Keeping Christmas All Year Round
Christina Debusschere
About the Author: Christina Debusschere is a wife, mother, and cradle Catholic who grew up on a farm in northeastern Alberta. She holds a B.A. in music and a B.Ed. from Concordia University of Edmonton. Between rosaries and sinks of dishes, Christina enjoys reading, making music, educating her children, rational dialogue with her husband, and a good cup of coffee.
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Forgive the schmaltzy title, but there is a nugget of truth in the dreamy-eyed secularist’s wish that Christmas last all year. As a Catholic, I obviously disagree with the idea that Christmas is “a feeling,” or that it is merely made up of warm fuzzies, eggnog, cozy fireside evenings, or the latest décor. However, there is something about Christmas—the real Christmas, marking Our Lord’s birth—which ought to endure past the end of December. This pivotal moment in the Church year contains more meat for meditation than we can hope to absorb within the octave, or even before Candlemas. So much growth is possible for the soul who continues to hold the ever-present reality of Christ’s Incarnation before his eyes not only at Christmas time, but throughout the year. This beautiful mystery, though sometimes obscured by tinsel, turkey, and trees, can bring authentic joy to our hearts any day of the year, and there are four particular ways that I would like to highlight.
Reciting the Angelus
Traditionally recited at 6 in the morning, noon, and 6 in the evening, this prayer begins with a simple narration: “The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary, and she conceived of the Holy Spirit.” We all know the story and it’s easy for the following Hail Mary to feel mundane. But then we recite Our Lady’s words: “Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it done unto me according to thy word.” We express submission, following her holy example. The prayer reaches its climax with a genuflection as we remember that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” That moment of wonder—that God should put aside His glory to experience our lowliness, our filth, our mistakes—gives us something new for reflection every day, since life is not static, but an ongoing series of events that mold us. Our experiences change us, and every day brings some new joy or sorrow, a moment of satisfaction, of anger, or of humour. And this is the consolation found in the Angelus: everything we experience as humans was felt by God Himself. Whatever you are going through is profoundly understood by Jesus Christ, “who humbled himself to share in our humanity” and was born for us at Christmas.
Now practically, how can you make the Angelus a part of your daily life? It takes about a minute and a half. Say it thrice daily, and it still takes less than 5 minutes. What if, like me, 6 AM finds you still unconscious in bed? Try attaching the Angelus to mealtimes instead. Even once a day is better than not at all. If mealtimes are inconsistent in your life, an alarm on your phone can be helpful. Track down an alarm tone with church bells or chant: it’s a more pleasant call to prayer than the screech of an alarm clock.
To add a final note, the Regina Caeli typically replaces the Angelus between Easter and Pentecost. This exultant expression, which contains as many Alleluias as grammatically possible, certainly keeps us from feeling stagnant or bored by the Angelus. The Church has given us this fitting way to celebrate Paschaltide and still recall the mystery of the Incarnation. You might even try singing the Regina Caeli as a further expression of joy!
Generosity
Around Christmas, we typically give plenty of gifts to others. Some are fairly generic, like chocolate, wine, or socks, but others are oddly specific (a friend of mine will be receiving a pastry blender this Christmas). But generosity isn’t just for Christmas time. Offering to cook a meal for someone with a broken arm, setting up for the parish coffee hour, or gifting someone a thought-provoking book are all generous actions that don’t require gift wrapping skills. Consider that the Magi did not simply materialize with gifts at the foot of the Christ Child: they had to plan for a journey, undertake it, stop and ask for directions, arrive at seemingly the wrong house, and make a return journey that involved a divine diversion. Remember that all of this was before Google Maps, Amazon Prime, or even payphones. Their generosity involved sacrifices that we can’t fathom! It makes picking up a few groceries for a neighbour look much easier, doesn’t it?
When we talk about the love language of giving gifts, some are more naturally skilled than others, but I think it’s like a muscle that can be strengthened. Taking the time and attention to notice what a friend needs is an act of charity. It may not be gold, frankincense, or myrrh that you give, but your acts of service or the useful gift that says, “I thought of you,” shows God’s love in a tangible way.
Hospitality
When Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem, they received a notorious string of “no vacancy” announcements. Finally, someone whose place was already full offered a stable. That extension of hospitality meant going beyond what mere justice demanded and was an act of charity. Around Christmas, we often need to warn little children against constantly shouting, “Mine!” about their precious new belongings, and yet, that’s often how we treat our own homes. Rather than welcoming others, the selfish conscience whispers, “Mine,” as we retreat behind the front door into our preferred version of solitude, indulging in pleasures of our own choice.
Hospitality can be hard. A recent gathering at our place featured 14 young children and many more cupcakes; the aftermath is easily imaginable. It can be hard when it’s just adults too: an uncomfortable question might come up, or awkward comments can slip out. But read the Gospels and consider how often things like this arise. I mean, imagine taking time to meet with an acquaintance, but then he starts talking about being born once again and you must oh-so-tactfully ask how one might re-enter his mother’s womb (cf. Jn 3:1–21). Or imagine if you forgot to offer your dinner guest some way to clean himself off, but then a prostitute came into your house with an expensive luxury perfume and started rubbing that (plus her own tears) onto his feet (cf. Mt 26:6–13). Awkward, right? And yet, this is precisely where we find Our Lord.
Offering your stable to a young couple about to welcome their first child might feel inappropriate or ill-mannered. Perhaps, in modern translation, this is like offering to host dinner even though your kitchen table is rather small, or your house is messy with kids’ toys, or the only beverage you have is water. Like generosity, hospitality takes practice, and eventually you find solutions that make your guests more comfortable. Even if it’s more straw for the manger, every little bit is noticed by your Saviour.
The Last Gospel
During the Traditional Latin Mass, people don’t typically file out of the pews the moment the final blessing ends. The Last Gospel, taken from the first chapter of the Gospel according to St. John, is read by the priest in a low voice. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God…” Like the Angelus, this passage always gives us something to reflect on. The Incarnation is such a mystery, and yet God’s love is present right there, in the Bread of Life which we have just received. Even if Mass was long or you had to wrangle small children (or were in the pew behind me being distracted by my small children), the Last Gospel once again reminds us that Our Lord is with us in it all, sharing our human nature and encountering all of this with us. He did not want to remain apart from us; rather, He “emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness” (Ph 2:7).
The Last Gospel says, “He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not. He came unto his own, and his own received him not. But as many as received him, he gave them power to be made the sons of God, to them that believe in his name. Who are born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God” (Jn 1:10–13). What a gift the Church has given us in having this passage read at nearly every Mass! Let’s hear this passage with attentive minds and thank God for sending His Son, not just during the Christmas season, but at every Mass.
Final Thoughts
Christmas makes us aware of Our Blessed Lord’s nearness, both in His humanity and in His role as our Saviour and Judge. Imagining Him as a tiny baby cradled in Mary’s arms is easy for anyone who has held a newborn before, and this mental image brings the mystery of the Incarnation into our grasp. As a baby, he had wet diapers, felt hungry frequently, and didn’t like being cold. Every pinprick of human life, from his infancy, is familiar to Him, and if He drew so near to us, should we not put aside our whims to grow closer to Him? With a spirit of thanksgiving and adoration of the Christ Child, let us keep His coming at the front of our minds all year round.