A Real Silent Night

The candles burn low, their sweet smell mingling with the scent of baking fish, simmering cabbage, and baking sweets. As my family waits for the first star, the beginning of a real 'silent night' is taking place.

As a child, I was shocked to discover that most Americans, contrary to the suggestion of the Church and the traditions around the world, really didn't celebrate Christmas Eve. I think I've grown up -- and continue to have -- a Christmas Eve experience that would have made Jesus himself smile -- and so as a gift to my friends, I write about it here for you.

It begins with a lot of work -- my mother cooks and bakes for about two days. The Polish Christmas-Eve vigil includes twelve meatless dishes symbolizing the twelve disciples. Fish is served in various guises along with other traditional fare. Hay is placed beneath the tablecloth to symbolize the manger (a hangover from an older pagan tradition,) and an extra plate is set for the "wayward traveler."

Throughout the day and as preparations continue, the mood in our home is bittersweet. Looking up at the clock, my parents can't hide their melancholy when they see the clock strike the time of their vigil meals back home. We can't help but feel that we are participating in a global event, celebrating with our families overseas, as well as the souls of the departed. (In fact, every year we have strange occurrences which we have since chalked up to our late grandparents coming in to check up on us! ;)

When the first star is visible (on clear nights) we begin the vigil with a prayer, followed by the exchange of blessed wafers. Wafers arrive by mail from family and friends from around the world, with wishes attached. As each family member breaks off a piece of the other's wafers, heartfelt wishes are exchanged.

In our family, the meal begins with a red borsch, a tangy yet sparse dish which my mother makes exceedingly well. We partake of all of the dishes at the table, followed by traditional deserts -- poppy-seed pudding, Piernik cake, and a very healthy serving of wine. The meal is simple, delicate, yet very satisfying.

After the meal, carols are sung and presents exchanged. Simple time is spent with family, away from the television, until people drift off to sleep. Sometime around 10:30 or 11pm, everyone is roused and we go to attend a midnight mass together. In recent years, we've made the trek to St. John Cantius in downtown Chicago. It is a glorious old Church where the majesty of the body of Christ and his Ancient Church can be fully felt. Between the pomp and circumstance, the glorious music, the depth of the Latin Mass, and a full and devoted congregation, it is the perfect way to cap an already magical evening. Sitting in St. John's, it's easy to forget that you live in the 21st century.

For me, our Christmas "Wigilia" is a mercifully traditional and ancient exchange of tradition, as well as an event that I look forward to throughout the year. For most Poles, it is the evening on which the entire year turns. I can't help but think that such a tradition has all the mood and reverence that Christmas Eve -- the evening which commemorates the birth of Christ -- truly deserves.

I wish you all a blessed Christmas season, spent with those most important to you. Most of all, I wish you all a true, reverent, and SILENT night.