With us, Christmas Eve is sacred. At the stroke of midnight, my mother must give us a kiss, this is her favorite Hallmark film. My brother and I have the right to go elsewhere on December 25 or New Year’s Day, but not on the evening of the 24th, this is the rule that must not be broken.
In all my life, I have twice missed this meeting, which is more maternal than religious, although I had to undergo midnight mass until the age of 14. In 2015, when I was doing an internship in Paris, and in 2010 because I wanted to experience Christmas in Haiti. In truth, it is much more the 1er January that we celebrate in Haiti, since it is the national holiday, the anniversary of independence, where we eat the famous joumou soup, whose recipe has just officially entered the universal heritage of the ‘humanity. One of the fondest memories of my life, even though my mom still resents me for failing her. I had gone to mass which was held in a tent in Jacmel, because the churches had collapsed. Overwhelmed by the songs of Haitians who prayed to Jesus in the disaster… and not to be with my family for the first time.
I will not be able to do it again this year to my mother. I haven’t taken a plane for two years, which doesn’t cause me any sadness since the people dearest to my heart are in Quebec. But I think a lot of those whose family is elsewhere, who hoped to finally be able to find the kinship they could not see last year. My compassion goes far more to people from all diasporas than to tourists, let’s say.
Omicron goes ahead like a bulldozer and messes up everyone’s plans. And it goes badly, very badly. I have never seen collective morale so low.
Mine ? Not so bad, I would tell you. I had no hopes, I will only see my mother and my brother, as in 2020. I also think that I still have some things left from my Catholic education imposed by my mother, who wanted me to do all my sacraments supposedly to keep me out of trouble if I ever wanted to get married in church.
Of that upbringing, I probably kept the best part when I became something of an atheist as a teenager. The love of one’s neighbor and the sense of sharing, for example. For 15 years, I had taken over from my parents, it was often me who hosted at Christmas, to whom I tried to give a little Christian meaning so as not to become jaded. The door was open to anyone. I managed to convince my extended family members to stop running the stores, often seized up and exhausted, by slamming their credit cards to buy stuff you never need, made in third party factories – world, for gift exchanges where you don’t know what to give – I’ve already received an electric razor for nose hair. It’s magical to see children open their presents, but for us adults, isn’t it to come together around a good, watered meal which is the real gift? I don’t need a bath salt kit, but bring your famous macaroni salad, that was the idea. I passed for a cheap at the beginning (Pierre-Yves McSween would understand me) and then it became natural, and even a deliverance. One of the Christmases where I laughed the most is when we did an exchange of gifts with just junk that we no longer wanted at home. I still have that horrible ceramic Pierrot from the 1980s that I came across.
And there, I realize by unwrapping my memories that it is not really the Christmases of yesteryear that I miss, but to receive. Christmas just two years ago. My heart pangs when I remember that it didn’t appeal to me, because I had a bad flu. The guests had left early to save me hospitalization (and contamination). I had no idea it was the last time before the pandemic.
I also have from this education an idea of Christian charity and Sister Louise. She is the only nun I have known in my life, and she is now 87 years old. She was at all the important celebrations for my family when I was little, right up to my father’s funeral to support us.
Sister Louise lives in a residence in the Villeray district to continue working with the Latin American community, to which she has dedicated her existence. I called her this week because it had been a very long time since I had spoken to her. And also so that it reminds me of the original meaning of Christmas. “For those who have faith, Christmas is the mystery,” she replied in her soft voice that has not changed. The mystery of the incarnation of the birth of Jesus. His message is a message of love and sharing. That it is necessary, at bottom, to live in joy and in concern for others. I believe that this message can transform us and transform societies. ”
Finally, I remembered my catechesis courses rather well. We are obviously appalled by this variant that is coming scrape Christmas, but if you think of others and sharing, if you care a little bit about the breathless health workers, canceling this celebration makes it really meaningful.
It would be a shame if we wiped out the health system which is hanging by a thread because secular Quebec is holding on to a Catholic holiday. “Christmas is not something that happens only once, there will be more,” said Sister Louise. We have to think about the common good. When I was a child, and there was someone sick or a family had experienced a fire, everyone would help. We called it chores and no one was paid. You don’t build a society when you live for yourself. Individual rights are good and they must be defended, but there are also common rights which must be defended, because that is what makes life possible. ”
In this Christmas 2021, the only chore asked of us is to stay at home, with the people of our bubble. Out of charity, Christian or not, for the collapsing healthcare system our loved ones might need, and not just if they catch COVID-19. I believe a little in the resurrection which will follow this chore.
Have a sweet Christmas, watch yourself. And to others.