After mass on Christmas Eve in St. Helena, California, I accepted the invitation of a Mexican-American family to come to their house for tamales, the traditional fare for Navidad (Christmas). Since I had to celebrate another mass in the morning, I told myself to stay only for a half hour. It was already almost 10 p.m.
When I arrived at the home a block from church, about thirty people of the extended family had already gathered. A few family members were at the table eating, a number in the parlor about to watch “A Christmas Story” on television, and some just visiting with one another. I said “hello” to a few people, and sat down by the television until I was called to the table for tamales and hot Christmas punch. There a few men were making themselves comfortable – a couple eating and a couple drinking.
The talk at the table was friendly but hardly personal. Although I only recently started to serve in the parish, no one inquired about my background. One fellow asked me if I had ever seen such a family gathering before. Understanding him to mean an extended family coming together on Christmas Eve at the house of a patriarch, I said “yes,” it was not a new experience. He probably had in mind, however, the rich and inspiring ritual that was about to take place. These festivities were something unique, for me at least – a celebration of faith that transcends personal satisfaction to keep a family united in the Lord no matter the circumstances.
About 11 p.m., the cancioneros (songbooks) were passed around and the television turned off. I left the table telling myself that I would sing few villancicos (carols) and perhaps say the rosary that I had been told was coming up before going home. I still wanted to get my seven hours sleep in preparation for Christmas Day.
Most everyone took a turn leading part of the rosary in the following way. After the matriarch made the introduction and said the first Our Father, a lit candle was passed about the room. The person who held the candle would recite the first part of the Hail Mary and everyone else the response. This was generally done in Spanish which the children were evidently learning. One or two adults as well as a couple of children would say the prayer in English, however. A few people remained at the table, choosing not to participate in the rosary. Perhaps they had joined an Evangelical Church and had come to think of the Hail Mary as a specifically Catholic prayer. Or maybe they just did not care to pray in public. Of course, we said the Joyful Mysteries, beginning with the angel’s announcement to Mary that she would be the mother of God and ending with Mary and Joseph finding Jesus in the Temple discussing the Scriptures with scholars. It was a family event with focus on the Holy Family.
Once the rosary was completed, I was enticed to stay for the chanting of the traditional posada (inn) verses. It’s a lovely ballad that brings tears to my eyes as I contemplate how the innkeeper allows the blessed couple to enter as soon as he realizes that the woman is Mary, the queen of heaven. People are good-hearted, I am forced to admit, if they could only see the true value of things.
The family performed the ritual with dramatic flair. A number of the children put on costumes – Mary, Joseph, an angel and shepherds. Also, more than half of the whole group, now numbering close to fifty, went outside the house to sing the parts of Mary and Joseph seeking a place at the inn. We didn’t hurry through the seven verses. Rather, before the first verse and after every other verse we walked with our lit candles in a brief procession around the driveway and front of the house. There was a chill in outside as we could see our breath vaporize in the air. As we marched in procession, I noticed the opened doors of the Presbyterian Church across the street. There was probably a service of some kind going on inside, perhaps of considerable profundity and its own beauty. But I felt fortunate to be where I was, recalling the birth of Christ in a drama in the midst of a family who had been doing it in the same way for generations.
When we finished the posada, I was saying “buenas noches” (good night) to my hosts but they asked if I wouldn’t want to stay around for the acostada del niño (putting the child to rest). By this time it was close to midnight. I had given up on an early rest myself and willingly assented to the idea. Certainly, the sacrifice of a little sleep produced a handsome dividend in terms of spiritual refreshment. After singing more villancicos, the Christ-child doll was taken by two of the children to every person in the house. All venerated Christ by kissing his image. No one thought it was an odd thing to do. Then the “Christ-child” was placed in the manger with the other figures of the nacimiento (crèche).
But the ritual was still not over. Now it was just about midnight, and we ended the spiritual part of the celebration by exchanging embraces and wishing each other a Feliz Navidad (Merry Christmas). It was a universal “kiss of peace.” I was reminded of my time in Malaysia as a Peace Corps volunteers. On Hari Besar (big day) which in Arabic is called “Eid ul-Fitr” (festival of breaking the fast) the people would greet one another with a hug, asking “ma’af” (forgiveness) for the ways that he or she may have offended the other during the year. The Christian embrace has the same intention of reconciliation even if we do not use the words.
At this point I finally left the celebration. I believe the family in the house was ready to enjoy more tamales, bañuelos (fried dough coated with honey) and cakes. They had been solidified in love by recalling in various ways the coming of the Savior among them. Certainly, there was no need to say “grace.” Their prayer and thankfulness had been more than amply demonstrated for the whole hour before. I waltzed back to the rectory as I had just witnessed the loveliest demonstration in my life of living faith celebrated at home.
