Of all the holy days of the liturgical calendar, none involves the senses more than Christmas. The sensory experiences of Christmas invoke feelings of kinship, generosity, camaraderie and nostalgia. The scents, sights, and sounds of Christmas don’t merely fill our homes, but infuse our hearts as well. The fragrances of spruce, fir and pine waft through our living rooms.
The savoury aromas of roasted meats and the sweet bouquets of cinnamon, nutmeg and peppermint fill our kitchens and dining rooms. Glimmering lights and glittery garlands delight our eyes and lift our spirits. Sidewalks and storefronts join the Christmas panorama.
Some contend that much of the sensory experiences of Christmas, especially when coup-led with its overcommercialisation, is a distraction from the “real meaning” of Christmas. We should focus on the Incarnation of Christ, who came to redeem us from sin, not to entertain us. The intensity of Christmas noise, they assert, is inversely proportionate to a genuine appreciation of the gift of eternal salvation, and might even detract from that gratitude.
I don’t deny the merit of some of these complaints. For many, especially retailers, restaurateurs and liquor manufacturers, Christmas is about nothing more than maximising profits. To the extent that this is the case, we should double our efforts to emphasise that our celebrations are made possible only by the red-emption wrought by Christ.
On the other hand, however, it is no accident that Christmas is the season most acutely associated with the stimulation of our corporeal perceptions. Our delight in things of the flesh is a celebration of the coming of God in the flesh. God coming down from heaven to become man validates the legitimacy of the stuff of earth. God taking on the form of a created body sanctifies creation, and blesses our celebration.
In Christmas, God affirms the goodness of fleshly delights and bodily pleasures. Yes, yes, the overwhelming message is that God became man so that man could become as God. But in the process God reminds us that the creation is good, and its delights are meant for our enjoyment.
Of course, auditory experiences are also forms of Christmas rituals, invoking similar moods as sights and scents. Traditional Christmas carols and hymns invoke the same sensations as other forms of corporeal stimulation. Who isn’t immediately transported to Christmas by the prologue to Handel’s Messiah or the rich tenor of the first words, “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people”? And what feelings of tranquillity and peace are created by the opening strains of “Stille Nacht”!
These and other traditional Christmas pieces contribute to the perennial joys of the season.
But perhaps my favourite Christmas music is a little known (and unjustly so) Christmas EP, as short albums are known: Christmas is Right Here, by American singer-songwriter Lori McKenna. Even apart from this lovely album of mostly original Christmas music, McKenna is known for her delicately-woven narrative songs about children, parents and place. She writes movingly about her father’s growing old, her mother’s tireless work and her love for her sister, as examples, in such albums as 1988, The Balladeer and The Bird & the Rifle, all of which I highly recommend.
I have a special affection for Christmas is Right Here, however, most particularly for two songs, both of which capture the essence of Christmas and engender that ineffable feeling that the holiday brings. “Christmas Without Crying” recounts a Christmas memory from a distant childhood. It’s snowing outside, and the family gathers around an old photo album recounting “the days of the wish book catalogue”, when “my mother’s in a polyester coat” and “I’m smiling so hard that my eyes are closed”.
Those happy reminders of the warm company of family are the quintessential expressions of the sweetness of Christmas memories. Thus: “You’ll be thinking about Grandpa / When you’re stringing up those lights / And that will be why / You can’t make it through Christmas without crying.”
“Any mall Santa Claus will take you right back / Or the church bazaar that your mother worked at,” intones the singer. Just a “little make believe to make the world make sense”. Thus, she concludes: “Even if you wouldn’t change one single thing about your life / It’s a matter of time / You can’t make it through Christmas without crying.” This is the bittersweet joy that couldn’t be known apart from the Incarnation of Christ who gives it all meaning.
The Mother of the Incarnate God is the subject of McKenna’s wonderful song, “Hail Mary”, a song that celebrates Our Lady’s fiat, despite the mystery and confusion.
Was it fear, was it dread
What was running through your head
When you said what you said
Yeah, were you crying?
Hail Mary, it’s the mother’s journey
You’ll be broken-hearted but you’ll do it anyway
Miracles don’t always take away the worry
Or the tears on your face for the price you pay
And in the final song from the album, “Grateful”, McKenna writes: “Mother Mary’s holding our her arms / I wish I could rush into them / Underneath her solemn look there’s a smile / Now that it’s Christmas time again.”
McKenna’s heaven-down-to-earth songs to the Blessed Virgin are the essence of Christmas. Once you listen, they will be a staple of your own Christmas celebrations too.
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