Fourth Day within the Octave of the Nativity of the Lord

Gospel: Mt 2:13 - 18

When I think of Christmas, like many of us, I think of preparation. The season reminds me of my grandparents. Growing up in a multigenerational home with my grandma Flora and grandpa Pedro, Christmas was about more than just tradition—it was about preparation for the sacred and familial connection. In our carport our family would build a large manger using Spanish moss and palm trees to make the scene as lifelike as possible. The altar was alive with colors, decorated with crafts from my cousins and me—pine cone trees with faux snow, clay stars, and glittering ornaments (maybe a lego or dinosaur). Among the figurines of the Holy Family, one figure was always missing until Christmas Eve: the Christ Child.  

Christmas Through Generations  

My grandparents were born in the 1920s in a small ranch in San Luis Potosí, Mexico. Their lives were steeped in faith; they were deeply Catholic, and their connection to the Church shaped much of their daily rhythm. My grandma wore a rebozo to Mass every Sunday, and they faithfully attended the 8 a.m. Spanish service. Their journey, however, was one of both rootedness and adaptation.  

As an immigrant family that came to the United States in the late 1960s, obtaining legal status and eventually becoming U.S. citizens well into their 80s. I think about what it must have been like for them, leaving their home in Mexico, leaving behind traditions they had known, and adapting to a new life in another country. I wonder how their Christmases looked as children—whether their manger scenes were built with humble figurines, or if they sang the same posada songs.

Like many people around the world, they had to change and shape their own traditions, blending the old with the new. I imagine their first Christmases in the U.S., far from their birthplace but holding tightly to their faith, using it as a thread to connect them to home. And yet, they continued to create spaces of joy, resilience, and devotion for their children and grandchildren.  

Preparation and Celebration  

Christmas Eve in our home was a grand production. My grandma, with the help of many, would sweep and mop the floors, thaw the tamales, and make hot chocolate among other dishes. Grandpa would gather chairs, benches, or old rugs for us kids to sit on during the festivities. The house was alive with movement and purpose.  

The preparations didn’t belong to my grandparents alone. Many family members would come in and out of our home, lending a hand wherever they could. Aunts and uncles would arrive early to help decorate, and prepare the food for the posada. Neighbors and friends dropped by, carrying trays of cookies or offering to lend extra chairs. The act of getting ready for Christmas Eve wasn’t just a family affair—it was a community one, filled with warmth, chatter, and the shared excitement of the season.  

Our posada was the heart of the celebration, often with more than 40 people packed into the house/carport. Someone would prepare trays of peanuts, oranges, and candy for when the time came to kiss the baby Jesus figurine. My aunt Nelly typed out song sheets for us to sing. We kids always had roles and costumes to play in the reenactment of Mary and Joseph's search for shelter, and once the prayers began, my grandma Flora would lead the rosary. She set the pace—not just with her words but with her actions. Her prayers were swift, steady, and unrelenting, and keeping up with her was a challenge. Yet, in that rhythm, she showed us what faith meant: commitment, devotion, and a steady resolve to hold fast to what matters.  

Christmas Without Her  

In 2021, I spent my first Christmas without my grandmother. That year, I didn’t know how to prepare, let alone celebrate. The loss of her left a void that no amount of tradition could fill. My husband and I ended up spending Christmas Eve at a local bar due to familial strife. It was a quiet, reflective night, shared with a few friends in similar situations. It was nothing like the Christmas Eves I’d known growing up, filled with the laughter of family, the warmth of prayer, and the hustle of preparation.  

Sitting there, I realized just how much of Christmas had always been held together by my grandmother. She didn’t just prepare for the celebration—she set the pace for it. Her swift prayers, her steady resolve, and her unshakable faith had been the heartbeat of every Christmas Eve I had ever known. Without her, the rhythm felt off, the preparation incomplete.  

Complexities in Family Traditions  

As a child, I didn’t understand why certain family members—like some uncles or cousins—wouldn’t be present at these gatherings. It wasn’t until I grew older that I began to notice and question the exclusions. Traditions, while comforting to some, can also be oppressive. In my family, the message was clear: while all were welcome on the surface, there were unspoken rules about who was truly included. Gay family members, for instance, were sometimes present, but their partners were not invited. The warmth and joy of the celebration always seemed to carry a shadow of exclusion, one that I only fully grasped as an adult.  

These realizations have shaped how I view the traditions handed down to me. On one hand, they represent love, faith, and connection to the divine. On the other, they serve as a reminder of how tradition can sometimes be wielded in ways that hurt and alienate.  

Carving a Path Forward  

Over the years, as my grandparents aged, these celebrations began to change. After my grandfather passed, Christmas Eve moved to the homes of my aunts and uncles. My grandma, however, was the constant presence, leading the prayers and ensuring that the traditions remained intact.  

Now, without her, it is up to us to take the reins of tradition. But as an adult, I’ve also come to understand the complexities of familial dynamics. In the Holy Family’s journey in Matthew 2:13-18 their Christmas was marked by uncertainty, displacement, and strife as they fled to Egypt to protect Christ the Child.  

The story of the Holy Family mirrors the realities we see today—in Gaza, where families are being displaced from their homes amidst unimaginable suffering, and in our own backyards, where immigrant families are forcefully detained and separated. The fear, uncertainty, and grief that marked Mary and Joseph’s flight to Egypt resonate deeply with the experiences of those who are forcibly unhomed today. In the face of violence and systemic exclusion, the sacred story of Christ’s birth challenges us to see the humanity in those who are displaced, to make room in the "inn" of our own lives, and to advocate on behalf of our neighbors, friends, and welcome the stranger.

Embracing the Sacred  

Last Christmas taught me that preparation and celebration do not have to look one way. Sometimes, it means sitting in a bar, reflecting on the memories and the people who shaped me. As I reflect on my grandmother’s legacy, I return to the image of her setting the pace. In her swift, steady prayers, she taught me how to move forward with intention and faith. 

This year, I’m still figuring it out. I hope to bridge the gap between the past and the present. While the rosary prayers of my grandmother may not echo in my home this Christmas eve, I can still bring Christ into my celebrations. I can commit to building a more inclusive table.

Karina Varela is a CTA Vision Council Member and a Re/Gen alum.