Daylight had not yet faded from the December sky as we made our way to the village church for the Christmas Eve service. It was an annual ritual, but that year the hilarity of the little band of brothers and sisters sprang from more than just anticipation of Christmas morning. Yes, that year we had been cast as actors in the pageant. Shepherds and wise men had been found among us, and we had turned with enthusiasm to preparing our costumes– shepherd staffs were gleaned from the saplings behind the barn, and, rummaging through the old clothes in our closets, our mother had found raiment for kings. So we looked the part of shepherds and magi as we moved along the street.
Most notably, however, the youngest child in our household, born in November, was to be the baby Jesus. And his sister– barely old enough herself to be trusted with holding the child– was given the role of his mother Mary.
With hands and faces scrubbed unusually clean that evening, we went early enough to make the obligatory visits to the homes of relatives before going on to the church. At our uncle’s store, within sight of the church, we met our parents who had brought the baby Jesus and Mary by car.
Next door we visited grandmother who greeted us with pretended surprise at our costumes and gave each child a small token gift. In her home we found some of our uncles and cousins who then joined us in the last part of our journey to the church.
The pageant was performed with no more than the usual hesitations and amusing lapses of memory. And the baby Jesus didn’t cry at all, even though some of us had feared he might. Our father sang in the choir, and the music was glorious. The war had recently ended, and the words “peace on earth” in the carols were sung with much conviction that Christmas. After the service, we returned home tired and sleepy, and very pleased with ourselves.
The days leading up to it had seemed interminable, but Christmas morning did come at last. And the first child to sense the coming of day awoke the house. The fire in the iron heater was revived, and quickly we fell upon the bounty that had appeared in the room overnight. It lay beneath the cedar tree brought two weeks earlier from the pasture and decorated in the living room. Among other items sat brown paper bags, each holding candy, an apple, and an orange. And on each bag from Santa, a name and a holiday greeting were inscribed in our mother’s unmistakable hand.
Tags: pageant, rural life, yuletide celebrations
