(Excerpts taken from my autobiography *CZECHING MY
ROOTS)
"In Cedar Rapids, Iowa where I was born there was a
sizable Czech population when I was growing up in the 1930's and
'40's. My father was born in Bohemia, which at the time was a province of
Austria-Hungary, later called Czechoslovakia, presently The Czech
Republic. His mother Frantiska, my grandmother, lived with us. Our
family and relatives carried on some Czech traditions from their homeland.
An area of the West side of town along
16th Avenue was informally called “Czech Village” with
shops catering to the Czech immigrants and a place where they
gathered for their festivals and celebrations. Christmas customs were
quite a big deal. The Feast of Saint Nicholas on the eve of December
5th officially kicked off the Christmas season. A drama
was and still is reenacted annually with costumed children playing
the parts of the Saint Nicholas legend.
As the story goes, Saint Nicholas
descends every year from heaven on a golden cord. He is accompanied
by an “andel” (angel) in white and a “cert” (devil) dressed
in black with his face painted red. The wicked devil carries a switch
and rattles a chain, while the sweet angel consults her book which
lists the names of all good children. The children are asked whether
they have been well-behaved and whether they say their prayers. The
angel writes their response in her record book. If they nod honestly,
they are given gifts of apples, nuts, gingerbread, and candy. The
devil, lurking in the background, rattles his chain and stands ready
to punish mischievous children with his switch and gives them his
gift—a piece of coal. The “naughty or nice” aspect of children
seems to have been carried over to the song “Santa Claus is coming
to town.”
When I was born, Mother and Dad bought
a little artificial tree about four feet high whose branches could be
unfolded when they took it out of attic storage. It became our family
tradition. Such early artificial trees were called “feather trees”
and were popular among Czechs.
We had authentic Czech hand-blown
ornaments in various shapes and colors brought over by the
immigrants. I remember the shapes of those ornaments to this
day—delicate birds, flowers, animals, stars, bells, since I handled
them with care and treasured them year after year. Tinsel rope
garlands, foil icicles, and a tinsel star at the top completed the
adorning of our little tree. As a teen I begged for “a real tree
like everyone else” which my parents consented to buy, but Mother
still decorated our “feather tree” throughout my college years. I
don't know what happened to it after I was married and my husband and
I left for China, but if I had it today and still had those
ornaments, they would be a priceless collector's item. I would have
been delighted to pass them on to my children, grandchildren, and
great-grandchildren.
Grandma kept the tradition of having a
carp fish along with whatever Americanized menu we had for Christmas
dinner, but she claimed it didn't taste the same because they were
river mud carp and not the fresh pond carp of their little village.
Grandma and my Dad went mushroom hunting in the spring and fall in
the woodlands around our city and dried them on screens in our attic
for later use. She always made pearl barley soup with mushrooms for
Christmas Eve. The baking of traditional cookies with frosting and
sprinkles filled our kitchen with holiday aroma. The making of a huge
apple strudel was an annual event that required the help of several
of my Czech aunts while my cousins and I played hide and seek and
made ourselves a nuisance throughout the house.
Ours was not a church-going family in
my early childhood. I didn't have the advantage of going to Sunday
School or having any Christian reading material on my age level. My
parents were good, hard-working people and it was during the
Depression years of the '30's, so Sunday was their only day for rest.
Church was not on their agenda. Only my grandma attended church and
all 60 some members of the little Czech Evangelical and Reformed
Church on the West side of town spoke Czech. The services were all in
Czech. In fact, my grandma didn't even speak English. She did insist
that I was baptized as a six month old infant, and in retrospect I
know that God had His hand on my life from my birth.
Grandma was my live-in primary
caregiver from my infancy since my parents were always working. She
took me to church with her from the time I was a toddler, and I sat
beside her during adult worship. I was too shy to be left alone in
Sunday School, therefore I received no Christian training. I remember
being fidgety and passing the time by looking at the fascinating
colors of the biblical scenes depicted on the stained glass windows
as the sun shown through.
Grandma brought me with her to
Christmas celebrations at this little church from the time I learned
to walk. My knowledge of Czech language was minimal, but I was
intrigued by the costumes in the nativity play, the carols, the
recitations by young children—all warm and friendly sights and
sounds. 
I was wide-eyed at the Christmas tree that reached nearly to the ceiling and captivated by the many decorations brought from the Old Country (as they called the Czech lands) by families of the congregation. I remember the pungent fragrance of the pine branches mingled with the smell of the oil furnace in the basement of the one-room church, and the real candles in dishes on the window sills casting shadows against the stained glass windows. The small congregation sat in semi-darkness for the Christmas program. I can still visualize the sparkling star at the top of the tree. My childish eyes took it all in and I was full of “Whys?” to ask grandma when we were alone and it was tucking-in-bed time.
She tried to explain in simple Czech
the story of the birth of Jesus, why the wise men rode on camels
instead of motor cars, and why they wore “funny” clothes. I asked
her whether all angels were named Harold. That puzzled her because
she didn't understand the English words of the Christmas carols.
“Hark! The herald angels sing” would have gone over her head. She
asked the pastor to explain that one and they had a good chuckle at
my expense.
When I began learning to read in
school, Grandma gave my mother some money to buy a Bible in English
as her gift to me at Christmas. She asked mother to write the date in
it, then she carefully wrapped it for me under the Christmas tree. I
still have that first Bible—a precious treasure from her.
Since I was an un-churched child as far
as formal religious instruction went, I believe God had other ways
for me to learn basic Christian truths. He used the simple words of
Christmas carols to give me my first clear concept of His plan of
salvation. They echoed sound, biblical theology.
From the carols I
learned that: Jesus was
the Son of God, the Messiah, King, born of a virgin in a manger in
the little town of Bethlehem. That He had come to ransom captive
Israel and to set all men free. He had been expected for a long time.
Jesus is Lord and came to reconcile God and sinners. His coming
brings joy to the world, to heaven and earth, but each heart has to
receive Him. God sends angels to announce God's plans. They
proclaimed peace on earth and good will toward men. The prophets
foretold the coming of a new heaven and earth where Christ will
reign. Jesus left a throne in heaven to come to earth, is truly God
made flesh, is risen from the dead and will suddenly come again. We
must come together to adore Him, to worship Christ the Lord as the
wise men from afar did who brought Him gifts.
Jesus was born to give
men second birth,
and then we will never die.
He casts out our sin
and enters into our hearts if we receive Him.
Christmas
carols carried a pretty accurate summary of the gospel and spoke
louder to my child heart than any formal instruction. They were musical
messengers to eventually bring me to a personal relationship with
Jesus.”
*My
autobiography CZECHING MY ROOTS is still available. Order from my
email address.
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