🎄🪆Christmas in Old Russia🪆🎄

By Catherine de Hueck Doherty, My Russian Yesterdays, Madonna House Publications, used with permission

Catherine was brought up in Russia and had many fond memories of her life there….a life that reflected simplicity, family, religion. After fleeing Russia during the Communist Revolution, she eventually came into the Catholic Church. Catherine prayed much that her motherland would be freed from Communist rule so that people could once again openly practice their faith.

We can learn much from the old Russian ways of integrating our faith into every aspect of our lives so that when our children are grown, they will hang onto these precious values…

🎄🪆Christmas in Old Russia🪆🎄

The shops and emporiums of Chicago’s State Street were dazzling in their array of lights and decorations. The crowds, dense and compact, seemed to be just milling around, content in savoring these early signs of their first postwar Christmas.

Above the din and noise of traffic rose the traditional songs and hymns of the season. Feeling tired, both from shopping and from the crowds, I found a table in a quiet restaurant and was drinking a refreshing cup of tea. Then, suddenly, as has happened so often recently, the moment merged into my yesterdays.

Christmas in Russia was the beginning and the end. It was the end of waiting, and the beginning of a new year, for the liturgical cycle was part of the fabric of our living. The starting of expectation…of the coming of the Lord…the beginning of preparation.

My mother used to say that the days of Advent were the days of building a golden stairway that would bring us to a star, the star of Bethlehem, that in turn would bring us straight to the Christ Child!  To my youth that stairway was real. Each day I could see and touch each step of it, as it was being built.

The first steps were made of cleanliness. We began cleaning from inside out. First there was the Advent fast, to clean the soul of all past faults and sins, to make penance for them, to wash it with tears, and the heart with contrition.

Again, as in Lent, meat, milk, and all food made out of milk, eggs, or sugar disappeared from the family table, to be replaced with fish, vegetables, and honey. The Church again became the focal point of our daily lives, and Church services dominated the day. But there was a difference.

In Lent the Russian women donned dark garments, took off their jewelry, and allowed no music in the house for the forty, sad, cruel days of the Lord’s Passion. Not so though Advent.

On the contrary, there was talk of new joyful clothing, there was a flurry of buying materials and of sewing. There was much music in the air, and the practicing of hymns and songs to be sung on the Holy Night. Even the fast itself was one of joyous expectation.

Masses, Communions, confessions, and evening services in the church followed one another closely through the days. Christmas cleaning and scrubbing went on feverishly all about the house, with everyone humming snatches from ageless tunes.

First to be cleaned and polished were the ikons, which shone and became alive under the flickering shadows of the vigil lights—red and blue and green. To my childish eyes they were the forerunners of the lovely candles on the Christmas tree.

From the kitchen came strange spicy scents that could be smelled only at this time of the year. For a variety of cakes and cookies were being baked especially for Christmas.

There were, for instance, the gingerbreads, different in taste and shape from any other gingerbreads I have ever eaten. Some were cut in the shape of the Lamb, for wasn’t Christ the Lamb of God? Others were made into big stars, for the Star of Bethlehem, and for Mary, God’s Mother, the Star of the land and the sea.

My favorite was made in the shape of a Child in swaddling clothes… Then, of course, there was the Christmas cake. Don’t ask me what went into it. I could not remember. But what added to the anticipation of cutting and eating it were the little scrolls of paper that went into it—right into the batter, the dough of it.

On each piece of paper would be written the virtue one would have to practice through the coming year, for, definitely, one had to give the Infant Jesus a present, too, and everyone knows that all and each of the virtues were His most favored presents.

Interesting and fascinating as all the goodies cooked in the kitchen were, St. Nick topped them all. He was a mammoth gingerbread, all decked out with pink, green, and white decorations. Sometimes he was as big as a real baby.

Everyone knows, of course, about St. Nicholas. For wasn’t he commissioned by the Christ Child Himself and His darling mother and His good foster father, to come down to earth every Christmas, unto the end of time, to tell the children of all the world the story of the Holy Night, and to bring them gifts of the Holy Three—Faith, Hope, and Charity—and such other gifts as they in their littleness and simplicity desired, and had asked of the Holy Baby?

Only one St. Nick was baked in any household…for you had to be very good all through the year to get St. Nick. You worked hard for him all through the year. Yes siree, you certainly did! You had to be the best child in the family, the most deserving, to get St. Nick.

All though these weeks of preparation, like a conductor leading his orchestra, Father gathered the family, the servants included, nightly around the Advent wreath, and slowly, reverently read the Epistles and Gospels of the day weaving the old and the new, the end and the beginning, the Old Law and the New, into a chain of meditations and prayers that would hold all of us together for the rest of our mortal lives.

During the first week in Advent, one candle burned in the Advent wreath. Another was lighted as each week passed, until all four were glowing.

And then Christmas Eve! Starting with Church, continuing with a rigid fast that lasted until the first star! The grownups, behind closed doors, decorating the tree, making ready the gifts. The children huddling in corners and whispering in a fever of mounting excitement.

At long last the meager supper was over, and the last intolerable hours of waiting. Eight o’clock…and the sound of the tinkling bell of St. Nick! We should have stampeded into the room of our dreams, the door of which was now opening slowly, but excitement rooted us all. We could hardly move.

Slowly the doors kept opening. On tiptoes we approached…and here were Father and Mother…each holding the side of the door…opening it, opening it…until before our saucer like eyes stood the Christmas tree, resplendent in its tinseled decorations…aglow with its myriad of colored wax candles…its stem draped in white and covered with synthetic snow that sparkled so…and all around it, parcels…each holding a child’s dream…Oh! the unforgettable ecstasy of that unforgettable moment. 

Still there was no rush. Mother and Father stood aside to let the children and the servants enter. Everyone did so decorously, and stood silently waiting for Father to read the Gospel story of the Nativity. Reverently he did. Then the whole household would break out into the natural song of all Christians…Alleluia…Alleluia…Glory to God on high and peace on earth to men of good will…Alleluia…Alleluia. 

The singing over, Mother would start the distribution of presents, like mothers do all over the world, wherever Christmas is celebrated, bringing poignant joy to children’s hearts…For isn’t Christmas the feast of Christ the Child…the feast of every child…and doesn’t the Word become flesh in every child…always?

Now it was the children’s turn to give the gifts of their hands…to Mother, and Father, then to each other, and to the servants. Now no one could find any order in this joyous disorder.

 Finally satiated with excitement, all eyes turned to the table laden with food—nuts, candies, the Christmas cakes, and the virtues that we would offer the Infant, the gingerbreads, the spicy cookies, and finally the big St. Nick. 

What fun to arrange all the animals and kings around the Child in swaddling clothes…the Child that would be coddled and rocked to sleep by tiny loving hands all through the year to come…Alleluia.

Old and young…the living and the dead…all united in Christ the Lord on Christmas day in old Russia…the communion of saints becoming a reality of life…Alleluia!…Alleluia! 

State Street was ablaze with decorations and lights…the crowd dense and compact, the joyous hymns rising, rising above the noise and din of traffic…

Russia—my yesterdays…Chicago—my todays…So different…so much the same. A Child is born unto us, Alleluia, Alleluia! The Word was made flesh and dwelt amongst us. Alleluia.

“True, heroic virtue is rare and where it does exist, it makes so little noise!” -Christ in the Home, Fr. Raoul Plus, S.J.

Christmas Stories are always fun for children, especially when they focus on the faith and what is important during this wonderful season! In this video, Mrs. V tells three Christmas stories that have little lessons surrounding the beauty of Christmas!

Beautiful “Virgin Mary and her Child Jesus” Apron! Feminine and Beautiful! ~ Available here.

Blessed Mother Graceful Religious Pendant …Wire-Wrapped, Handcrafted ~ Available here.

The Forgotten Catholic Saint ~ Available here.

Meet Saint Anastasia, one of the greatest Christmas saints and the Patroness of Martyrs. Take her hand and let her lead you to the Crib! When people think of saints that remind them of Christmas, Saint Anastasia is almost always forgotten. For centuries, this humble and unassuming martyr has remained hidden in the shadows of the stable. Yet of all the saints in Heaven, she is the only one whose feast day falls on Christmas itself! It’s about time she stepped forward and made some new friends!Join Saint Anastasia and her best friend, Saint Theodota, as they bravely prove their love for God and neighbor, even unto the sacrifice of their own lives. 

The Holyday Book ~ Available here.

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