El Pesebre

Christmastime for a Cuban-American boy, whose first language was English and whose family belonged to the whitest denomination in America at the time (the Presbyterian Church in America) was interesting. It was interesting because the church I attended was made up of mostly Cuban families, all equally weird among among our extended family members because we weren't Catholics. Everyone went to church EVERY Sunday. There was choir practice and Bible study EVERY Wednesday. Our church was an amazing example of community built on culture, family and faith.

And yes, faith came last. We weren't the super holy people many of the adults pretended to be. Our church attendance was to be admired; but only by way of the love everyone in the church shared. We really wanted to be together. There was an air of superiority to our Catholic brothers and sisters however, which to this day rubs me wrong. But that was part of growing up Presby-Cuban. We were told we were right and more religious, and that is what defined us. There were some faithful among us, who understood the Gospel, and loved Jesus. Looking back however, the overall message of the church was "We are Cuban, and we are Presbyterian." Somewhere in there, we had some Christians, too.

So every Christmas, our church put on "La Cantata"; the concert event to end all concert events. My mom sang in the choir, and for a while there my dad did, too. They really were well put together (...the Cantatas). I am told our church was the talk among young churches in Miami back in the 70's. So the turn-out to the Cantatas was impressive.

And I'm pretty sure one of the few places to go in Hialeah to see a re-enactment of the manger scene was our church.

So "La Cantata" was always followed by "El Pesebre", the life-size manger scene. Every year, my dad built a manger out of wood. I'd go watch him build it, and hand him a 2'x4' now and then. All it took was a nicely designed wooden shelter, some hay and farm animals and you had true-to-life Bethlehem manger off of Okeechobee Road.

Thinking back, it was poetic. That area of Hialeah wasn't the best. There were a lot of seedy hotels, bars and other houses of ill-repute in the area. It was a perfect representation of the kind of people Jesus came to eat with, laugh with, live with and save. Though I don't think too many of us were thinking about that back then.

At least I wasn't. I was more into the live animals, dressing up like a shephard, and hanging out outside, thus avoiding having to listen to La Cantata (I mean, come on... I was 9 years old. Wait a minute... the tought of sitting through a Cantata NOW makes me ill, too... never mind). The night was clear, and I remember seeing the stars out. It was a great night under a Hialeah sky.

Then it happened. One of the animals, a goat, decided to bolt.

One of our wisemen, named "Ito", decided it was his job to bring back the errant goat, so he bolted too. And I'm willing to bet that this was the only time in all of Hialeah history, when a wiseman from the East was seen running across la 12 Avenida con Okeechobee, in full wise man garb, after a goat.

Ito finally caught his goat.

And while parts of this story may have been embelished, and the actual year might be off, Ito did chase a goat down the streets of Hialeah, and I was there to see the return of the goat. And Ito and the goat made that Christmas one of the most memorable ever.

The List, 1979

As a kid growing up in Miami, right about this time I was thinking about 1 thing. The Christmas list, masked in a letter to Santa all about how good I had been.

The letter was written in English. My dad would tell me about Los Tres Reyes Magos, the three wise men, and how in Cuba, that was the day he would receive gifts. But here in Miami, my parents were living by American traditions.

So every year, I'd pull out the department store catalogs; Jefferson Ward, Sears, The Gold Triangle. I'd leaf through the catalogs, past the tools section, housewares, pause briefly at the women's bras section, and continue on to what mattered most; the toys.

My sisters would sit with me and help me go through the catalog. It was 1979. Elsy was a senior in high school. Raquel was a freshman. I was a fourth-grader with a crazy imagination, fueled by the introduction of "Japanimation".

A few years earlier I was introduced to Godzilla movies. Godzilla was my introduction to bigger than life monsters, entire cities being destroyed, Japanese people, and really bad English dubbing. Around 1979, a crazy 'Battlestar Galactica'-type Japanese cartoon started airing weekday mornings on a local channel. It was dramatic, explosions happened in slow-motion. It was a combination of lasers and ancient Samurai swords... in space.

That same year, Mattell released... THE SHOGUN WARRIORS!!

The Shogun Warriors were the grandfather of The Transformers, Voltron, and the myriad of other 'robo' toys that followed. These babies were almost 2 feet tall! And best of all, they shot things; stars and battle-axes.

Yes, this is what I wanted most in 1979. Specifically, the one pictured here... Dragun (awesome name).

So I made my list for Santa. Sure I put some other toys on the list, but this is what I really wanted. I finished my letter and handed it to my mom. "Yo te lo mando", she'd say. "No te preocupes, que yo te lo mando", assuring me it would be mailed post-haste.

And yes, I was concerned. This list had to get out quick and early in December. Time was precious for our family during Christmastime. Soon, this family would be caught up in the same madness everyone experiences at Christmas. But when your part of a predominantly Cuban, Presbyterian church, busy takes on a whole new meaning at Christmas.

After all, there are Cantatas to be sung, Christmas programs to put together, and donkeys to chase down through the streets of Hialeah in the middle of the night.

Christmas.

Christmastime is here.

I already received my first forwarded email (twice) called "Heritage Lost", a play on the words of Twas The Night Before Christmas, all about how America is Godless, we're taking Jesus out of Christmas... yada, yada, yada...

These conversations seem to permeate the Christmas season these days. It's sad that during such a beautiful time of year, people are reduced to walking around so angry at the world. They create an evil of bitterness and superiority complexes that far exceeds the evil of consumerism, or any Godless behavior Walmart could ever perpetrate on America.

In 1989, CCM artist Michael W. Smith produced what I consider to be the best Christmas album ever produced, entitled, Christmas. My favorite song on the album is Anthem For Christmas. Those of you who know me would think my favorite Christmas song would be written by someone like Rich Mullins, Daniel Amos, or Mike Roe.

The lyrics to this amazing song were actually written by Ms. Gloria Gaither:

In the space of the beginning

Was the living Word of light

When this Word was clearly spoken

All that came to be was right

All creation had a language

Words to say what must be said

All day long the Heavens whispered

Signing words in scarlet red

Some have failed to understand it

So God spoke His final Word

On a silent night in Judah's hills a baby's cry was heard

"Glory!" sang the angel chorus

"Glory!" echoed back the night

Love has come to walk among us

Christ the Lord is born this night!

All creation sing His praises!

Earth and heaven praise His name!

All who live come join the chorus!

Find the words!

His love proclaim!

I hope this Christmas, you are filled with the joy of coming to know the God you have heard of since you were a child; the God who is bigger than anything you ever heard.

I hope this Christmas the story of God becoming man becomes as real to you as the ground you walk on and the air you breath.

I hope this Christmas, you find the words.

A Protestant Cuban at Christmas

Many stories have been written about culture-clash experiences. My story is not unique. When I was growing up, however, I always felt like the round peg in a square hole.

There were 2 times of the year when I felt it most; Christmas and Easter.

Let's start with my mom and dad in Cuba. They weren't Catholics. They went to a Methodist school, got married in a Methodist church by a gringo Methodist pastor. My extended family wasn't Catholic either; they were Episcopalian. I'm not sure what that meant to other Cubans in 1950's Cuba. But I sure as hell know what that meant in 1970's - 1980's Miami.

Freak.

It meant we didn't go to "La Misa del Gallo" on Christmas Eve at midnight. It meant that during Easter, I was the only kid in my school without the ashen cross on my forehead on Ash Wednesday. It meant that I was the only kid eating croquetas and bistec on Good Friday.

It meant that I was the only kid in my school who spent an inordinate amount of time in church (most of my classmates did not attend Catholic Mass on a regular basis. They usually went, as far as I could tell, about 5 times a year).

I was usually dubbed "El Santito" or "Religious", or something sublime like "That kid that goes to church 3 times a week and is a wierdo for it". Things like that.

Being a Protestant-Cuban in a Catholic-Cuban world wasn't easy. Thankfully, I was part of a church where most of my friends were going through the same stuff I was. We were all freaks from different places -- I lived in the Southwest Miami area, others lived in Perrine, a few lived in Hialeah. But we were all dealing with the same challenges.

We also had a lot of fun. We got to experience some things that, maybe, some of our Catholic friends never got to experience.

What follows over this Christmas holiday period is a time of reflection on growing up Protestant-Cuban, especially at Christmas time, in Miami. This is my "A Christmas Story", without Scott Farkas.