When Christmas Begins in September
It is often said, half in wonder, half in disbelief that the Philippines celebrates the longest Christmas season in the world. By September, the “ber” months arrive, and with them the first familiar notes of Christmas songs drifting through malls, jeepneys, and neighborhood streets. To outsiders, it can seem excessive. To Filipinos, it feels natural, almost necessary.
As a Filipino-American, I have lived Christmas in two worlds. I have experienced it amid palm trees and parols swaying in warm December air, and also beneath winter skies in the United States, where Christmas feels more compressed, more contained, neatly beginning after Thanksgiving and ending swiftly once New Year’s Day passes. Each has its beauty. But they are very different spirits.
In the Philippines, Christmas is not just a date on the calendar; it is a season of endurance, anticipation, and shared ritual.
One of the traditions that stays with me most deeply is Misa de Gallo, the early morning masses held for eight consecutive days before Christmas. Long before dawn, while the world still sleeps, people rise from their beds and walk through quiet streets toward candlelit churches. There is something profoundly humbling about that collective act, choosing devotion over comfort, community over sleep. The air is cool, the sky dark, and yet there is a gentle joy in knowing you are not alone. Everyone is tired, and everyone shows up anyway.
After Mass, there is food always food. Warm rice cakes, bibingka and puto bumbóng, eaten standing up, laughing softly, steam rising into the morning air. These moments are small, fleeting, and unforgettable. They remind me that faith is not only spoken, it is practiced, step by step, morning after morning.
Then comes Noche Buena, the midnight feast on Christmas Eve. Unlike the hurried dinners I later experienced in America, Noche Buena is unhurried. Families stay awake together, waiting for the clock to turn, for the official arrival of Christmas Day. Tables are filled not just with food, but with history, dishes passed down, adapted, argued over, remembered. Ham, queso de bola, pancit, lumpia, and lechon, each plate carrying the fingerprints of generations.
What always struck me was how Christmas in the Philippines feels communal rather than transactional. Gifts matter, yes, but presence matters more. Time is the true offering. Doors stay open. Conversations linger. Laughter stretches late into the night.
In the United States, Christmas has its own quiet grace, twinkling lights against cold evenings, the intimacy of smaller gatherings, the comfort of routine. I have learned to appreciate that rhythm too. But sometimes, I miss the Philippine way of letting Christmas breathe, of allowing joy to arrive slowly and stay longer.
As I grow older, these memories take on new weight. Christmas becomes less about what is under the tree and more about what remains within us, traditions, stories, shared silences. The long Christmas of the Philippines teaches patience. It teaches preparation. It teaches that joy does not have to be rushed.
For those of us who have lived many Christmases, across countries and seasons of life, the meaning of the season subtly shifts. The noise softens. The gatherings grow smaller. The faces around the table change. And yet, the heart of Christmas, what truly endures becomes clearer. It is found in memory, gratitude, and presence.
Perhaps that is why Christmas in the Philippines begins so early and ends so late, stretching all the way to the Feast of the Three Kings. It mirrors life itself. We are given time to reflect, to gather, to remember who we belong to, and to honor those who are no longer physically with us but remain deeply present.
In these later years, Christmas may no longer be something we prepare for as much as something we carry. In our stories. In our traditions. In the way we show up for one another, even when energy is limited and time feels precious.
And maybe that is the greatest gift of all: knowing that the light we once followed in early morning Masses, or gathered around at midnight feasts, still lives within us, steady, familiar, and enough.
- Cultural Significance: The Philippines is a predominantly Catholic country, and Christmas is the most important holiday, a time for faith, family, and reunions.
- "Ber Months": Filipinos consider any month ending in "-ber" as part of the Christmas season, starting September 1st.
- Festive Atmosphere: Malls and homes fill with decorations, Christmas trees, and the iconic star-shaped parols, creating a festive mood months in advance.
- Preparation: Starting early allows more time for planning, church activities (like Simbang Gabi), and reaching out to family, especially those working abroad.
- Decorations: From colorful lights and parols 💚to elaborate displays, everything appears early.
- Music: Christmas songs are heard everywhere, from radio to shopping centers.
- Community: Preparations for church services and outreach programs begin.
1 comment:
Beautiful and thoughtful message today. We all need to remember more joyful times. Phyllis
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