Family Traditions, New & Old: Imagine that Holy Night | a Virtual Pilgrimage for Advent & Christmas

Drawing on a family Advent tradition and Ignatian prayer, Erin invites us to imagine the holy night of Jesus’ birth by entering the nativity scene with our senses, memories, and hearts.

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Transcript

A family tradition that I carried forward from my youth during Advent is setting up a crèche, or nativity scene. My mother set up her crèche atop the family piano, and I do the same.

Now, Saint Ignatius taught us the concept of composition of place when we pray — that is, using all of our senses to enter into a scene, or a Bible story, or an encounter with Christ. I will paint the picture of setting up our family crèche and invite you to contemplate the sights, sounds, smells, feelings, and invitations that are evoked by this holy scene.

First, there is a green velvet cloth to represent the blessing of the lush land. Then a flowy dark blue cloth is draped above and behind to depict the glory of the vast night sky. A crystal star is affixed in the sky — a sign from God to remind us that he is guiding us to his Son and to himself.

Then comes the stable — a simple dark wood structure built by my grandfather. This is our humble abode. There is a light to affix in the eaves and a cord to thread. We plug it in to ensure it’s working and recall that while we can illuminate the scene, there were no lights on that holy night — perhaps only the glow and scent of an oil lamp or two.

Next, a small winged angel with a horn is hung inside, and at the ceiling peak she hovers over the Holy Family, ready to proclaim the arrival of our Savior and the glory of God. There are statues of animals — a cow, a donkey, and lambs — representing all of God’s beloved creatures.

There are shepherds symbolizing the poor and marginalized: one with hat in hand, bowing in reverence; another kneeling and leaning in to draw near. There are children to exemplify us — all of God’s people — and angels to announce the good news. Their songs will fill the heavens.

Joseph stands lovingly with an armful of fruit, offering a piece to Mary, surely hungry after a long journey and the labor of birth. A young Mary is kneeling, arms outstretched. She appears gentle, loving, faithful. Perhaps there is anticipation in her expression.

There are statues of three kings with colorful robes placed nearby — two standing, one kneeling — each extending a gift in humble adoration. A camel laden with travel bags accompanies them.

As a family, we wait until the night of Christmas Eve to place the baby Jesus into the scene. During Advent, I visit the scene. I recall the heavenly messengers that visited Mary and Joseph, who offered a few pieces of information and, in so doing, instilled their trust in God and in each other. I marvel at this. I ponder the pregnant Mary traveling — unimaginable — not knowing where she might stay or exactly where she was going, and yet confident in God’s plan.

Imagine walking with her — what she might say.

She inspires me. On Christmas Eve, after Midnight Mass, it’s time for Jesus to enter the scene. My husband and two sons gather. We light a candle, and my wonderful husband leads us in song: Silent Night. My children remember this time as one of the most reverent occasions of family prayer at home.

The little Jesus figure is haloed, wrapped in swaddling clothes, and laying in a tiny manger. For many years, Jesus was placed in the scene between Mary and Joseph, gazing out at us. However, when my son Teddy was about five or six, he had the honor of placing Jesus in the crèche. He set the baby Jesus in position so that he was looking at his mother, Mary.

This was an unexpected change to our years-long tradition. The perspective of young Teddy was that the baby Jesus would be looking at his mom — just like all babies look at their moms. My heart melted. Our children can be great teachers. The humanity of Jesus revealed.

Mary cradled him and nursed him. He looked to his parents as caregivers and teachers. Each year, we now place Jesus looking at his mom, recognizing that in time he will turn his gaze to us. But for now, on the day of his birth, he looks to the love of his mother — just as he did on the day of his death, giving his life for us.

We come full circle, basking in his love and grace.

I invite you to take some time in prayer to imagine this tender holy scene — the infant Jesus: the sights, the sounds, the smells, the feelings, the invitation. What strikes you? Might you imagine yourself there? And then what?