Christmas is a time for family, overeating, and childlike wonder. It is not a time for Tom Cruise to play a Nazi with a lifeless American accent in an attempt to win over the Academy. Seriously, give it up. Moving forward. Up until last year I had only ever known Christmas in Michigan, and I developed a fine routine. It was tradition in our family to go to the candlelight late service, then home, where, as I got older, I would watch the Pope giving Mass, to give a ’shout out’ to all my Roman Catholic friends. Then, I would put out cookies for Santa, and go to bed, wondering how he would get into our house if we didn’t have a fireplace. I continue this tradition to this day.
Even last year, when I knew I was to fly out to San Diego on Christmas Day for work, I maintained my evening traditions. So this year, in Hermosa, I expect it to be no different. I will continue my tradition, no doubt awkward, as going into new houses of worship always is, especially on known amateur days. Though I must confess, my status is amateur at best these days, so the shoe apparently fits this evening.
The folks must participate in said tradition, as they are the ones that started half of it, the watching of the Pope is my own tradition that I share with no one in my immediate family, as they all are off to bed shortly after returning home. It is I who stays up to wait for Santa and watch a Latin Mass to feel closer to all the Roman Catholics in my life.
We now switch tense, as I have returned from the candlelight service, awash in the joy of Christmas, and overwhelmed by the overpowering observations I have logged in the memory banks. I wish I could just appreciate something for what it is, just once. But no, the brain wants what it wants, so my eyes naturally gravitated towards the choir, and from my vantage point, the disturbing Hitler stache on one of the gentlement singing “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem”. A bold move, as his hairstyle is disturbingly similar as well. Surely this must be a mistake, and I miss out on the first five minutes of what anyone says trying to focus my eyes and fathom this style choice. Then the pastor takes the pulpit and delivers a sermon much in the style of Doug Henning, all hand gestures and grand movements. Again, fascinating, I can’t get enough, though this is not what one is supposed to gather from time spent in the hallowed halls. It is shocking how the format, songs and content of the service mirror the services of my youth, this particular denomination must send out a plan-o-gram to the churches, in the vein of a corporate retail location sending a local store the months merchandising. The final observation, was during the sacred act of communion. I questioned whether my heart was in the right place, as taking it is serious business. I opted in, but was shocked to find the man holding the bread, to be tearing off pieces for each person. One by one, and handing it to them. This was both fascinating and troubling. Fascinating as I have never in my life experienced it, troubling as he kept wiping his nose. He gets an A for effort though, I can’t hate. However, it made me appreciate my local church in Detroit all the more.
Upon returning home, the parents opted for shut eye, as those with common sense do, and I tuned in to friend’s 24 hour Christmas Show in an effort to take in a little of the rock. That whilst watching Mass at St. Peter’s. I gotta give it to Ratzinger, he is in decent shape, sits up in the chair and is only weighed down by the pontif’s hat minimally. The final years with JPII were tough to watch, yet I always did. I find it more fascinating now, as I have been in the Vatican, and that very Basilica. Also impressive, his two secret service type agents walking down the aisle with him, amidst stunningly dressed Italians and Diplomats. All good, but I am sleepy. Time to leave out cookies for Santa.
Merry Christmas, and goodnight.
