"On the Feast of Stephen..."

Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even;
Brightly shone the moon that night, tho' the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight, gath'ring winter fuel.


Today, on the Feast of Stephen, is a good day to take a deep breath, and like Good King Wenceslas, take a look around. Here at the monastery, after yesterday’s great feast, I’ve taken a good look and have seen quiet skies, quiet corridors, quiet Sisters, quiet offices, quiet lawns… I’ve seen the shining lights of our several Christmas trees… I’ve seen the sacristy restored to its usual order after the intense and busy liturgies of these past days… I’ve seen Sr. Margaret Mary chopping veggies for tonight’s turkey soup, and Sr. Janet Marie preparing supper. I’ve seen Sr.’s Eleanor and Mary Ruth bundled against the cold on a trip over to Benedictine Manor, and Sr. Therese stepping out on a journey through the rain. I’ve seen Sr. Lynn Marie stooping to help me pick up scattered utensils when I dropped their container on the floor, and I’ve seen Sr. Regina stepping in to help me out when it was clear I needed a bit of assistance.

Today, and every day, is a good day to notice all that is around us, and to look to the example of Good King Wenceslas, who gazed not only upon the brightly shining moon and the crisp, even snow, but also upon the needs of the poor, stooping to help them in their need.

Therefore, Christian folk, be sure, wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing.


Postscript: Here is a link to a great rendition of this traditional carol. Here at the monastery we sing this carol each year at Lauds on the Feast of St. Stephen.

Don we now...our aprons

If there is one non-liturgical item that is absolutely indispensible for a Christmas celebration at the monastery, it would have to be the lowly apron. This humble garment is like the tie that binds one activity to the next as we move through the celebration of Christmas Day here at the monastery – Christmas Breakfast, Lauds, Eucharist, Christmas dinner, Christmas party with egg nog and snacks, Vespers, supper… We don aprons, and then take them off, and then don them again, as we spend the day migrating like pilgrims between the chapel and the kitchen, between praying and eating, between worship and fellowship...finding every way we can to celebrate together the birth of our Lord.

Before each meal, the kitchen is filled with Sisters stirring, serving, slicing, and pouring…each wearing an apron that she has pulled from a simple tree rack where they hang like ornaments festooning an otherwise barren corner. With the meal ready to serve, the aprons are put away. After dinner, another set of Sisters, or perhaps some of the same ones, head to the rack, don an apron, and begin washing, scrubbing, drying, and storing…

Underlying the beauty of our various celebrations is humble service to one another. As an apron overlays and protects a garment, humility safeguards love. It is a tie that binds. In loving service to one another – whether careful preparation of the chapel for Mass, or the meal for the table, or the room for the guest, or the music for the liturgy, or the bed for the sick – we become a community that is able to celebrate not only with beauty and dignity, but with genuine faith and love. This requires donning, like an apron, the humility of Christ, serving one another with humble joy, festooning our life with gladness.

The innkeeper

We never hear about the innkeeper, the nameless one who on a dark, desert night, long, long ago said ‘no’ to two weary travelers - one with his face creased with the worry and dust of travel, the other clearly pregnant. Perhaps he was too tired, or too busy, to find an extra spot in a crowded room. Perhaps the needs of demanding guests filled his heart with urgency and worry. Perhaps the pantry shelves were nearly bare. Perhaps the burdens of the day were balanced so precariously on his shoulders that he felt he could not absorb the weight of two strangers from afar. Perhaps.

Since that long-ago night, decades and centuries have tumbled and spun, and tonight we find ourselves again on the brink of celebrating the nativity of the One who was born on that desert night so long ago, who was born outside the inn, who was born – outside. As we gather around heart and home with family and friends, may we remember that this spinning earth is still full of those who wander in search of shelter, food, safety…and the earth is still full of outsiders. When one wanders our way – perhaps a neighbor in need, or perhaps a stranger from afar – may we lay down our burdens and open welcoming arms knowing that our Lord Jesus often comes to us in the guise of the lowly, the poor, the outsider. On this night of nights, and on every night, may we be ready to absorb the weight of Him whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light. May we be ready to welcome each of His - and our - brothers and sisters.


Postscript: An unintentional and unplanned Advent haitus for this blog is now over. I'll soon be back at it regularly - but first, let us celebrate! A most joyous and blessed Christmas to each of you... (You can check out our Community News webpage for photos our our celebration here at the monastery.)