Religious traditions are many, especially when these are adapted to each culture. If we did a list, we could be half day listing them; but one of the best known and entrenched, no matter what country it is, is Midnight Mass, by its direct relationship with the birth of Jesus.
Where does the name come from? The assumptions are varied. The most widely accepted is that the rooster began at midnight and in turn the beginning of a new day, and Pope Sixtus III established in the V century hold a vigil Mass at midnight on the birth of Jesus; we unite both premises and we have a hypothesis. Another indicates that the first animal to see Jesus birth was the rooster and his singing woke the other barnyard buddies to give the good news.
Pseudo-theology classes aside, the midnight mass is a reality that the same can be very close to us to be an event beyond our life completely. Some arrive at December 24 in many different ways; are the typical Christmas, with Mr. obese in a red dress lurking from our fireplace (does anyone have fireplaces in Cuba?). Other, more distant from the westernized culture where the birth of the Messiah serves to boost sales, come to the church through a Catholic bride no better plan for Christmas Eve Mass that comes up. There are the believers of a lifetime, and not so much, preferring the folklore of a different night amid such boredom. But when you’re a regular at a Catholic church, the faces are repeated on that special night: the same old, couples always, the mother and daughter, the homosexual who delayed hi coming out the closet for many years and is supported by the church to withstand the criticism of a sexist society, the lonely because of emigration, which lead to sex in the blood (not call them whores) and despite all the stigmas that people try putting on them, feel comfortable to hear the voice of the priest.
Once seated in the church, with the reassurance that a temple transmits and how special occasion, the Mass becomes something different, and has nothing to do with the sermon each Sunday with the dream of the morning, depending on the quality of the speaker, makes us fall asleep like old fishermen. I belong to the group of guys from the catechesis, without knowing the reason and without having much faith, like to sit on Christmas Eve to hear something different.
The mass sometimes begins with a skit, a representation that can reference the birth of Jesus or the Christmas spirit, so well drawn by Dickens in A Christmas Carol. Others begin with the singing of children and adults, a direct transfer of beliefs. Is there a difference between foster son after winning run seeking approval of father and child singing something along his friends and then hugging mother full of happiness for their good performance? We all know the answer, and it is better to be silent, never forget that we live in a macho society.
At first reading, sometimes boring, sometimes on the spot, depending on how we feel, the Mass is set on a plateau reflection, tranquility and study. What do people think of what acolytes read? Do really listen or just pretend as dialogue with God or whatever you move your inner world? No matter, the liturgy is not a hypodermic injection, not a proselytizing attempt to conquer masses but threads of which one clings to think.
Not all priests are good speakers; There are elders that to listen to them becomes the worst torture of life, but in turn exude so much goodness and sweetness that it is impossible to hate them; others experience and rebellion has turned them into excellent preachers that combine the country’s policy with the life of Christ without much trouble; there are also young people who still manage to escape the theological academy and repeated without much charisma learned over years of seminary.
Then comes one of the most chaotic moments of the Mass, at least on December 24, when “in a row that no one drive, commune Moors, Christians and heretics” and the body of Jesus, in the form of flour cooked without much care, reaches the mouth of the righteous and sinners. Curiosity, inner peace, searching for something unknown, who cares? If religion has historically spearheaded many atrocities, why cannot it be a source of happiness of a few?
The possible end of the Mass can be either dissimilar. Placing the baby Jesus in the birth, a collective singing among all those present, a fraternal embrace driven by the priest kiss the feet of the statue of the child, not very important what is whether the overall feeling is of satisfaction. Make no mistake, the next day the world can continue just as fucked up, sure it is, but that’s no reason why we are ruining a night of tranquility. Christ drove out the merchants and these became rich with his birth; we expel our demons and then they dominate us the rest of the year. It is the cycle of life.
