Scottish Catholic Observer

This will be your busy time, Father. People say that to me out of badness because they know how much it annoys me. Yes, it is a busy time but priests are not like Santa, mostly redundant throughout the year. It is true, however, that more demands are made of a priest’s time than usual, and these are not just sacramental commitments like Masses or confessions. There are school activities, nursing homes and housebound parishioners to visit, even the odd senior citizens’ Christmas dinner to attend. And then there’s the challenge of fitting in your own material preparations for Christmas, both as a parish priest, heading off to the cash & carry for little thank you gifts for parish workers, and as an individual, with your own family and friends to shop for.

That said, the commercial and secular side of Christmas simply has to take a back seat for me. And that means hanging on to the last week of Advent. It has really struck me that, elsewhere, Christmas seems to have begun very early this year. I know this will make me sound ancient— and a total geek – but, as a wee boy, I used to feel a frisson of excitement whenever the BBC launched its festive idents (the bits between programmes with the corporation logo on them). This was always a few days before Christmas, the television equivalent of the ‘O’ Antiphons.

This year the Christmas idents started on December 1. It all seems a little premature if you ask me: as though extending the reach of Christmas will make us all happier somehow. I doubt this is the end result. I reckon an over-stretched Christmas and a muted (or wholly absent) Advent is a recipe for a massive anti-climax. One of the best bits of this time of year is, believe it or not, the marked increase in confessional traffic. As well as the parish confession times, our Deanery hosts two days of ‘All Day Confessions’ serviced by teams of local priests. The hours spent in the box seem to whizz by—especially if you happen to be on duty at ‘peak penitence’ times.

With all the running around that goes on, there are always risks to be negotiated. For me, a personal priority about this time is avoiding one annual visitor in particular: the Christmas cold. Over the years I have noticed that December 23 usually heralds the arrival of a sniffle which, over the next 24 hours, develops into full-blown influenza sacerdotalis (‘priest flu’). This results in my voice, often described by parishioners as ‘crushed polyester,’ taking on a menacing, rasping tone. Then there’s the wheeze and the streaming nose, so that my shiny hooter could give Rudolph a ‘run’ for his money. Still, the kids think it’s great that Fr John gets into the spirit of the season so unreservedly.

The end of the school term is often a bit of a blur. On Monday of this week, we had a couple of services in the high school to try to ensure that the ‘true meaning’ of Christmas doesn’t get lost in the midst of all the other busyness of these days. On the last day of term, we had the children from St Joseph’s Primary, fresh from their triumph in Lights! Camel! Action! to place the figures in the crib in the Church.

Following on from my comment on last week’s Nativity play, this is a tremendous way to ensure that the children are kept familiar with the ‘unadorned’ story of the Gospels. It’s also a lovely ending to the term, allowing parents, grandparents and carers to hear the children singing a variety of carols in bright, clear voices.

Christmas falls on a Sunday this year, which means that the usual pattern of feasts during the Octave is a little compressed. In St Joseph’s we will have a Vigil Mass at the same time as the regular Saturday evening Mass, 5pm. Then we will have a Carol service by candle-light at 8.30pm before the Night Mass at 9pm. I think it’s been quite a few years since there was a Midnight Mass in this parish.

I imagine that, like many Churches, a strategic decision was made to move the Mass forward so as to avoid the temptation for some casual worshippers to wet the baby Jesus’ head on his birthday and then saunter down the aisle in an advanced state of refreshment. I have heard extreme tales of unwise men trying to bed down in the crib, but personally I have witnessed nothing more dramatic than one chap who made an approximation of the responses, loudly, and with a slight time lag from the rest of the congregation.

One aspect of Christmas which prompts a little guilt is the whole issue of cards. I have not sent Christmas cards since 2012: the reason being I lost my address book in a flitting in 2013 and the bulk of people I would normally send cards to were in that. I’d hate to send cards to the handful of addresses I could retrieve from memory and leave the rest wondering if I’d gone in the huff with them or something. Me, huffy? If anyone even suggested that to me I’d never speak to them again.

I can, however, use this column to send my very best wishes to the good people of St Joseph’s in Clarkston, St Margaret’s in Johnstone, the Cathedral in Paisley— and of course the staunch Burghers of Bow, who put up with a lot. One of the poignant things about my now-lost address book was the marginal entries I would make whenever there was a bereavement in that household. I noted the name and appended an ‘RIP’ beside it. It was quite a sombre exercise, writing out those cards: recalling the names and faces of good people who have crossed one’s path is a form of prayer—or so I would like to think. I am always acutely aware that Christmas is not always a happy time for lots of families, especially those facing the prospect of a first Christmas without a loved one by their side or at their table.

The year of ‘firsts without’— those occasions such as birthdays, anniversaries, even holidays—after the death of a family member or friend is a hard journey indeed. Through contacts in previous parishes, I have heard of the passing of some wonderful people over the course of the year, to say nothing of those who have died in this corner of the Lord’s vineyard. Suffice to say, they and their loved ones will have a very special remembrance in my Christmas Masses in the days ahead.

Although I am usually celebrating the first Mass of Christmas at the time, I try to record the Service of Nine Lessons and Carols from King’s College, Cambridge. I particularly love the introduction to the service, which, in its entirety, beautifully encapsulates the mystery of Christmas. Perhaps loveliest of all, is the final facet of this liturgical prologue:

Lastly let us remember before God all those who rejoice with us, but upon another shore and in a greater light, that multitude which no man can number, whose hope was in the Word made flesh, and with whom we for evermore are one.

May this Holy Season join us ever more fully to that Word made flesh, and with those whose hope was in him, ‘full of grace and truth’ (John 1:14).

PHOTO: Gareth Harper/unsplash.com

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