Ġulbiena for Christmas

The Maltese Christmas with its emphasis on the crib and the figure of Baby Jesus would not be the same without its ġulbiena. We have not, so far, done away with Christ at Christmas, despite a growing commercialisation. Nevertheless, both our faith and our traditions keep us firmly on track to keep Him firmly in sight, while taking a break and gathering in families.

It was St Francis who gave us our first live crib, when he celebrated Christ’s nativity, his poverty and humility, at Greccio. But St Francis did not know the ġulbiena, although I am sure he would have smiled agreeably at our addition to the crib.

It sprouts everywhere like a mystic, hairy, white shrub, on the Christmas Night altars, around cribs, in windowsill displays of the Child Jesus, in every decoration that recalls the birth of the Saviour.

Where would we be without our ġulbiena on Christmas night? The tourists enjoy the sight of our cribs especially if they come from countries where Christmas is just a holiday time or a winter break. They admire the mechanical cribs, note the carol singing, go all over Malta in search of little feats of engineering and imagination in honour of the Child Jesus. But what is that snowy shrub that can be found everywhere in the company of this celebrated Child?

Like the mustard seed of the Gospel, the smallest seed that grows into a large tree with bird-sheltering branches (Mt. 13,31), the ġulbiena gathers around the Divine Child lovingly as it pushes tall towards heaven. The smallness of the seed recalls the smallness of the babe. Big things start small.

Grown in the dark, the ġulbiena yearningly pushes up into the air, tall and white, still devoid of the sun which it will see for the first time when Jesus Christ is born. Innocently and purely it grows in search of the light which it misses, until the day when, brittle and trembling, it sings its Nunc Dimittis – now I can go; my eyes have seen salvation.

The trick has worked. Horticulturists will assure us that plants need light, and if they do not find it, they grow tall in the hope that up there, they will find salvation. Light is their first quest. The colour will come afterwards. So our poor innocent ġulbiena is the victim of a trick.

The beginning of this beautiful custom, like so many other things in our folklore, are lost in the mist of tradition.

Even its cultivation has changed over the years. My mother used to plant it in saucers filled with cotton wool, but nowadays, I am told by the gurus, it is best prepared in soil or peat, kept in a completely dark place, and watered every other day.

Some people prefer to add some skalora (bird-seed) to add a touch of redness, but this is not necessary, and can be anathema to the purists.

You water every other day, as you blow a blessing and let God do the rest. The miracle of life ensues. The seeds burst into glorious action and perpendicular life.

On Christmas Eve, the glorious miracle is ready for display and admiration.