That's the Gaelic Christmas greeting. The only reason I know how to spell it (though I've still no idea how to pronounce it) is due to all the lovely Christmas cards we've received from my husbands family in Ireland. I dread taking them all down next week. It's a lovely thing, the way Catholics begin celebrating the birth of Christ when the secular world has moved on to preparing for Valentine's Day (without the "saint"), or even for the arrival of spring fashions.
When I attended Mass with my husband before my conversion I was surprised that the church was bare during the weeks leading up to Christmas. Not only were there no Christmas flowers, there were no flowers at all. There was a lovely manger, but no baby Jesus. Later there appeared evergreens, but they were left unadorned. Every business in town was dressed up for the holidays to one degree or another, but here in the place that should be the most festive it was as if Christmas was no big deal.
"Just wait until Christmas Eve," my husband said.
Now I feel a thrill when I attend Mass during Advent and note how spare it is inside. I know what's coming: Explosions of poinsettia! The very columns sprouting with pine boughs! Baby Jesus ceremoniously carried to his place between his Holy Parents, quite literally bringing Light into the darkness.
It really puts the musical Christmas tree in the corner liquor store to shame.
For us Catholics, Christmas begins on the twenty-fifth of December. Of course it would. So, you see, I'm not late in passing on Beannachtai na Nollag on December 30th!
Tiffany
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