Christmas

If you sell poinsettias, Christmas is a joyous and busy time.

My father sold poinsettias, and then he didn’t.

When I was a young boy, he sold them and, apparently, made an adequate living doing so.  Christmas was joyous, as it should be.  It is the birthday of Jesus.

“Uncles” would come to help my father at the greenhouse.

On Christmas Eve, after midnight mass, Mom, Dad, and Charlie, a family friend, would celebrate with a French meat pie.

Christmas was a joyous occasion, as it should be.

Oh, that I could have remained a child forever!

When I was about fourteen, Christmas lost a lot of its joy.

It was still Jesus’ birthday.  The priest at mass still told the stories of Mary and Joseph and no room at the inn.

We learned not about all the things Jesus had, but all the things he didn’t have, like a decent bed to be born in.   Jesus, like us, was poor, and in 1963 at Christmas, that came as a great relief.

One night, the boiler broke.  The crop froze in the greenhouses.  Dad was never the same.  Bad luck and bad business left my father in a terrible state.  There was no longer a French pie.

Several days before Christmas, my mother, father, sister, and I gathered in our kitchen.  Mom and Dad, smoking as always, were anticipating the holiday with dread.  Would there be presents?  Had the gas bill been paid, so mom could use the stove?  Would there even be a Christmas dinner?

There was a knock on the front door.  I answered it.  Standing there was a nun from Saint Anthony’s.  She had not taught me in school.  She dressed in a habit with a little steeple on her forehead.  She handed me packages filled with food, said “God bless you,” and went on her way.

Presented with the food, my mother appeared grateful with a weary sense of resignation.  My father cried.

Back when so many poinsettias were sold that “uncles” were needed to help deliver them all, my father was a pillar of the community and church.

Now, my father and our family were the recipients of charity.  We were relieved but ashamed.

My view of Christmas and my views of life, even my politics, are rooted in that experience of Mother Saint, whatever her name was, filling a hole in our lives at Christmas.  Christmas, I learned, was not about what was under the tree, but about what is missing in our lives, what the void is in our hearts and souls.

In 2005, I became the director of the Father McKenna Center at Saint Aloysius Church on the campus of Gonzaga College High School in Washington, DC.  The center was created to carry on the work of Horace B. McKenna, S.J., a saintly Jesuit known as Washington’s priest to the poor.

The holiday season, Thanksgiving, and Christmas are not good days for the homeless.  There aren’t many people on the streets. Stores are closed.  You can’t hang out at the library.  Being home for the holidays is a cold comfort to those with no homes.

During my tenure as director of the McKenna Center, we were open on Christmas Day.

The Jewish community in DC came to places like ours so that their Christian brothers and sisters could observe their high holy days.   The Catholic writer, Alice McDermott, who has a great devotion to the memory of Father McKenna, would come on Christmas Day with her son, a Gonzaga student.

On Christmas Day, coffee was available throughout the day.  Breakfast was not a bowl of cereal but a Christmas feast of bacon and eggs and all manner of festive food.  Roast beef might be served at lunch.  The Jewish folks brought gifts, and we at least tried to sing carols.

The men always told me that I should be home with my family.  I told them that I was with my family by being with them.

I loved being at the McKenna Center on Christmas Day.  Maybe I loved it the same way the Mother Saint, whatever her name was, loved delivering bags of groceries to those in need?  It gave special meaning to the story of Mary, Joseph, and little Jesus.  It provided a place at the inn for the poor, broken, lost, and left out.

When I think of spending Christmas Day at the McKenna Center, I feel a great sense of consolation and joy.  When I think of a Christmas without any immediate encounter with the poor, I get depressed.

This year, my heart and mind will be turned toward the crisis facing immigrants.  Somehow, we need to impress upon our fellow citizens that when Joseph and Mary took Jesus and fled to Egypt, they were refugees and immigrants.  Were they stopped at the border?  Were they hunted down and put face down on the pavement by men in masks?

Keeping the poor in our hearts and minds is how we keep Christ in Christmas.

Tom Howarth
Warren County, VA

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in the letters published on this page are solely those of the respective authors and do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the Royal Examiner’s editorial team, its affiliates, or advertisers. The Royal Examiner does not endorse or take responsibility for the accuracy, completeness, or validity of any statements made by the authors. The Royal Examiner has not independently verified the statements and claims presented in the letters. Readers are encouraged to exercise their own judgment and critical thinking skills when evaluating the content. Any reliance on the information in the letters is at the reader’s own risk.

While the Royal Examiner makes every effort to publish diverse opinions, it does not guarantee the publication of all received letters. The Royal Examiner reserves the right to edit letters for clarity, length, and adherence to editorial guidelines. Moreover, the Royal Examiner does not assume any liability for any loss or damage incurred by readers due to the content of the letters or any subsequent actions based on these opinions.

In submitting a letter to the editor, authors grant the newspaper the right to publish, edit, reproduce, or distribute the content in print, online, or in any other form.

We value the engagement of our readers and encourage open and constructive discussions on various topics. However, the Royal Examiner retains the right to reject any letter that contains offensive language, personal attacks, or violates any legal regulations. Thank you for being a part of our vibrant community of readers and contributors, and we look forward to receiving your diverse perspectives on matters of interest and importance.