{"id":24934,"date":"2026-01-08T08:00:00","date_gmt":"2026-01-08T14:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/customwordpresssites.com\/mjb\/?p=24934"},"modified":"2026-03-18T10:40:39","modified_gmt":"2026-03-18T15:40:39","slug":"christmas-and-the-work-of-women","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/customwordpresssites.com\/mjb\/2026\/01\/08\/christmas-and-the-work-of-women\/","title":{"rendered":"Christmas and the work of women"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Even today in households where division of labor is not definitively gendered, women do the work of Christmas:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To stretch the dollar to make a feast or to fill Santa\u2019s sack,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To soothe agitated family relationships or countless other ongoing worries,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To accept the duty left to them to carry forward family traditions,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To maintain a home to return to,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To hustle everyone to church, so that for a blessed moment we can call to mind the source of the season.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Image by Rebekah Vos on unsplash<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s why I loved learning of the Irish tradition of Women’s Christmas<\/a>, or Nollaig na mBan,<\/em> a day at the season\u2019s end where men relieve women of their chores so that the women may recover, reconnect, and revel with each other after their holiday labors are complete.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This year I was gifted with a Women\u2019s Christmas a bit earlier than its noted arrival on January 6, during a post-Christmas visit with a life-long friend and her two teenaged daughters, my godchildren.  It was not named as such, but in the quiet simplicity of their decorated home and  within the confines of a winter storm, our Women\u2019s Christmas nonetheless unfolded.  Against the backdrop of day-long pajama wearing, silent reading, dog scritches, painting, and playing cards, the old stories of \u201cwhen you were little\u201d began to emerge from the perfectly imperfect memories of my friend and I. These wove together with my goddaughters\u2019 remembrances, and perhaps their remembrances of our often repeated memories, recalling the antics and acrobatics of children, times when laughter and play were abundant antidotes to tears and fears.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

By evening the home videos and photos of younger faces and those who passed before us made their appearance, reopening the histories of the women who not only made our Christmases, but who made us<\/em>, who fed not only our bodies, but introduced us to the life of the mind, heart, and soul. The Incarnation was no mystery to them. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nor was it a mystery to the women who encircled our Infant Jesus,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

to the Mother who gave the Word flesh and nourished him with her body\u2019s milk, her heart\u2019s love, and her soul\u2019s faith<\/p>\n\n\n\n

passed on from generations of women before who waited for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Decades before the cross, she raised him up, this child refugee, born under occupation, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

to embody loving-kindness,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

to share every last crumb,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

to forgive without limits.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Apart from his heavenly Father,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

his Mother showed him the earthly wilderness of familial love,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

and the unrelenting nature of women\u2019s work. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Image by Nihal Thakur on unsplash<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Alone in my thoughts, I recall other women who passed into heaven this year:<\/p>\n\n\n\n