No one can celebrate a genuine Christmas without being truly poor [in spirit].
The self-sufficient, the proud,
those who, because they have everything, look down on others,
those who have no need even of God – for them there will be no Christmas.
Only the poor, the hungry,
those who need someone to come on their behalf,
will have someone.
That someone is God,
Emmanuel,
God-with-us.
Oscar Romero, The Violence of Love
It was the best night of the year; it was the worst night of the year.
It was a night of joy; it was a night of sorrow.
It was a silent night, a holy night; it was a night of raunchy music and depravity.
It was the night of Christ, it was the night of darkness.
But Christ always pierces the darkness. (Thank you, Frank Peretti.)
I had been looking forward to Christmas Eve for months; looking forward to it like you look forward to the SAT. Meaning, I was dreading it. On this night, following the tradition of the two previous Christmas Eves, the staff and volunteers of Casa de Esperanza would sing Christmas carols in the fourteen brothels of El Alto.
I was terrified of caroling in the brothels. Our weekly visits to the red light district to see our friends are much less awkward. We arm ourselves with hot chocolate and invitations to our center. We try to blend in or disappear with hats and scarves and baggy clothes. But this time, we were a fifteen person choir, with guitar and flute back-up. A rag-tag musical troop sporting Santa hats and head lamps to read our carol lyric sheets. I don't know if you've ever tried, but it's kind of hard to blend fifteen Santa hats into the typical brothel.
Also, on the spiritual level, this was an aggressive offensive. Every visit we make, we bring Jesus into the darkest places of this city. We bring Him with a smile and a hug and a cup of hot chocolate given in love. But on Christmas Eve, we bring in His praise like a tidal wave. We sing His name into the dirtiest brothel corners, and we proclaim His reign through the seething red cloud of sin. We proclaim that there is no place on earth where Christ's birth and subsequent salvation do not touch.
I would like to say that we sang worthy of Handel, and that, like the Pope when he first heard the Hallelujah Chorus, everyone stood in awe and worship. But in reality, it was a little like a slapstick comedy. We would stumble into a brothel, have the DJ turn off the music, and warble through “Noche de Paz, Noche de Amor.” When I hugged my friends, I would blind them with my head lamp. Sometimes drunk men would take our carols as a signal to demonstrate their dancing prowess. One cocky brothel DJ thanked us over the loudspeaker “for bringing this message of peace and love.”
Despite varied responses from the men, we came to sing for the women, our friends who were working that night so their kids could open a present the next morning. From them also, the responses varied. Many thanked us for the Christmas cookies and for remembering them. Some maintained a cynical silence. Some had tears in their eyes and hugged us hard as we left.
I don't know whether Christ got into many Christmas parties this year. He may have been on the VIP list, or He may have been stopped by a beefy bouncer. He may have gotten lost in too much eggnog or too many presents or too many pounds of too many Santas. But I know He got into the gloomy rooms of my friends who were prostituting that night. I know He was proclaimed to all the confused and drunk men who were not with their families. In the most abysmal parts of this city, Jesus Christ was Emmanuel, God-With-Us.
Celebrating Christ With Us,
Cara Strauss
Cara Strauss
Casilla 25022
El Alto, Bolivia