Bethlehem
So the Holy Family hit the road to get to Bethlehem by Christmas, and arrived just in time. Nazareth must have been one of those places where everyone comes from somewhere else, and I’ll bet it just emptied out at Christmastime.
Amsterdam is like Bethlehem. Nobody lives here anymore, but come Christmas the drifters come back to their roots in droves. The weekend Masses were packed at St. Mary’s, Palm Sunday packed, and they weren’t even giving anything away and it wasn’t even Christmas yet. It’s nice seeing old faces.
It’s the same here at the House of the Judge with the kids all home and Uncle Sy, of course, and the mother-in-law, and Mary’s sister Flossie and her family up from suburban Philadelphia and meeting Laura Ann for the first time, precious little thing that she is all dressed up in Christmas red.
This morning Laura saw her first Christmas on George Street dressed with the cutest Santa hat. After opening presents (can’t wait to watch my DVD of Santa Claus Conquers the Martians) the kids all settled on the couch with the Christmas photo album.
Mary has been keeping this every year since we first got married, so once we get these pics developed we’ll have thirty years worth in one place. They were having a blast remembering this toy and that adventure and the annual photo Christmas cards and the trees that varied dramatically in quality, but never in heart. Our very first tree, in our tiny apartment in Albany, had no lights and home-made ornaments.
Over the years Mary added more and more of her heart and talent, and then began setting aside some of the decorations for each of the children so when they had their own trees there’d be something of home for them. Rather reminds me of that friendship bread that people have been passing around for years and years.
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We have had the creche out for a few weeks now, without the Baby Jesus, of course.
“Where’s Jesus?” I asked, so we would be ready for the big moment.
“He’s in the liquor cabinet.”
The rascal.
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One last thought on Advent: there really is a fortune to be made for anyone who can write a decent Advent hymn. O Come, O Come, Emmanuel is nice, but that’s about it, and that doesn’t cover four weeks and three hymns a Mass very well. There have been other attempts, but they’re forced and sing-songy and just do nothing for me. Come O Most Expensive Jesus comes to mind. (That can’t be right, but unless you sleep through Advent hymns, which I tend to do, you know the one I mean).
Let’s get working on it for next year, ok?
