The year 2020 has not gone the way we expected or hoped when we turned the calendar page back in January. Likewise, our Christmas celebrations might look a bit different. But year after year, readers remind us with their recollections and verse that Christmas is not about picture-perfect holiday cheer. What started with the most unprecedented event in history — the birth of God incarnate in a lowly stable — now is remembered year after year with our own celebrations that don’t always fit our expectations.
For many years, Our Sunday Visitor has asked our readers to send in their favorite Christmas memories, as well as their original Christmas poems. Continuing on the tradition in a year when we need it most, we are honored to share these stories and poems to remind all that despite certain limitations, each Christmas is an opportunity for beautiful memories that will last a lifetime. This year is no different. So, enjoy these stories and poems, and then go make your own memories. And as always, merry Christmas!
Christmas memories
The most meaningful Christmas that I experienced happened in 1982. I am an Alexian Brother, and at that time our training center for new members was on the north side of Chicago. As part of the training, I encouraged the men entering to volunteer in soup kitchens, food pantries, visit nursing homes, etc. Personally, I visited several nursing homes in our area about twice a week.
At one of the nursing homes, I met Eula, who was a very prayerful, smiling African American resident. She had no living relatives and very few friends. Therefore, she especially enjoyed my visits. Knowing this, I decided to invite her to our training center for Christmas dinner. When I asked if she would like to come to our dinner, her eyes lit up, and she became very excited.
Because I knew a resident at another nursing home, I decided to ask her (Emily) as well. She stated, “Oh, that will be great!”
On Christmas Day I picked up both of them. What was so interesting is that Eula had lived in a Black community all of her life, while Emily lived in a white neighborhood all of her life.
They immediately bonded. Emily wore a Christmas-like red dress. Eula was very proud of the one dress she considered a “party dress.” Apparently, she hardly ever wore it. I will never forget the big safety pin that took the place of a button on the upper part of the dress. One could tell how she loved that dress, which she hadn’t worn in years.
Both Emily and Eula told various stories and laughed. They had a remarkably great time at our Christmas dinner. Before I took them back to the nursing homes they exchanged addresses and phone numbers. For about seven years, they phoned each other every day and became the best of friends until Eula died. I will always remember the sorrow that Emily demonstrated upon hearing of the death of Eula.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
While most children in the United States receive gifts on Christmas Day, in Slovakia the custom of gift-giving begins on the night of Dec. 5, the eve of the Feast of St. Nicholas, or Sviatok svätého Mikuláša. Good children receive treats while those who were bad might get a lump of coal. The tradition continues on Christmas Eve when children receive some presents and older family members might exchange gifts. But the focus is on Ježiško (Little Jesus — pronounced Yey-zheesh-ko), and gifts are from him. According to tradition, Ježiško flies through a window on Christmas Eve (Štedrý večer) sometime after dinner. That assures that the children will eat the traditionally sacred meal rather than playing with any new presents.
Unlike most American children, we received our gifts on Christmas Eve, when we thought Santa came. We children would lie down after enjoying the Vilija supper with its scrumptious mushroom soup (hubová polievka). It was easier to try to sleep when we were very little, when we were accustomed to naps. Once we got older, there was no thought of sleeping, but only listening for reindeer hoofs. Or we would look out the window hoping to spot St. Nick, just as Slovak children might to see if they could spot Ježiško. Then we were roused and told Santa had come, but he had whisked away because he had lots of other homes to visit. Sure enough, the milk and cookies left for him were eaten. Once up, we began our wanton search for toys, and had no enthusiasm for such useless gifts like clothes!
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Because of the pandemic, the holidays may look different this year. But the call of home and the longing to share the joy of the season with family will never go away, no matter how much things change.
Things changed a great deal for me in 1967. That August, my parents and my sister left the United States to serve as missionaries in Bolivia while I stayed behind to go to college. When I visited my folks during Christmas vacation of 1969 — my first trip outside the country and first time on a plane — I hadn’t seen them in over two years.
Although our Yuletide gathering place was new, the way we celebrated was essentially unchanged. We talked, laughed and shared a big meal. And, of course, there was a tree and presents underneath it for everyone. But, as someone once said, “It’s not what’s under the tree, but who is gathered around it.” Despite spending the holidays in a foreign land, I felt like I was at home because I was worshipping the birth of the Savior with my loved ones.
Why is Christmas so much about family? Maybe it’s because the Holy Family was present on that first Noel. Mary and Joseph had come on a lengthy journey from Nazareth to the stable in Bethlehem, where Our Lord was born. There, they turned their place of shelter into a humble abode, and wherever members of a household come together, that’s home.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
One Christmas memory that stands out from my childhood is that of Midnight Mass at Sacred Heart Church in Portage, Pennsylvania.
My father was a steelworker, and on this particular Christmas Eve, he was working the 3-11 p.m. shift. We always attended Midnight Mass together as a family, but this year, it didn’t seem possible. My mom didn’t drive, so my Uncle Don gave us a ride to Mass. Dressed in our Sunday best, we walked up the aisle and into our pew.
The Christmas trees smelled wonderful, and the choir was singing the beautiful Polish Christmas carols. We didn’t understand the words, but the melodies and harmonies were so beautiful we still remember them to this day. As we listened to the songs we loved so much, someone stepped into the end of our pew. We were so surprised and thrilled to see our dad, also dressed in his Sunday best clothes. His co-workers knew he was Catholic and normally attended Midnight Mass with his family, so they came in a little early so he could get home and be with his family at Mass. Now it really seemed like Christmas!
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Many times when I meet someone, they will say to me, “You are the priest who sang ‘Silent Night’ in many languages.” This custom goes back to when I was a child. My home parish was St. Joseph in Hammond, Indiana. German was used in the parish until the First World War. After the war, the only time German was used was at Midnight Mass when someone sang Stille Nacht.
I became pastor of St. Joseph Parish in 1979. It was then that I introduced the custom again of singing “Silent Night” in German.
Over the years and in many parishes, I added new languages to the “Silent Night.” I think I had a total of 10 languages. I would select a few of them and always sang them after Communion. I had sheets printed so people could sing along, and I would ask someone who played the guitar to accompany. The final verse was always in English, and everyone stood and sang together.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
It was Christmas Eve 2010. My husband was a new Catholic, having come into the church eight months prior at the Easter Vigil on April 4, our 33rd wedding anniversary. Our only child was home from college. She was no longer active in our faith, although she was very happy and proud of her dad becoming Catholic.
My husband very much wanted us all to go to Midnight Mass together, as our daughter was soon leaving to return to college after the holiday. It was a special and peace-filled evening. We three never felt such closeness and felt a renewed spiritual strength. We had no inkling that just a mere four days later, our lives would be forever changed. My husband was diagnosed with widespread metastatic liver cancer, and he passed away just four weeks after diagnosis.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
In the early days of St. Teresa of Calcutta Parish in Woodinville, Washington, we celebrated Masses in a junior high school cafeteria. Improvisation and making do were the guiding principles as we started the campaign for the building fund for the new church. The sight for the new parish was an old riding school with a large barn, which was used as the equestrian practice facility.
To accommodate parishioners and guests for the Christmas Masses, we decided to set up a worship space in the old barn. There was a dirt floor, a hay trailer and hay bales for the sanctuary, a feeding trough filled with hay for the creche, folding chairs for seats, no heat and a leaky roof — not the type of worship space you would expect to find in the suburbs of western Washington.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Christmas night, 1962, was the night my firstborn son, Christopher, was born! Since he was due on New Years Eve, we were totally caught off guard when he arrived a few days early.
The first sign of my “discomfort” happened just as my mother was bringing the Christmas turkey to the dining room table and placing it in front of my dad for the ritual carving. Despite my protests of really being hungry and wanting to stay home just a little while longer, we immediately left the table and headed for the hospital — all except for my dad, who was last seen still sitting at the table eyeing that beautiful turkey and smiling!
And my birthing adventures didn’t stop there. Once at the hospital, we were told it would be a while before the baby arrived, so I should just wait in my room. Well, as you have probably guessed it, those were famous last words! Within a few short hours, my son made his entrance into our world — just before midnight. My first question was, “Is it still Christmas?”
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Christmas of 1960 was going to be the most unforgettable Christmas, no matter what happened, because we lost our father to lung cancer in August of that year. Dad had always made sure we knew our faith and practiced it with Mass, special devotions at church and prayers to Mary every night before bed. It gave us that strong feeling of belonging to church as a family of God.
My brother was 8 years old. I had just turned 14 in November, and we had become very close during Dad’s time of illness. We believed with all our hearts that God would not let us down. Even after Dad was gone, we still felt his presence with us.
That first Christmas after Dad’s death, we were constantly surrounded by family. That was the first year we had turkey for Christmas dinner. We had our own chickens and always had that for dinner, but with more people, a big turkey seemed more practical. We had a smaller tree, bought by our mom on Dec. 8 from the grocery store, because we were out of school that day for the feast of Immaculate Conception, and that became our new tradition.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Christmas poems
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
I bend down upon my knee.………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
High school submissions
The following entries were submitted by freshmen students at Trinity High School in Camp Hill, Pennsylvania. The memories and poems were assigned by their English teacher, Trish Bolster, as a fun class project.
Each year on Christmas Eve, my parents and I have a tradition: go to Mass, visit friends, then spend time with family. About two or three years ago, we went to the cathedral for Mass. The seating is typically filled, and it’s difficult to find a seat if you aren’t early. My family came into Mass a tad late that year, and we were struggling to find a seat. This was apparent to one of the ushers, who came to us and asked if we were looking for a place to sit. We said we were, and he said, “Follow me.”
He led us around the sides of the cathedral and walked back toward the altar. Toward the back of the altar, there was a seating arrangement made of brown wood, as if a choir were to be sitting there. To our surprise, the usher told us to pick a seat. For Christmas Eve Mass, we sat behind the altar in a cathedral, with it’s high ceilings, beautiful architecture and stained glass windows. Experiencing Mass from that viewpoint was incredible.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Every year, my mom goes down into the storage in our basement and grabs the Christmas decorations. One decoration that comes out of the basement every year is the snow globes. My mom takes more than 15 snow globes and puts them in our dining room. These aren’t just any winter trinkets, however; each and every one has a differently depicted scene of Jesus’ birth.
When I was in preschool, my mom had me go upstairs and take my nap after I got home. When she woke me up from my nap, she had the biggest smile on her face and told me she wanted to show me something. She brought me downstairs and led me to the dining room. There were twinkle lights on the table, and with the room dark, it looked magical. The snowglobes were in a line in the center of the table. It looked so pretty. I took the smallest snow globe, the only one I could pick up, and shook it so that the snow would start falling. I loved doing that.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
