By Jim O'Sullivan
News Editor

The invitation read, in all caps, "MAPQUEST-ING WILL GET YOU NOWHERE FAST," a stern warning against relying on the notoriously unreliable Internet navigating tool. The reason, of course, was that the Harrison-Tang family lives on the one-way stretch of Ashmont Street, and travelers could wend until New Year's before finding their way.

But once there, revelers at the family's Tuesday night holiday party found nothing just one way. Advent candles sat next to Kwanzaa candles, and a pagan chant followed a Chanukah song. The traditional roast turkey joined Persian chicken and home-baked banana bread, retired ministers matched decibels with infants, and guests swapped holiday customs and melted enough wax to grease the chimney for even the plumpest Kris Kringle. All that was missing, with apologies to "Seinfeld" believers, was the Festivus Pole.

The celebration - convening, as hostess Rhonda Harrison-Tang put it, "seven religions - eight, if you count agnostics" - drew about 40 people together to light candle arrangements honoring different winter holidays, all arrayed around a wreath on the living room's hardwood floor.

"This is a dream of mine, to have all the religions and all the people celebrating each other's holidays and singing each other's songs," Rhonda said, as the caroling chorus launched into "O Come All Ye Faithful." Herself a Baha'i follower, Harrison-Tang founded Dot Devotions about six months ago. The group, a monthly interfaith gathering that helps familiarize its members with others' beliefs, gathers to read from the Bible, the Torah, Taoist writings, or other spiritual texts. They sing, chant, and pray in different languages.

On Tuesday, Rhonda, husband Yixin, and their two children, Kai and Lena, threw the pantheistic potluck party and opened the doors to neighbors, people they'd met playing bridge, at work, performing in dance companies, through mutual friends, and one late-arriving reporter boy whose only gift to bring was a brownie sampler from Lambert's, which disappeared rapidly.

Perry Krasow, a 44-year-old Wiccan from - he points out, smiling - Salem, said such an ecumenical kaleidoscope is tough to find. "Where everybody's traditions are being acknowledged, I wouldn't say it's unique, but it's rare." His pagan religion celebrates Solstice, the year's shortest day, around which other faiths' holidays are also clustered.

When it came time to burn the candles, the children took the lead, lighting the Menorah first, then the Solstice candle, then the Advent wreath, and finally the row of seven Kwanzaa candles, each representing a different principle of the African harvest celebration.

While her nephew lit the Advent wreath, Rhonda retrieved the fire extinguisher and helpfully pointed out potential fire exits.

After the lighting of each set of candles, the group joined in a song pegged to that faith, accompanied by Gene Navias, a retired Unitarian minister living on Ocean St., tickling the keys of a Casio CT-656. Later, as the wicks dwindled and the crowd thinned, Navias stayed on the keyboard, playing along to the "7 Days of Kwanzaa" rendition of the traditional Christmas carol.

It was, said transplanted Aussie Katherine Grieg, remarkable. "Whenever [Rhonda] does something, it's very eclectic, a wide cross-section of people," said Grieg, a South End marketing executive. "I think it gives people an opportunity to learn a little about faiths and beliefs, and break down barriers that we put up when we're ignorant."

For Harrison-Tang, a woman for all seasonal holidays, it was a reason to start the music and light the lights. She said, "Probably half the people practice no religion. They're just here to have a party, and sing."