Culture

The Christmas Crib of my Childhood

What is your first memory of a Christmas Crib?  Could it be the small crib you received from your catechism class?  Or maybe a larger crib that with great attention was put together and decorated at home?  Whatever your memory is, it surely centred around a crib with the Baby Jesus, Our Lady and St Joseph together with a cow and a donkey.  Dun Karm, Malta’s national poet, at the age of sixty, reminisced about this typical Maltese tradition in his poem Presepju ta’ tfuliti (The Christmas crib of my childhood).

However, Dun Karm does not stop at what he once experienced and remained imprinted on his mind, or for better words imprinted in his heart, while gazing at the Christmas crib of his childhood:

I felt my heart overflowing with happiness and joy,

           because I could swear that at that point in time

Jesus was there observing my gaze

           and through my eyes he understood what I had in my heart:

In this young child’s heart was the same desire that was in the heart of the Infant Jesus:

an admirable desire that this small crib

           remains imprinted on my mind for as long as I live.

And maybe this is the whole point of Christmas.  When confronting the problems and difficulties we experience, Christmas reminds us of our profound calling: to welcome Jesus—and others—as small children do.  Maybe we’re invited to go beyond our pride and beyond justifying ourselves, and, before this great mystery, remember this outpouring of love that once made the shepherds, Dun Karm and ourselves blush, to continually live it anew.

Shh, cover Him, so that Herod won’t find him!

In our parish, we have a tradition of covering the statue of the infant Jesus with a purple veil on the feast of the Holy Innocent, which is celebrated on 28 December. The veil is a square drape according to the liturgical colour and used for covering the chalice—a liturgical norm which vanished almost completely. The purple colour symbolises the sorrow for the lost lives of these babies. In fact, until 1961, the liturgical colour for this feast was purple, eventually substituted with the red of the martyrs, as is still customary today.

In spite of the fact that this tradition has been going on for some time now, people are curious and ask why the infant Jesus is covered. Of course, the answer reply is: “Well, so that Herod won’t find him.” Although some of the people are intrigued, others think that you’re taking them for a ride—and they’re not completely mistaken.

This symbolic gesture somewhat reminds me of the babies’ stages of development when, at first, they still haven’t acquired the ability to understand that an object still exists even though it cannot be seen. And that is why, when we’re playing with very young babies, we sometimes hide our face or some toy and start asking, “Where is it, eh? Where did he go?” and they start turning their eyes around. But when you uncover your face or show them the toy, they immediately smile and laugh.

Surely, Herod was well beyond this stage of development scientifically know as object permanence, so much so that he killed a lot of people, including some of his own children to eliminate any presumed threat to his power.

Ma nafx intix se tgħattih il-Bambin jew le. Wara kollox, kulma hi tradizzjoni mingħajr l-ebda tifsira teoloġika profonda. Imma jalla ma tgħattihx f’ħajtek lil Ġesù, mhux għax tibża’ li l-Erodijiet ta’ żmienna jsibuh, imma għax tittama li ma jarakx tgħix ħajtek kif jogħġob lilek u mhux kif jogħġob lilu.

This tradition may be judged as ridiculous or just sweet. But I think that, like Herod who never managed to see Jesus, we too tend to act like babies without any sense of object permanence—in this case the sense of permanence of Jesus … when we go out of church and return back to our normal life, as if nothing has happened … when we don’t allow our conscientious to be enlightened by the Gospel and end up justifies anything … when we stop at our fascination with the infant Jesus and avoid looking at an adult Jesus who is assertive, servant and crucified, as though the babe of Betlehem and the crucified hanging outside the walls of Jerusalem aren’t the one and the same Son of God who became man to redeem us.

I don’t know if you’re going to cover up the statue of the infant Jesus or not. After all, it is just a tradition without any profound theological meaning. But I do hope for you and me that we don’t cover Jesus in our life, not out of fear from the many Herods of our times, but because we hope that He doesn’t see us living your life according to our likes and not according to his will.

What does the word “Lapsi” mean?

In the Maltese language, the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord is referred to as Lapsi. We also have places in Malta that bear this same name. the use of this word shows the influence of the Eastern Church in the development of the history of the Christian faith in Malta. The word ‘Lapsi’ derives from the Greek ἀνάληψις (análēpsis), which at times is used to describe this feast in the Eastern Churches. The word literally means “to be taken up,” and thus evokes the mystery of the Son’s return at the bosom of the Father.

Thus word is used only once in the New Testament, when Luke starts his narrative of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem—which forms the core of Luke’s storyline—writes:

When the days drew near for him to be received up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.

Luke 9:51

Although using different terminology, this discourse about Jesus’ departure is also found in the last supper speeches passed on to us in John’s Gospel. Although the news of his departure causes distress to the disciples, when he appears to them risen and ascends into heaven, the disciples are filled with joy:

Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and lifting up his hands he blessed them. While he blessed them, he parted from them, and was carried up into heaven. And they returned to Jerusalem with great joy, and were continually in the temple blessing God. Luke 24:50-53

Therefore, it comes to no surprise that this is one of the traditional Maltese feasts which ended with a picnic by the sea and possible even a first swim. And Saint Leo the Great, in one of his sermons for this feast, explains the reason for rejoicing on this day because, not only Christ, but also our humanity was ‘taken up’:

And truly great and unspeakable was their cause for joy, when in the sight of the holy multitude, above the dignity of all heavenly creatures, the nature of mankind went up, to pass above the angels’ ranks and to rise beyond the archangels’ heights, and to have its uplifting limited by no elevation until, received to sit with the Eternal Father, it should be associated on the throne with his glory, to whose nature it was united in the Son.

Saint Leo the Great, Sermo de Ascensione, 2-4 (PL 54.395-396)