Julfest

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This week I’ve been wondering when a tradition becomes yours.

What separates something from being just a regularly occurring event  into something that becomes part of the story of your life? 


Though I’m a bit Scandinavian, except for Grandma Grace’s lefse, which I love and have no idea how to make, I don’t really relate much to this part of my heritage. 


So, it is strange that I go to a church that has a strong Swedish heritage; mostly hidden from the  untrained eye until the first weekend of December when all the stops are pulled out and it is decorated like Sweden. It’s that weekend that we have Julfest celebration that includes songs and readings in Swedish, children wearing pepparkakor outfits, a string band, and a Swedish festival choir.  

See the cute pepparkakors!

For my three girls, Julfest has become like one of those growth charts we put on walls to document how much a child has grown between each birthday. From year to the next they gradually grow through each stage becoming “too big”.  Too big to be the star girl, too big to fit into the pepparkakor costume, too big to sing in the youth choir and, finally, too big to be the Lucia - which means they have entered adulthood. It’s a lovely rite of passage and a beautiful tradition. It’s just never been mine.

Udon is just to the left of the Lucia

For years I thought it was the church's fault that I felt so distant from this event. I didn’t know how to plug into this thing.  It just seemed to happen. Everyone knew the secret code of what to do and when to do it.  Short of the expectation that my girls be involved nothing was expected of me. Even when I was finally asked to be in charge of the food that we serve the hundreds of guests it was clear that I was really out of my league.  I just didn’t understand the significance of what I was doing. Why could the spritz cookies only be shaped a certain way (after making thousands of them now think I know), and what the heck is Lingonberry juice and why does it get mixed in with the apple? Am I suppose to put cheese on cardamon bread or not? What do you mean we don’t serve decaf?


This year, with only one high school daughter in Lucia, I decided to head up to the church balcony early to watch  the preparations unfold.  This birds eye view allowed me to see the unpacking of Julfest.  Musicians setting up, guests arriving, children and adults primping, candles being lit, and tables being set.  Not so much different than what I do to prepare for guests arriving at my house. Like me, the Julfest people want everything to be just so, to make a pleasant and inviting space for their guests. They want to share a piece of themselves, something they love.   I was seeing things differently this time.  

Pre-Julfest

Julfest unfolded. Swedish was sung and prayed and this time, the first time, I attempted to follow along, adding my voice to the chorus of the congregation. I realized something that I missed all those years when I felt like an outsider. I may have felt like an outsider but I was being invited in. They were giving me a gift of themselves.  I was so blinded by what I wanted that I could not see what I was being given.


Maybe in this time of Advent as we wait for the baby Jesus, that is the thing we need to remember.  We need to remember to open our eyes and see the gifts that the people around us are offering to us despite what our expectations might be. When we do that I think, maybe, we can realize that we always did belong.


I still don’t consider myself a Scandinavian but from now on I think that I can call Julfest my tradition.