A post-Christmas reflection

So that was Christmas 2007. After all the hassle and dazzle, the excitement and exhaustion, one lies prostrate on the roadside of secular activities. Days before that day there were gifts to procure, cards to send and names to remember. New names, old names, whose very sounds sent a flicker of delight in the heart, people one met once whose company has made life a memorable experience. Then there were the kinfolks, ancient ones, tender ones, who have defined one’s person. As in most clans, there were winners and losers, the latter now bent and decrepit whose hands trembled in handshakes, whose eyes seemed to say, My last Christmas, this is. And as one talked with them memories of other folks who once frequented one’s table on Christmas day came to mind. An aunt of eighty more or less who never missed a gathering despite arthritis and asthma; a distant uncle from a distant barangay whose gift of “hinigtan” was his continual offering; a cousin who never finished the grades and who tortured his folks with vandalistic antics. These had gone away forever. But in their place came new faces, months-old, years-old, young adults, the darlings of pa’s and ma’s. A promising new outgrowths? No doubt, but as one keeps on telling them, much depends on the strength of their faith – in themselves and in God.

Giving of course is part of the gathering. Young and old look forward to their wrapped delights – toys for the very young, clothes and bric-a-brac for adults. Yet always, there were never enough, and one had to please the forgotten ones with money consolations, shelling out in the process a great part of a month’s pay. It was a concern, really, but the alternative was a discomfort that spoiled the otherwise delightful day.

Such delight actually started with partying with friends and workmates. Lechon and pastries, fruits and cakes, drinks of various sorts – take your pick and stuff yourself like a frog. One was of course careful about his regard of the banqueting tables. Age does not kill appetite but the thought of getting killed by a gourmet’s craze was a palpable one. So one looked at the feasting table and smiled, then comforted himself with fruits and green concoctions.

Friends certainly were the parties’ major source of joy. In a company bash these were co-workers whose day-to-day tasks intertwined with one’s own, whose concerns were his concerns too and whose triumphs or fragments of these also made up those of his and of the boss’. The other parties had a more formal air and one moved about within them careful of his stride and talks. Although some friends were there, the gatherings were less of a delight and more of a drudge, and what a relief it was to scamper out of them.

The residue of all these was corporal weariness but one got comforted by the feeling of being one with them all and of immersing himself in a kindly atmosphere of friends and kinfolks. For there was something spiritual in these affairs and one remembers what the Lord said about loving God with all one’s mind and heart and of loving his neighbors as oneself. Was not the quest to please God the be-all and end-all of what he is doing? Rising at dawn for the Misa de Gallo was a test of faith but the strengthened bind was more of God and man. Where’s the one between the self and others? In the world of men, of course.

And there was another remembering – that of a Russian tale about a man’s search for God. This fellow, the story goes, was an aging cobbler whose humble ways and clean living were pleasing to God. A few days before Christmas he prayed hard that he be gifted with a sight of the Lord. In answer to his prayer, the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Pietro, be prepared for I will visit you this Christmas.” So Pietro prepared. He tidied his cottage, swept his yard, put up some curtains, and did minor repairs. He also prepared some special food for his visitor – fresh meat, fruits and canned goods.

Christmas day came. Early that day Pietro took a good bath, trimmed his beard and put on his Sunday’s best. Then he waited for his heavenly visitor. From early morning to late afternoon three visitors came – a pale emaciated woman carrying a very young child, a haggard looking rustic and a frail little boy who greeted him Merry Christmas. All these Pietro welcomed into his dwelling and served them some food. Then darkness came but the Lord was nowhere to be seen. Weary and frustrated, Pietro went to bed and fell asleep. Then he had a dream about the Lord standing right before him, smiling kindly. Lord, Pietro exclaimed, I was waiting for you all day! Yes, I know, the Lord answered. I came three times but you did not recognize me. At that point, the cobbler woke up but the Lord was gone. Yet he felt a sudden surge of joy as he went back to sleep.

Those of us who gloried in the presence of friends this Christmas and broke bread with them can take comfort in this story. A belated Christmas to all!