonderful it is to be home! Pasko na naman!
Nine days of dawn masses are the prelude to Christmas Day. Aside from its spiritual benefits, there is the belief that whoever completes the novena has a special wish granted. Or prayer answered?
I don’t remember doing Simbang Gabi as a little girl. Perhaps the war had something to do with that. But I do recall the sounds of people walking by our house on their way to church. It was still dark out and I wondered where they were going. Were they were not afraid of the sentry carrying a rifle and a bayonet at the corner?
I have fond memories of years later going to Malate church for a quick Mass and rushing to grab a table at Ambos Mundos on the corner of M.H. del Pilar to eat their incredibly delicious breakfast of tapa and fried eggs, sinangag and hot tsokolate.
This truly Pinoy tradition actually got a start during Spanish times. One story tells us that in the 1700s, a Spanish friar gathered his farmers together during harvest time (which was the Christmas season) to give thanks to God for His abundance. There was singing and fellowship and the farmers went willingly and enjoyed the early morning time of worship and thanksgiving.
Exhausted
Another writer claims that Spanish priests required the farmers to attend mass at the end of the workday regardless of how exhausted they were. Eventually a compromise was reached and they decided to hold dawn Masses before the “natives” went to work in the fields. The story goes that they were fed food rich in sugar and loaded with carbohydrates to prepare them for the hard labor ahead.
And here we are, three centuries later, happily jumping out of bed to make it to church on time nine days in a row.
The novena is also known as Misa de Gallo, literally Mass of the Rooster. Spanish legend says that a rooster was the first to witness the birth of Jesus and before the crack of dawn, was crowing the news to a sleeping world.
When I was growing up, Misa de Gallo was actually Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. War or not, sentry or none, it was time to bring out our best dresses and shoes, oh yes, and sweaters. Mama always made us wear them when she felt a chill in the air.
Except for a lean time during the Occupation, there was always a feast after Midnight Mass. The table overflowed with ham, galantina, ensalada rusa, flan, natillas, and baskets full of fruit, yema, castañas, jalea de ube and pastillas de leche.
Christmas brings out the child in me. Once I get over the panic of not having fulfilled my list, I am caught up in the awe and wonder of the sparkling spectacle. Never during the year are lights brighter. Never is gaudy so acceptable. I feel, with apologies to the fine sensibilities of decorators, that nothing is really “over the top” on Christmas. You may not like the revolution of colors, you may in fact want to mock the tacky combinations, but it’s Christmas! It may be an overabundance of light and you will want to criticize the extravagant waste of energy. But it’s Christmas.
Unfortunately, it is during this season that our boundaries are blurred by the tempo of merry making, and we lose focus on why we celebrate Christmas at all.
For the past several years, I have been held captive by school presentations involving the little members of my family. Nothing brings it all back into focus as the songs and words of the children.
And so it is that in mid-December I have been known to be in the audience of not one or two, but even three presentations of a school play where boys and girls between the ages of 3 and 9 speak to our hearts.
Silent holy night
One never tires of the story of Bethlehem. As often as we hear it, we remain in awe of the events of that silent holy night more than 2,000 years ago. We look for shelter with Joseph and Mary. We remember the star, the shepherds, and we pause to hear the choir of angels.
Last week, a day after an unforgettable celebration of my umpteenth birthday, my six children and I had breakfast at Mary Grace and then watched rehearsals for this year’s Christmas presentation by The Bridge School.
Almost 200 children took turns on the stage, dressed as shepherds, angels and wise men. These little heralds of the celebration of Jesus were getting ready to usher grownups, parents, and their lolo and lola into their magical world of Christmas. I watched as, with dissonant but determined voices and tentative steps, these young souls would sing and walk and dance us through the concept of love and peace that many of us have sadly forgotten.
The theme this year was the real spirit of Christmas, the story of the birth of Christ, set against a backdrop of the “glitz and tinsel” that the world offers.
I thought to myself, if only these children will remember the words that they sing and speak today, this will be such an awesome world. Oh, and if only we would listen!
With angelic voices, they sang:
“There is a candle in every soul
Some brightly burning, some dark and cold
There is a Spirit who brings a fire
Ignites a candle and makes His home.
Carry your candle, run to the darkness,
Seek out the helpless, confused and torn
And hold out your candle for all to see it
Take your candle and go light your world.”
(Music and lyrics by Chris Rice)