This Christmas Eve was low-key, easy, and profoundly satisfying.
A simple church service. Dinner at a local restaurant. Opening a couple of gifts while seated at the dining room table with the Gentleman Friend and my nephew, Rodger Dean. Then a nighttime drive home to place Baby Jesus in the manger—born prematurely at 11:30 p.m. because “Mary” was too tired to stay awake until midnight.
It was unlike the Christmas Eves of years past, when all the sisters were still alive.
Back then, we gathered at 8:00 PM for church—the expanded family—blood kin and family of choice, Khaled Ahmed, my former student, and his family—Mama and Baba Ahmed, the Bhattacharjees—Mother, my niece Sylvia, my sister, Elberta, and the Gentleman Friend. Mama Ahmed always fasted for several days before December 24 in honor of Maryam, then broke her fast on the steps of St. Paul’s Methodist Church. We all walked into the beautiful sanctuary together and sat together—as close to the front as possible, a odd group, indeed. We all took communion, then sang Silent Night, standing together as candlelight warmed our faces.
And at some point—just like last night—something always happened within me. Something holy and quietly transformative.
Afterward, we returned to Mary’s elegant condo, where she had prepared a gourmet meal—delicacies like lobster bisque with hand ground saffron. We enjoyed these creations on her gold-rimmed china which she had bought in Germany. With our bellies full, we settled back for the joy of opening gifts!
Lastly, a peace settled over the room as Mary read the story of Christ’s birth from Grandmother’s Bible. Afterwards, Mama Ahmed read the same story from the Qur’an, with Khaled translating. Both holy books spoke of the miraculous birth, though with differing details.
What I remember most is that in the Qur’an, Jesus could speak.
When Mary died, I took over cooking the meal—never approaching her gourmet mastery. I invited Margaret, a friend without children; Kumar and his new wife, Manakshee, after his divorce from Maria; my niece Sylvia; the Gentleman Friend; and anyone else who needed a place to be on Christmas Eve.
Over time, the faces around the table changed and gradually diminished. The food shifted from gourmet to simply cooked to restaurant fare. Yet one thing remained constant: a deepening certainty of what Father Richard Rohr describes so beautifully—
“…we’re welcoming the Universal Christ, the Cosmic Christ, the Christ that is forever being born (incarnating) in the human soul and into history.”
And so on this Christmas Day, I find myself at peace with the past and content to continue on my soul’s unique path.