In search of Christmas spirit

I woke up an hour before sunrise this morning to hear the novena mass for Our Lady of the Immaculate Concepcion. Cold breeze greeted me when I stepped out of the house and from afar I heard the faint strain of a Christmas carol. For the first time I felt a lilt in the heart. Pasko na diay!

Although for weeks Christmas songs have resounded in malls and department stores, although colored lights have started glittering in many houses since early November, I have remained untouched by these until this morning. Why is the heart somewhat impervious this time to an early awakening on the joys of the season? Is it the rush and hurry in the world of work? Is it age and the thought of "sunset and evening star", as a poet puts it?

Years ago in the wayward days of youth the thought of Christmas was magic in the mind. In our school the feeling would start tugging the heart on the very day we hung lanterns and put up the Christmas tree, while joyously singing "O Christmas tree!" Our decors were mostly crudely fashioned, the output of awkward hands in our shop rooms. Cheap colored papers we called "papel de hapon" were used, and there were no blinking lights like what one sees in Christmas trees today.

But even with these our classroom was like a fairyland, a never-never land that drew us children from humble homes as we listened to Christmas stories or, at break periods, gamboled about in wanton fellowship. These were the days when candies and chocolates would show up on our desks, gifts our teachers would say, from some kind-hearted souls. Yet we would not gobble them up at once. Most of us would only nibble at a piece, then wrap the rest for little brothers and sisters back home. For young as we were, our hearts were already open to the finer feeling of giving.

All these would culminate in a classroom party, an occasion which was always at the back of our mind from the start of the season. It was of course the apples, the cakes, the ice cream and the various sweets that brought ecstasy to our young hearts. Most of us could not afford such feast. In fact not all of us could contribute our share for it. But somehow our teachers - bless their souls - always had a way of procuring them to make our joys complete.

When classes would break up for Christmas vacation, the mood of the young would become subdued. At home we had our chores to do. Most of the time we worked with father in his tinsmithing shop and there was little time to hang around idly. But the spirit of Christmas would still be around because our house, humble as it was, would also sport the usual Christmas decors. And when the Misa de Gallo started such spirit would be intensified.

Misa de Gallo in San Nicolas church, this city, was unique. The Agnos Dei and other parts of the Mass were rendered in songs specially composed for the occasion. Sung to the accompaniment of the organ and tambourine, the music had a way of tickling your senses which otherwise would have been drawn to sleep, the Mass being held at early dawn. Unique too was the altar because the entire area would be converted into a huge Belen featuring the Holy Family as well as the shepherds and sheep all done in painted cardboards. And all around from wall to wall blossomed star lanterns with twinkling lights.

To this spectacle we would go every dawn - my mother and I usually. I would sometimes fall asleep, but whenever the choir would burst forth, I would open up to full awareness of what was going on. Young as I was, I had only a vague feeling of spirituality and what the priest would say in the pulpit (yes, there was a pulpit then) was usually Greek to me. But the entire experience was one of peace and comfort and quiet joy, a feeling which years later I would try to recall in moments of trials and difficulties. For indeed as I worked my way through high school and college there were dark clouds that brought the rains. Yet even when the days were bleakest, I persevered because of the spirit of Christmas.

Christmas and the strange joy that comes with it is certainly God's gift to men. But the gift becomes more meaningful and enduring only if we look beyond the glow and glitter of the season, beyond the laughter and the partying, towards that one momentous event one cold night in Bethlehem when heaven opened its bounty for mankind.

Believe me, the spirit of Christmas does not come from one's pocketbook but from a childlike heart unspoiled by worldly sophistications.

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