All in the family: claiming Jesus as one of our own

“The Christian religion asks us to put our trust not in ideas, and certainly not in ideologies, but in a God Who was vulnerable enough to become human and die, and Who desires to be present to us in our ordinary circumstances.” ~ Kathleen Norris

Our Lady of Africa

Images of the Virgin Mary throughout the world often reflect the physical characteristics of a certain race, ethnicity or culture. Much in the same way, I love the way that nativity sets from various regions or countries take on the physical attributes, clothing, and style of specific groups of people.

By giving the holy family our personal ethnicity, we claim them as one of our own, make them a part of our family. And in a very real way, we bring to life the mystery and wonder of the word ''Incarnation.”

As I wrote in an earlier post, my Cuban grandfather Alipio understood this truth as he built el nacimiento each year with a particular Caribbean flavor!

Our family's first nativity set was a generous gift from Michael's parents for our first Christmas. Not long after, one of our close friends in San Antonio, a Marianist priest who led a yearly archeological study tour to Israel, brought us back an olive wood nativity from Bethlehem. 

Over the past couple of decades, I have enjoyed collecting nativity sets from countries that we’ve traveled to, and thanks to Ten Thousand Villages, a few from countries I may never visit—like Bangladesh and Nepal.

As I set each nativity around our house for Christmas, I am reminded of our small “c” catholic (universal) Catholic faith.  We are, indeed, one in Him—the “infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger,” our Savior, Christ the Lord.

This reality is often difficult to conceive (pardon the pun). In God’s infinite love for each of us, for me, the Creator of life became a seven pound human bqby, one like us, in every way but sin. 

We have much reason to rejoice and celebrate!

Our Lady of China

This will be my final written blog post for 2012. But for the next week, I will post pictures from around our home of some of my favorite nativity sets, including what country they are from.

Thank you for walking “Day by Day” with me! 

May peace reign in your homes this Christmas season, and may Jesus be born again in your heart. 

Nuns, parte una

I recently worked on a book project that invited me to reflect about my personal experiences with nuns and sisters. The book (with my contribution!) will be published in 2013... and, of course, I will be delighted to keep you posted about the details.

I arrived in Puerto Rico as a 3-year-old Cuban refugee. I have no memories of my first years in Cuba. But the only thing as important to my parents as passing on the Catholic faith was making sure that my brother Ignacio and I grew up knowing what it meant to  BE Cuban, so my life was filled with Cuban history classes, learning Cuban traditional dancing, and naturally, regular get-togethers with other Cuban refugees displaced and resettled in Puerto Rico.

Many of my early memories involve visiting the convents and monasteries all over the island where my mother’s friends had been relocated. These hermanitas had not only taught alongside my mom, they had known María de Jesús her entire life—and loved to entertain me with funny and unknown stories about my mom while I feasted on their candy.

My daily life as a small child in the 60s and an emerging teenager in the 70s was immersed and surrounded by all things Catholic in this utterly Hispanic culture. People, places, and things all bore the names of popular local saints or la Virgencita. San Germán. San Juan. Santa Isabel. Escuela Las Marías. Urbanización San Patricio. Repostería San Miguel. Music, traditions, art, was seasoned by religion and religious figures.

Heavily influenced by Spain, we had days off school for holy days I never understood and for saints I never heard of. At sunset on the eve of the feast of San Juan, the city of its name sake shuts down—and everyone heads down to a beach for the ritual of falling backwards in the ocean twelve times, a tradition that is said to cleanse the body from sin and to give good luck for the following year.

I attended my first live concert in the San Juan studio of Telemundo with my cousin Gloria, where we joined the flock of swooning girls to listen and watch heartthrob Raphael–a Spaniard version of icon Tom Jones, twist and shake to the tune, “Tu Cuerpo, mi Refugio y mi Rincón,“ your body, my refuge and my home—followed by his hit ballad, “Le Llaman Jesús,” they call him Jesus. From my live-in grandmother Josefita, I learned by observing that Jones was indecente, but Raphael got a free pass because of his songs articulating the Catholic faith.

PRICELESS:

Tom Jones & Raphael sing a bi-lingual version of Ghostriders In The Sky (1970)

[Continued tomorrow: Nuns parte dos]