Cepta and myself have fond memories of our
childhood Christmases and the stories that our parents told us of their own
youthful days at this very special time of the year. We did indeed experience many of the characteristics of today’s
Christmas such as Santa Claus, a Christmas tree in the living room and special
programmes on the TV station. Nevertheless it was then first and foremost a deeply
religious festival of Christian thanksgiving which our parents expected us to respect
and to observe.
In my father’s (& mother’s) time…
On winter evenings around the fireside, mom,
dad and particularly my grandparents, would tell stories of their own harsh poverty-stricken
Christmas in a rural Ireland before the era of plastic trees, glittering
baubles, twinkling electric lights, expensive gifts and sumptuous festive dinners.
In those bygone days they would get up early and gather branches from Holly
(holy) trees in the hedgerows to decorate their homes. For them the thorns and
red berries symbolised the bloodied crown of thorns of the crucified Jesus. But
the sacredness of this native Irish tree goes back thousands of years earlier, when
it was recognised as a protector of Nature, with its red berries providing a
rare source of food to the birds in the depths of darkest winter, and a
reminder too of the resurrection of life during the coming Spring. Lots of families made their own wooden figures
for Nativity scenes that were placed prominently in the kitchen and which was a
microcosm of the larger crib in the local parish church (a custom introduced by
Francis of Assisi during the European Middle Ages).
Morning mass, where they happily engaged
with all the cousins and neighbours, was followed in the late afternoon by a family
meal comprising exotic foodstuffs not consumed at any other time of the year. Before
refrigeration, a key element was the Christmas pudding (kept in a recycled
metal biscuit tin), comprising fruits that had been dried out and stored from
the autumn harvest with a generous lashing of home distilled whiskey (poitín)
even though my parents throughout their lives hardly ever drank alcohol (Dad
was a lifelong ‘pioneer’). As in the
modern era, the main delicacy was poultry. But rather than the American-originated
turkey, they usually had the luxury of enjoying one of their own geese.
But in the lives of ordinary people, meat
was then a rarity. It was only normally consumed on Sundays (the ‘Sunday
roast’) and on important religious/seasonal festivals.
This celebratory meal was primarily a gathering
for the extended family, when those bothers and sisters who had gone to work in
Dublin or had emigrated to nearby Britain would, at least before they got
married, try to travel home for the most important day in the Christian
calendar.
As was the custom at the beginning of every
mealtime in Irish Christian homes in times past, a prayer was recited in thanks
for the food that was about to be served.
On Christmas night, a simple wax candle was
lit and placed in the window. It represented the ‘Star of Bethlehem’ that guided
the ‘wise men (possibly Zoroastrian magi from the land of or modern day Iraq or
Iran), with their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, to the livestock barn
where the newborn baby lay.
In the days before rural electrification,
it must have been an awe-inspiring sight for children to look across a darkened
Irish countryside vibrating with small flickering candle-lights emanating from
isolated farmers’ cottages. It was as if the heavenly night sky had become one
with the Earth.
So in honour of our parents for this and
all Christmases, our family (as with so many other families) continue to
observe some of the best of the old Irish Christian traditions. We decorate the
walls with holly, make a Star of Bethlehem backdrop for an internal Nativity
scene, place candles on the windows and doorways with some family members
attending the local church and then enjoying a festive meal together.
Whilst I have many disagreements with the
Catholic Church stretching back to my teens, nevertheless I have always being
an avid follower of the great inspirational progressive, radical, pacifist,
non-sectarian, communal feminist figure known as Jesus Christ.
So to all my atheist, pagan, Jewish,
Buddhist, Muslim, Christian and Hindi friends may I wish you all a peaceful and
joyful Christmas and New Year.
This is the text of one of my previous posts that I think it is worth republishing at the time of the year that we celebrate the birth of a figure who preached tolerance, peace and love to all living things, but who ended up being tried as a threat to state and religion before being tortured to death.
