EVERY NIGHT from now to Christmas Eve the families of Mexico visit each other on “posadas”, processions from one house to the other, the children dressed as Mary and Joseph. Old carols are sung from those inside and those out until the climax, the breaking of the ‘pinata’, a bright coloured hanging bauble with seven points.
The Spanish missionaries adapted a native tradition to entice the locals: the seven points to represent the seven deadly sins, and the bauble itself Satan. The objective for blindfolded children to hit the piρatas with sticks until the Devil is vanquished with the reward of sweets tumbling from the broken bauble to the floor.
Like many Christmas customs the roots lie far further back than Christianity. Kissing under mistletoe is attributed to Norse mythology where enemies meeting by chance beneath it would lay down their arms in truce until the next day. Considered an aphrodisiac, Celts developed the tradition over the winter solstice to hang it above doorways so young men could steal a kiss.
That is what so wonderful about Christmas its inclusivity of our all histories and traditions. For despite Calvin and his Puritanism objecting to the old English custom of decorating houses with evergreen shrubs and pagan laurel wreaths over winter months, to please her beloved Albert Queen Victoria reintroduced the Christmas tree into British culture.
Which is why, we went down the High Street today and bought our tree from renewable forests, and found the box in the attic with the tangled lights from last year and got excited to trim it with the eclectic mix of decorations collected and passed from parent to child.
Tonight in a Surrey silenced by unaccustomed deep snow and freezing temperatures we will walk to the church not only in celebration of Christmas, but older times as well when holly and ivy were used in the Roman feast of Saturnalia, and sing carols in front of an altar adorned with evergreen and a tinsel covered tree.
For, what I like about Christmas is not the commercialism and piped musak of the malls, nor necessarily the religious message, but the traditions that link us to the past: all our pasts. The ability to assimilate and include, to mix and match, so that we end up with a folk memory of tales and traditions tailored to individual families and communities, reminding us that the real message of Christmas is memory: remembering real wealth lies in sharing song and food and friendship.
As I drove through a Mexican slum on my way to the airport, street boys were whacking a piρata ahead of its time, but as it broke and spilled its candy contents across the pavement they gathered them in their hands and gave them to their little brothers, which reminded me that although many of us may indulge in our deadly sins this season of gluttony and greed the greatest pleasure still at Christmas is to give.
