O Holy Night
For the first time in my life, I just got done eating a Christmas Eve dinner that didn't involve Swedish meatballs. It was just one among many reminders that this Christmas is like none I've ever had, or ever will have. I'm in Bethlehem, and Christmas is here! The whole town as come alive to celebrate their biggest day of the year.
Yesterday's day of prayer was uneventful. I spent quite a bit of time in silent reflection, praying either here in our chapel at Betharram, or in the grotto at the Church of the Nativity, or in the beautiful chapel at the Milk Grotto. (The Milk Grotto is about a block away from the Church of the Nativity, and it's very much a Category Three site. It's based on a 6th-century tradition that as Joseph and Mary fled Bethlehem on their way to Egypt, they stopped at that spot, and a drop of Mary's milk landed on one of the rocks, and so that rock has various healing powers and what not. Any tradition that involves bodily fluids makes me uncomfortable in the first place, but the chapel is still a very nice place to pray.) The day of prayer was a nice, wide open day to help us prepare for all the hoopla.
Hoopla or not, when our first scheduled event isn't until 11:30 AM, you can bet that I'm going to sleep in as long as I can. The shutters here seal off light so well that even when my alarm goes off as late as 10:00, I can never believe that it's that hour already, because the room is pitch black. But eventually I did pull myself out of bed today, and went downstairs for the last Mass of the Advent season. After lunch, a group of us headed out to find an opportune spot along Star Street for the entrance of the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem.
The "Latin Rite Patriarch" is their way of saying "Bishop of the Diocese of Jerusalem". He's our local bishop. Every Christmas Eve, he has this grand entrance into the city of Bethlehem that's preceded by a massive parade. The parade is hardly on a wide street, however: The millennia-old entrance to Bethlehem is an arch that overlooks Star Street, which is more of a sidewalk than a street. Barely wide enough to fit a single car, it winds its way through the central part of town and is bounded on both sides by old stone buildings that are three or four stories high. Oddly enough, as I've been internalizing more and more the layout of this town, Star Street has actually been figurative in getting from one place to another.
The jokes we trade about Star Street having been "the actual street that the Magi took when they followed the star into Bethlehem" may not be that far off, since it does go under what had been the only real gate into the town at that time. So it's an ideal place for the Patriarch's entrance, even though the street is too darn narrow to fit a parade and a throng of people. Hoping to avoid such a throng, a few of us found a balcony near the Melkite Church that overlooks the street. It was a perfect overhead view, and we felt a little bit like the announcers for the Macy's Parade. Of course, as I leaned over the balcony to get a better look at the parade directly below me, I also felt like Ben Hur as he accidentally knocked that loose part of the ledge down onto the parading Romans below.
I saw quite a few marching bands go by, and with the balmy weather it felt like the Fourth of July again. One of the groups was a group of bagpipes, which never fails to excite. Eventually, the Patriarch slowly came by in his car, after which the throngs closed in behind to follow him into Manger Square. At that point, we ducked out of there and took a series of back ways through markets that eventually led us out onto the square. From there, we could see the Patriarch enter the Church of the Nativity.
Several guys worked their way into the church along with the throng, but I had no desire to join them by that point. Part of that was because of the size of the crowd, but the other part was that the Patriarch was going to be leading everybody in Solemn Vespers in Latin to liturgically open up the Christmas season - and chanting something in Latin while packed in like a sardine doesn't exactly appeal to me.
After that, I had pretty much the whole afternoon and evening free, so took a walk up to the opposite side of town, where the master craftsman's shop stood. I was checking to see if they had my wooden chalice ready - and it was! It was a true piece of beauty; something befitting of holding the Blood of Christ. So what already was a red-letter day because it's Christmas Eve just got a lot more special... this was the day in which I bought the chalice that I will use as a priest for the rest of my life.
So now as I write this, I've finished dinner and am waiting a few hours before it's time to head off to Bethlehem University for Midnight Mass. I've been in seminary for five years now, but this is the first time that I've actually been around my brother seminarians during Christmas, so it's interesting to hear them talk of their Christmas traditions. Strangely enough, my own tradition of attending Midnight Mass goes back further than it does for most of these cradle Catholics.
Midnight Mass has been a major part of my celebration of the birth of Christ ever since the age of 20, long before I ever considered becoming Catholic. That year, a bunch of friends were attending Midnight Mass at Holy Angels in Aurora, and I eager went with them. I was blown away by the solemnity of being part of a major church service in the middle of the night, and I resolved then never to miss that... and I never have. For several years, a group of us always went to Midnight Mass at St. Procopius Abbey in Woodridge. For the last seven years, I've always gone to Midnight Mass at my home parish of SS. Peter and Paul - in the last three of those years, I've served for that Mass. Although it's sadly becoming a trend for American parishes to have "Midnight Mass" at an earlier hour, I've been fortunate enough always to go to places that have it at the proper time. For a decade and a half now, I can't imagine Christmas without Mass at midnight.
But that's not the only thing that I can't imagine Christmas without - and because I'm now six thousand miles away from those other things, this is the first Christmas of my life that won't have those things. It goes without saying that this is a time to be with family, and for all of us here that's obviously not the case. Since before I was born, my dad's side of the family has held a large gathering on Christmas Eve in a tiny house in Batavia, and the nature of the party has never changed one iota. Same food, same procedure for opening presents, same ritualistic consumption of the most vile alcoholic drink you've ever had. Christmas Eve without that party would be absolutely out of the question... and yet that's exactly what is happening for me this year.
This is a severance that is necessary for me to go through, though. From now on as long as I live, a family party on Christmas Eve between 5:00 and 8:00 PM will be very difficult to attend, for I'm told that those are the busiest hours in a Catholic parish on Christmas. This is still unimaginable for me, since for the last 35 consecutive years, those hours are absolutely, totally off limits... but from what I've heard, the Masses on Christmas Eve (the evening ones, not the midnight one) are the most jam-packed. I'll have to see it to believe it, since it's such a radically different paradigm for me. But the proper thing to anticipate is that as a deacon and then as a priest, I will most certainly be unavailable for a family party during those hours. If I end up being able to make it, that would be great... but I'm not counting on it.
This is all part of the mentality that I must take on as a priest: As Fulton Sheen put it best, A priest is not his own. From the moment the bishop lays hands on me, I can no longer live life by my own agenda. Just like a married man who lives not for himself but for his wife and kids, so I will be unable to call my own shots. While it's true that I'll still get vacations and days off, at the core I will be perpetually "on call"... most especially on these big holidays.
Which is exactly what makes tonight and tomorrow unlike any Christmas that I'll ever be able to celebrate. While it's very feasible that I'll someday be able to return to Bethlehem and the Holy Land, it's an absolute guarantee that I'll never be free to come back here on Christmas Day. And so even while I'm sad to miss my extended family's celebration tonight and my immediate family's celebration tomorrow morning, I am elated with joy and gratitude to be able to experience Christmas at the very place where it all started. And how awesome it was to watch this town come alive today as their Christmas celebrations kicked into full gear!
So now it's off to Midnight Mass, followed by some much-needed rest, and then tomorrow it will be Christmas Day in Bethlehem. O Holy Night, indeed.
Yesterday's day of prayer was uneventful. I spent quite a bit of time in silent reflection, praying either here in our chapel at Betharram, or in the grotto at the Church of the Nativity, or in the beautiful chapel at the Milk Grotto. (The Milk Grotto is about a block away from the Church of the Nativity, and it's very much a Category Three site. It's based on a 6th-century tradition that as Joseph and Mary fled Bethlehem on their way to Egypt, they stopped at that spot, and a drop of Mary's milk landed on one of the rocks, and so that rock has various healing powers and what not. Any tradition that involves bodily fluids makes me uncomfortable in the first place, but the chapel is still a very nice place to pray.) The day of prayer was a nice, wide open day to help us prepare for all the hoopla.
Hoopla or not, when our first scheduled event isn't until 11:30 AM, you can bet that I'm going to sleep in as long as I can. The shutters here seal off light so well that even when my alarm goes off as late as 10:00, I can never believe that it's that hour already, because the room is pitch black. But eventually I did pull myself out of bed today, and went downstairs for the last Mass of the Advent season. After lunch, a group of us headed out to find an opportune spot along Star Street for the entrance of the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem.
The "Latin Rite Patriarch" is their way of saying "Bishop of the Diocese of Jerusalem". He's our local bishop. Every Christmas Eve, he has this grand entrance into the city of Bethlehem that's preceded by a massive parade. The parade is hardly on a wide street, however: The millennia-old entrance to Bethlehem is an arch that overlooks Star Street, which is more of a sidewalk than a street. Barely wide enough to fit a single car, it winds its way through the central part of town and is bounded on both sides by old stone buildings that are three or four stories high. Oddly enough, as I've been internalizing more and more the layout of this town, Star Street has actually been figurative in getting from one place to another.
The jokes we trade about Star Street having been "the actual street that the Magi took when they followed the star into Bethlehem" may not be that far off, since it does go under what had been the only real gate into the town at that time. So it's an ideal place for the Patriarch's entrance, even though the street is too darn narrow to fit a parade and a throng of people. Hoping to avoid such a throng, a few of us found a balcony near the Melkite Church that overlooks the street. It was a perfect overhead view, and we felt a little bit like the announcers for the Macy's Parade. Of course, as I leaned over the balcony to get a better look at the parade directly below me, I also felt like Ben Hur as he accidentally knocked that loose part of the ledge down onto the parading Romans below.
I saw quite a few marching bands go by, and with the balmy weather it felt like the Fourth of July again. One of the groups was a group of bagpipes, which never fails to excite. Eventually, the Patriarch slowly came by in his car, after which the throngs closed in behind to follow him into Manger Square. At that point, we ducked out of there and took a series of back ways through markets that eventually led us out onto the square. From there, we could see the Patriarch enter the Church of the Nativity.
Several guys worked their way into the church along with the throng, but I had no desire to join them by that point. Part of that was because of the size of the crowd, but the other part was that the Patriarch was going to be leading everybody in Solemn Vespers in Latin to liturgically open up the Christmas season - and chanting something in Latin while packed in like a sardine doesn't exactly appeal to me.
After that, I had pretty much the whole afternoon and evening free, so took a walk up to the opposite side of town, where the master craftsman's shop stood. I was checking to see if they had my wooden chalice ready - and it was! It was a true piece of beauty; something befitting of holding the Blood of Christ. So what already was a red-letter day because it's Christmas Eve just got a lot more special... this was the day in which I bought the chalice that I will use as a priest for the rest of my life.
So now as I write this, I've finished dinner and am waiting a few hours before it's time to head off to Bethlehem University for Midnight Mass. I've been in seminary for five years now, but this is the first time that I've actually been around my brother seminarians during Christmas, so it's interesting to hear them talk of their Christmas traditions. Strangely enough, my own tradition of attending Midnight Mass goes back further than it does for most of these cradle Catholics.
Midnight Mass has been a major part of my celebration of the birth of Christ ever since the age of 20, long before I ever considered becoming Catholic. That year, a bunch of friends were attending Midnight Mass at Holy Angels in Aurora, and I eager went with them. I was blown away by the solemnity of being part of a major church service in the middle of the night, and I resolved then never to miss that... and I never have. For several years, a group of us always went to Midnight Mass at St. Procopius Abbey in Woodridge. For the last seven years, I've always gone to Midnight Mass at my home parish of SS. Peter and Paul - in the last three of those years, I've served for that Mass. Although it's sadly becoming a trend for American parishes to have "Midnight Mass" at an earlier hour, I've been fortunate enough always to go to places that have it at the proper time. For a decade and a half now, I can't imagine Christmas without Mass at midnight.
But that's not the only thing that I can't imagine Christmas without - and because I'm now six thousand miles away from those other things, this is the first Christmas of my life that won't have those things. It goes without saying that this is a time to be with family, and for all of us here that's obviously not the case. Since before I was born, my dad's side of the family has held a large gathering on Christmas Eve in a tiny house in Batavia, and the nature of the party has never changed one iota. Same food, same procedure for opening presents, same ritualistic consumption of the most vile alcoholic drink you've ever had. Christmas Eve without that party would be absolutely out of the question... and yet that's exactly what is happening for me this year.
This is a severance that is necessary for me to go through, though. From now on as long as I live, a family party on Christmas Eve between 5:00 and 8:00 PM will be very difficult to attend, for I'm told that those are the busiest hours in a Catholic parish on Christmas. This is still unimaginable for me, since for the last 35 consecutive years, those hours are absolutely, totally off limits... but from what I've heard, the Masses on Christmas Eve (the evening ones, not the midnight one) are the most jam-packed. I'll have to see it to believe it, since it's such a radically different paradigm for me. But the proper thing to anticipate is that as a deacon and then as a priest, I will most certainly be unavailable for a family party during those hours. If I end up being able to make it, that would be great... but I'm not counting on it.
This is all part of the mentality that I must take on as a priest: As Fulton Sheen put it best, A priest is not his own. From the moment the bishop lays hands on me, I can no longer live life by my own agenda. Just like a married man who lives not for himself but for his wife and kids, so I will be unable to call my own shots. While it's true that I'll still get vacations and days off, at the core I will be perpetually "on call"... most especially on these big holidays.
Which is exactly what makes tonight and tomorrow unlike any Christmas that I'll ever be able to celebrate. While it's very feasible that I'll someday be able to return to Bethlehem and the Holy Land, it's an absolute guarantee that I'll never be free to come back here on Christmas Day. And so even while I'm sad to miss my extended family's celebration tonight and my immediate family's celebration tomorrow morning, I am elated with joy and gratitude to be able to experience Christmas at the very place where it all started. And how awesome it was to watch this town come alive today as their Christmas celebrations kicked into full gear!
So now it's off to Midnight Mass, followed by some much-needed rest, and then tomorrow it will be Christmas Day in Bethlehem. O Holy Night, indeed.