...and that's Christmas to me!
the humans are doing what now?!
“Christmas isn't Christmas without nevris.”
This fantastic phrase came out of my mother’s mouth on Christmas morning. I was sitting by the window having just woken up from a significantly heavy slumber, only half-able to contemplate the sight before me:
Mum was on a campaign to get Didi to eat some breakfast, a concept my elder sister has been steadfastly against since the beginning of time. Mum’s strategy was to make many grand, sweeping statements about how Christmas sweets are essential to the very fabric of Christmas. You won't believe what Christmas isn't Christmas without, as told by my mother: nevris, plum cake, RUM cake, bath (Goan coconut cake), donuts, shankarpali, rose cookies.
The list is so long it’ll make you go, “Surely I've never celebrated Christmas before in my life!”
Mum was being dramatic, but she wasn't technically wrong. For as long as I can remember, preparing for Christmas has meant making nevris at home. We’d dedicate one entire day in the week leading up to Christmas entirely for crinkle-cutting circles in the dough, filling them with a mixture of coconut and dried fruits, and pinching them shut. My sister and I would quarrel over who made the prettier nevris (it was me). (Ok, it was her.) Then Mom and Nanu would deep-fry them in the late afternoon and leave them on sheets of tissue paper to cool. And then we’d have our first bite of nevris for the season, before they were packed away to be enjoyed on Christmas day.
We would also make sorpotel at home: small, diced up pieces of pork in a thick red Goan gravy. I remember the first year Mom decreed me big enough to cut up the pieces of pork myself. I was careful to do it in exactly the same size as Mom's and Nanu's, but mine were inevitably chunkier. Nanu made it a point on Christmas day to point out the chunkier bits of pork on her plate and inform everyone that they were cut by me. I loved the teasing even though I pretended not to.
Another age-old Christmas tradition was looking for our Christmas presents. My uncle always had the best hiding spot, and we rarely found it before midnight mass. He'd hide our presents in the car, or in my grandmother’s garden, or in the cabinet over the bar where we couldn't reach. But this one time Didi and I found our presents in a small pile squeezed between his bed and the wall. I still remember the sweet taste of that victory.
The 21st century defines Christmas
These days, one of my favourite Christmas activities is learning how other people define Christmas. I think this is something unique to Christmas, no? Nobody ever redefines Diwali completely by saying “And THAT’S Diwali to ME!” With Christmas, especially in India, there's this kind of urge to justify why we celebrate what we celebrate.
A friend threw a Christmas bash on Christmas Eve. There was booze, and dancing, a Christmas tree, and Santa caps. She got to hang out with all her favourite people in the same place after ages. “That's Christmas to me,” she said.
On my grandma’s TV set, Goan politicians appear with Christmas greetings to Goa's significant Catholic population. One politician says, “May Christmas fill your mind with hope and enlightenment.” Which paints the picture of Christmas as a tree-shaped entity pouring this mythical “enlightenment” into our brains using a… watering can?
A fair number of Indians view Christmas as a celebration of a European winter. Which is the only excuse I can find for all the fake snow everywhere. Seriously, why are we so obsessed with fake snow? There's also snowboots hanging from Christmas trees, warm winter gloves on sale (in PUNE, where temperatures drop to a chilly 20°C), and reindeer motifs on all the jumpers.
Christmas songs have also been getting a little strange. For example, “Baby It's Cold Outside”? NOT a Christmas Carol. Sorry John Legend but even your PC version doesn't make the cut. I once went carolling in a mall where we were told to lay off of the “Christian” stuff and “Do all the Santa ones”. Ahhh, Santa: the REAL savior born to us on Christmas day.
For the record, I also see Christmastime as a season to reconnect with old friends and revel in how cold it is for once. I like giving and receiving presents, and pretending Santa’s behind all the agonising and sourcing and gift wrapping. I’m kidding I hate that last bit. If you love your Christmas present please thank me directly. (And if you don't, take it up with Santa.)
Four simple words
But what I'm trying to get at in the most roundabout way possible is that while all these things make Christmas fun and enjoyable, they aren't really what Christmas is about.
Although this usually is what goes through my mind during Christmastime, I felt it far more acutely this year because, in many ways, Christmas just didn't feel like Christmas.
For one, we didn't make nevris at home. We didn't make any sweets at all. It's customary for a house in mourning to not make any Christmas sweets, which is why so many neighbours and friends came home on Christmas Eve with packets of sweets for us. We also didn't put up a Christmas tree or any decorations.
Midnight mass was also strange. We usually go for midnight mass with my cousins, uncles, aunts and grandmother. This time it was just Mom, Didi and I. And to make things significantly worse, due to COVID protocols and overcrowding, I didn't get to sit with either of them during mass.
I also found myself missing Dad a lot. He was always the one to drive us to and from midnight mass, complaining the entire time about traffic. At Christmas family lunch he'd sit with his glass of wine and, in his booming voice, discuss current affairs with my uncles and aunts and with me. Sometimes we’d play housie, and Dad would always win something or the other. He called it the Martis luck.
And when it was time for family photos in front of the tree, he'd stand behind us with his arms spread wide, gathering the three of us in front of him. That was our family.
So for these reasons, I wasn't feeling Christmas this year. In fact, I spent most of midnight mass in tears, asking God — “Why doesn't Christmas feel like Christmas anymore?”
If this was a story it would have made sense for something to happen right then. Nothing did. Well, nothing happened right then. I just remembered something that happened a while ago.
A long time ago, in fact. In Bethlehem. The secret at the centre of Christmas, four words that no one seems to talk about anymore:
A child is born.
A Hidden Christmas
This December, a few friends and I met weekly to read and discuss Timothy Keller’s 'Hidden Christmas'. I don't know what motivated me to start that particular book study. It just felt like a reminder most of us needed this year.
The book is titled 'Hidden Christmas’ because, according to Mr Keller, the real meaning of Christmas has gotten hidden behind all the seasonal rigmarole.
He's not wrong. Think about it: every year, the whole world celebrates Christmas. Everyone knows, ostensibly, that Christmas is the birth of Jesus. But how often do we stop to ask: why is the birth of Jesus worth celebrating?
Obviously it must be a big deal if everyone everywhere wants to take part in the Christmas celebration. And if you were to ask someone; if you had to ask me just a few years ago, I would have told you we celebrate Jesus because His message is one of peace, hope, love and joy. Things that our world is in dire need of.
Which, again, isn't technically wrong. It's just not entirely true either.
The birth of Jesus in Christian lingo is referred to as the Incarnation. It's actually called “the mystery of the Incarnation” because nobody really knows exactly how it happened. A virgin gave birth to a child. And that child was called Emmanuel, meaning “God with Us”. Because that child — Jesus — was (is) fully God and fully human. He is God made man.
The idea that God, Creator of the Universe, Giver of Life, etc etc, would humble Himself to take the form of a human is entirely preposterous. Timothy Keller has much to say on the topic:
Over the years I've had fruitful dialogues with many members and leaders of other religions. I have asked them how in their faith the individual's relationship with God actually works. In general, these are the answers I received. Eastern religions do not grant the possibility of personal communion. God is in the end an impersonal force, and you can merge with that force but cannot have personal communication with it. For other world faiths God is personal, but too removed to be said to have intimate, loving communion with believers. I've become convinced that what makes the difference for Christianity is the incarnation. No other faith says God became flesh.
(emphasis mine)
I’m sure you can see what a ridiculous notion it is that God would become man for any reason at all, least of all for our benefit. Who are we, really? Scum of the earth, if you ask me. Sure we have some redeeming qualities. We're occasionally kind to strangers. We’re passably cute between ages 0 to 4. What else? We’ve also completely trashed the planet, we’re proud to a fault, and we can't say sorry for nuts. Among many other things. One might argue that there's nothing in us worth saving.
Evidently, God (Creator of the Universe etc etc) begs to differ. He created us in His image and likeness and when we wandered away, He was willing to get us back at all costs. At precisely the cost of death.
And on Christmas, aka the Feast of the Incarnation, we come face to face with this great mystery. This is what we celebrate. Not fake snow, or fancy ornaments, or friends old and new. We celebrate the fact that because of God’s great act of love, we aren't doomed after all.
Mr Keller argues that if you fully understand the meaning of the Incarnation, and fully believe in it, there's nothing about Christianity that will boggle your mind. He quotes this passage by C. S. Lewis that beautifully illustrates what the Incarnation is really about:
One may think of a diver, first reducing himself to nakedness, then glancing in mid-air then gone with a splash, vanished, rushing down through green and warm water into black and cold water, down through increasing pressure into the death-like region of ooze and slime and old decay; then up again, back to color and light, his lungs almost bursting, till suddenly he breaks surface again, holding in his hand the dripping, precious thing that he went down to recover.
The dripping, precious thing is us, by the way, in case you were wondering.
The humans are doing what now?
For comic relief, let's – for a moment – imagine a conversation that must take place in heaven every year circa December.
Angel: Hey, what are the humans up to?
God (glumly): They've gotten all the decorations out for Christmas.
Angel: what’s Christmas? (sorry I'm new here)
God: It's what they call the birth of Jesus
Angel: Wait a second, they celebrate the birth of Jesus?! Surely just in Israel, where He was born?
God (morosely): Nope, they celebrate it all over the world actually. They celebrate it in malls and on street corners and in busy markets.
Angel: No way. That's incredible. That's GREAT NEWS. Heaven must be overflowing as we speak! All those people believing in the Incarnation — jeez. You really hit the ball out of the park with that one
God (bottom lip quivering): I may not have told you the whole truth
Angel: Wdym
God: They do technically celebrate the birth of Jesus on Christmas…
Angel: Go on…
God (in one breath): But it's more of a winter festival where they exchange presents and try to be nice to each other before the year ends
Angel: How….. on Earth….. did they get THAT out of the Incarnation?
God (now crying on the floor): I wish I knew
Now obviously that didn't happen, but can you imagine?!
Anyway, to get back to the story, there I was — tears free falling out of my eyes, whining to God about how Christmas doesn't feel like Christmas anymore — when I was struck by a blinding, debilitating truth.
Christmas isn't about me.
It isn't about sweets, or presents, or decorations, or friends, or Santa, or any of that noise. It's about four simple words at the heart of Christmas, four words I simply cannot afford to forget.
A child is born.
Cutting clean through the noise, these four words rang in my head. As I went about the motions of Christmas day and its many highs and lows, I felt as if I was on a cloud. Revelling in that great mystery: God became Man, an example of fully self-sacrificing love done for my sake. That I may be reconciled with Him once more. The good shepherd who never leaves his lost sheep behind.
And that's Christmas to me.
Hello from Goa!
It’s almost the end of the year, can you believe it? I sorta can. (please don't throw things at me.) maybe it's because my January already looks extremely busy, but I’m feeling pretty comfortable about the passage of time. am I allowed to say that?
I hope everyone had a nice Christmas. I hope this newsletter was ok and not very shouty. I tried to make it less shouty but I'm writing it on my phone, you see. Capital letters feel smaller when you write them on a phone.
I’m gonna sign off now, for the last time in 2021 (!!!!). As always, please leave a comment below or reply to this email if you'd like to chat. Y'all have been amazing. *blows a kiss to you in a non-creepy manner*
with love etc
krys
absolutely love how you covered almost every element and every emotion surrounding Christmas. I'm sorry that Christmas this year was a sombre one for you. hugs and much love.
reading this in the new year so, Happy New Year to you! <3