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Twelfth Day of Christmas - Epiphany

1/6/2018

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                             EPIPHANY TRADITION - THE BLESSING OF THE HOME

                                                                         EPIPHANY
(We gather round the crib with lighted candles and say:)
 
All:    A child is born in Bethlehem, alleluia!
          Full joyous sings Jerusalem, alleluia, alleluia!
          From the Orient, behold the star, alleluia.
         And holy kings come from afar, alleluia, alleluia.
 
The father reads the gospel for the Feast of the Epiphany, St. Matthew 2:1-12

All:  From the East came the magi to Bethlehem to adore theLord; and opening their treasures, they offered costly gifts  gold to the Great King, incense to the True God, and myrrh in symbol of His burial, alleluia.

While the father sprinkles the rooms with holy water, the mother and children recite the magnificat:

My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour,
Because He has regarded the lowliness of His handmaid,
for behold, henceforth all generations shall call me blessed,
Because He who is mighty has done great things for me,
and holy is His Name;
And His mercy is from generation to generation
toward those who fear Him
He has shown might with His arm;
He has scattered the proud in the conceit of their heart.
He has put down the mighty from their thrones
and has exalted the lowly.
The hungry He has filled with good things
and the rich He hath sent empty away.
He has given help to Israel His servant,
Mindful of His mercy -
As He promised our fathers -
toward Abraham and his descendants forever.
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost.
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
world without end.    Amen.
 
All:       From the East came the Magi to Bethlehem  to adore the Lord; and opening their treasures, they offered  costly gifts:  gold to the Great King, incense to the True God, and myrrh in symbol of  His burial, alleluia.

Father:   Many shall come from Saba.

All:        Bearing gold and incense.

Father:   O Lord, hear my prayer.

All:        And let my cry come onto Thee.

Father:   Let us pray:  O God, who by the guidance of a star didst this day reveal Thy Only-Begotten Son to the Gentiles, grant that  we who know Thee by faith may be brought to the contemplation of the heavenly majesty.  Through the same Jesus Christ.

All:        Amen.

All:       Be enlightened and shine forth, O Jerusalem, for thy light is come and upon thee is risen the glory of the Lord, Jesus Christ, born of the Virgin Mary.

Father:   Nations shall walk in thy light, and kings in the brilliance of  thy rising.

All:        And the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.

Father:  Let us pray:  O Lord, Almighty God, bless this house that it may become a shelter of health, chastity, self-conquest, humility, goodness, mildness, obedience to the         Commandments, and thanksgiving to God, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.  Upon this house and those who dwell herein may Thy blessing remain forever.  Through Christ our Lord.

All:        Amen.
 
With chalk the lintels above the door are marked with the initials of the three kings and with crosses.

Father:  Let us pray.  O Lord God, bless this chalk to make helpful to man.  Grant that we who use it with faith and inscribe with it the names of Thy saints Caspar, Melchior, and Baltassar upon the entrance of our homes, may through their merits and petition enjoy physical health and spiritual protection.  Through Christ our Lord.

All:        Amen.

The father then writes the initials of the names of the Magi separated by crosses and the year above the door in this manner.
20 + C + M + B + (year)

In conclusion the following hymns are sung or prayed:
The star of Jacob leadeth them, alleluia!
From Saba to blest Bethlehem, alleluia, alleluia!
Gold, myrrh, and incense pure they bring, alleluia.
To Mary's Child, God, Man and King, alleluia, alleluia!
 
SING: We Three Kings of Orient Are        

A coloring picture can be found below:                                 

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The Seventh Day of Christmas - The Feast of the Circumcision

1/1/2018

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                                                      Building on a Solid Foundation
THE Church places the name of Jesus at the beginning of the year to teach us the important truth that the new year can become a happy year only when Jesus lives in our hearts.

Today, my dear children, as we start the new year, we are going to do some building. Each and every one of us is erecting a building in the course of our daily lives; we are placing stone upon stone every day till the building is completed and the Great Architect accepts or rejects the work we have done.

Once there was a great architect who had built great cities and little villages, marble palaces and simple thatched cottages. Some of his buildings were very grand; others were very simple; but all were well built. These houses were let to different people to live in, and some took care of them, but others did not. The great architect had two servants in his workshop. He taught them how to build, and always gave them three pieces of advice: first, Always build on a good foundation; second, Always choose good materials; third, build slowly. After a time the great architect sent his servants into a new country and told them each to build a good stone house. The two servants went to the new country, and there they found many people building, some well, others badly; one servant remembered his master's advice, Always build on a good foundation. So he got workmen together and looked about for a spot to build on. When he found it he cleared away all the soil and rubbish, until he came to solid rock. Remembering his master's second rule, Always choose good materials, he hewed seven pillars of stone to support the roof, and to each pillar he gave a name. The first pillar he called Faith; the second, Obedience; the third,Love; the fourth, Truth; the fifth, Gentleness; the sixth, Prayer, and the seventh, Work. And he did not forget the third rule, Build slowly. On top of the roof, high over all, he fixed a great stone cross, so that whenever the sun was shining the house was under the shadow of the cross. At last, the house was finished. Now what was the other servant doing? He went to work in a very different way. He laughed at his companion for taking so much pains, and went down to the riverside, where the sand lay smooth and yellow. He began to build there, and forgot all about his master's advice, Always build on a good foundation. He also forgot the advice about building slowly; he hurried on the work, so that he might finish his work and enjoy himself. Neither did he choose good materials for his building, but used any wood or stone which came in his way. Instead of the seven pillars of the house, this builder had but one, and that was called Selfishness. At last his house was finished.

The winter came and the wind roared, and the storm raged, and the floods rose and beat upon the houses. The gentle summer stream became a foaming torrent, which dashed against the walls of the buildings. But the waves beat and the lightnings flashed in vain against the one house, and in vain the wind shrieked at the windows; the house stood firm. Why, my children? Because it was founded upon a rock, and was well built of good materials.

Now, let us look at the other house. It seemed strong enough in fair weather, but when the storm came the sandy foundation began to sink and tremble. The one pillar, called Selfishness, began to totter and give way, and soon the whole building fell to pieces like a house of cards; then the flood swept away the ruins and the poor, foolish builder was whirled down the torrent with the wreckage.

My dear boys and girls, this is an earthly story with a heavenly meaning. You know, of course, that God is the great Architect, who has built up all the cities and villages, and the mountains and islands. We are all His servants, and He sends us into this world, a new country to build. What are we building? Good lives, lives which will stand and last forever? Remember the lessons of the architect. First, we must build on a good foundation, and our foundation must be Jesus Christ, the Rock of Ages. Next, we must choose good materials with which to build our lives. What are they, do you think? Good companions, good books, good works, innocent amusement.And, thirdly, remember to build slowly. Good lives are built up on little things and bit  by bit. Great generals and statesmen and lawyers and clergymen become great slowly by learning; so do good Christians. Then we must remember the seven pillars of our house.

The first pillar must be Faith in God, in believing all He has revealed and all that His Church teaches. And then comes Obedience, for if we believe in God we must be obedient to Him. We must obey His commandments and those of His Church. Then there must be Love, love of God and to one another; no good life can be built up without the pillar of love. Next come Truth and Honesty. Every noble life is built up on Truth and Honesty. And we must not leave out Gentleness, which makes our building so sweet and beautiful. Nor must we omit prayer, including the sacraments, without which we cannot erect a good building; nor Work, that we may be useful to ourselves and helpful to others. These are the seven pillars that keep up a good Christian life. And above all, my children, there must be the Cross of Christ. Our life cannot be good, cannot be what God loves, unless we deny ourselves and prefer His will to our own—that is, living under the shadow of the Cross.

We have looked at the house built on the rock, the holy life founded on Jesus. Now look at the house which fell, the life which was lost. The foundation of sand is this world's pleasure and sin, and the pillar is selfishness; such a life cannot stand against the storms—the temptations, sorrows and losses of this life—which come to all of us. Remember that the flood beat against both houses; so, also, troubles and temptations come to good and bad alike, but only the lives founded on Jesus can stand against them.

Now I want you to ask yourselves a very serious question: "What am I building?" Children, on this, the first day of the year, just ask yourselves: "What kind of a building am I putting up? Have I a good foundation? Am I following out the plans of the Architect as my teachers daily show me in school and in church?" You are still very young, and now is the time to lay the foundation of your future happiness or your future ruin. We all are the builders of our fortunes. God grant we may build as the Great Architect teaches us to build!

This year will be a new year for you if you lay aside everything that is sinful and endeavor daily to become more perfect. Let no day pass without practising some self-denial, and give your whole, entire love to God. If you spend every day in His service, the new year will be a happy one for you. And when God calls you from your earthly home the angels will welcome you into His mansions beyond the skies.
Source: Anecdotte - Sermonettes for Children's Mass, Imprimatur 1921

A coloring page for today can be found below.
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The Sixth Day of Christmas -St. Sylvester

12/30/2017

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                                                      December 31st
 *Sylvester was born in Rome toward the close of the third century.  He was a young priest when the persecution of the Christians broke out under the tyrant Diocletian.  Idols were erected at the corners of the streets, in the market-places, and over the public fountains, so that it was scarcely possible for a Christian to go abroad without being put to the test of offering sacrifice, with the alternative of apostasy or death. During this fiery trial, Sylvester strengthened the confessors and martyrs, God preserving his life from many dangers.  In 312 a new era set in.  Constantine, having triumphed under the "standard of the Cross," declared himself the protector of the Christians, and built them splendid churches.  At this juncture Sylvester was elected to the chair of Peter, and was thus the first of the Roman Pontiffs to rule the flock of Christ in security and peace.  He profited by these blessings to renew the discipline of the Church, and in two great Councils confirmed her sacred truths.  In the Council of Arles he condemned the schism of the Donatists; and in that of Nicaea, the first general Council of the Church, he dealt Arianism its death-blow by declaring that Jesus Christ is the true and very God.  Sylvester died in A.D. 335.
 
Reflection: - Never forget to thank God daily for having made you a member of His undying Church, and grow daily in your attachment, devotion, and loyalty to the Vicar of Christ.

A coloring picture can be found below.

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The Fifth Day of Christmas - St. Thomas of Canterbury

12/29/2017

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December 29
 THE ARCHBISHOP knew he was going to be killed.  King  Henry's men had threatened him.  But he was not halted as the procession filed into the dark Cathedral, lighted only by the candles held by the Monks chanting  Vespers.  First came the clerks of the Archbishop's household, walking slowly, two by two; last of all came the tall Archbishop.  He was hurried into the church by two of his friends, who then ordered the doors closed and barred.  But the Archbishop set aside the order saying, "The House of God should not be made a castle!  I command you, under holy obedience to open those doors." - The monks could not disobey.
*King Henry II had made Thomas a Becket his chancellor.  He was also his good friend, and as Chancellor of England Thomas ran the country well, was extremely popular, dressed in rich garments, and was considered by Henry II as the most dependable man in the realm.  When Archbishop Theobold of Canterbury died, Henry told Thomas he must be appointed to the post.  Thomas said: "I know your plans for the Church:  You will assert claims which I, if I were Archbishop must needs oppose."  But Henry would have his own way.
*Thomas was ordained priest on Saturday, June 2, 1162 and consecrated Bishop the next day, which was Trinity Sunday.  Now he changed his way of life, and practiced secret penances, fastings and disciplines, long vigils and constant prayer.
*He stripped himself of all signs of luxury, and resigned his post as Chancellor.  This annoyed Henry, and relations between the two men who had once been bosom friends were more and more strained.  King Henry tried again and again to exert his authority over the Church.  He wanted the donations of the people to go to him instead of to the Church.  He refused to allow Bishops to leave England without his permission.  He also wanted to select his own friends as Bishops in England.
*The Church could not consent to this.  Thomas a Becket opposed him.  After a time, a sort of peace was made between the King and the Archbishop.  But of course something came up that again offended Henry and in one of his violent tempers he said:  "Won't somebody get rid of that priest for me?"  And four of his Knights left the palace immediately to do so.  When his fit of temper was over and he had calmed down, Henry forgot what he had said, but it was too late.
*As the Archbishop came into the Cathedral the armed knights cried: "Where is the traitor?'  the Saint replied: "Here I am, no traitor, but Archbishop and priest of God."  They tried to drag him from the church to take him prisoner, but could not, and in the end they beat him to death where he stood.
*The people were greatly affected by the martyrdom of Saint Thomas a Becket.  Within a very short time devotion to him had spread through Europe.  Within two years Henry did public penance, and let himself be scourged at the Archbishop's tomb.  Numbers of miracles were worked, and Thomas a Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, accomplished in death what he had worked for in life.
*Who are my friends?  I can recognize the good from the bad by what they say and what they do.

A coloring picture can be found below.

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The Fourth Day of Christmas - The Holy Innocents

12/28/2017

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THE HOLY INNOCENTS
December 28

When Jesus was born in Bethlehem, the Wise Men came from the East to worship Him.  They went to Herod, the King, to ask him where they might find the new-born King of the Jews, the Saviour. Herod was a cruel, clever tyrant, and when he heard these Wise Men speak of a new-born King, he began to worry about losing his throne.  But he did not let the Wise Men know what he was thinking.  He called in the chief priests and asked them where the Bible says the Messias was to be born.  They answered that the Messias was to be born in Bethlehem.

"Go and find out about this child," the wicked king said to the Wise Men.  "When you have found out where he is, come and tell me, that I, too, may go and worship Him."  The Wise Men went on their way, and they found Jesus, the Messias, with Mary and Joseph.  When they had adored Him and given Him their gifts, they were warned in their sleep not to go back ot Herod.  An angel came to tell St. Joseph to take Mary and Baby Jesus into Eygpt.  In this way, God spoiled the muderous plans of Herod concerning the Divine Child.

When Herod realized that the Wise Men had not come back to him, he became furious.  Already, he was an evil, violent man, and now the fear of losing his throne made him worse.  He sent his soldiers to kill all the boy babies of Bethlehem, in the hope of killing the Messias, too!  The soldiers carried out the bloody order, and there was great sorrow in the little town of Bethlehem, as mothers wept over their murdered babies.
*These little children are honored today by the Church as martyrs.  They are called the Holy Innocents.
 
*Let us always respect little children.  They are innocent and pleasing to God.  Let us never do or say anything which would give bad example to them.     

A coloring picture for this day can be found below.           

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The Third Day of Christmas - St. John the Evangelist

12/27/2017

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ST. JOHN THE EVANGELIST
December 27
 
St. John was a fisherman in Galilee and was called to be an apostle with his brother, St. James the Greater.  Jesus gave these sons of     Zebedee the nickname, "sons of thunder."  St. John was the youngest of all the apostles and was dearly loved by the Lord.  At the Last Supper, it was John who was permitted to lean his head on the breast of Jesus, and John was the only apostle who stood at the foot of the Cross.  The dying Jesus  gave the care of His Blessed Mother Mary to this beloved apostle.  Turning to Our Lady, He said, "Behold thy Son."  And then to John, he said, "Behold thy Mother."  So for the rest of her holy life on earth, the Blessed Mother lived with St. John.  He alone had the great privilege of honoring and assisting the all-pure Mother of God.

John wrote one of the four Gospels, in which he shows us that Jesus is truly God.  He also wrote the last book in the Holy Bible, called the Apocalypse, and three Letters to Christians, which we find in the  Bible, also.  All his long life, St. John taught Christians to love one another, and he himself practiced great charity.  Once when he heard that a young Christian whom he knew and loved had becaome an outlaw and a robber, he set off at once to find him.  Old as he was, the Saint rode into the outlaw territory alone, and was taken prisoner.  As soon as the robber saw  St. John, he turned away in shame.

"Son," cried the apostle, "why are you running away from me, your father, an old man without weapons?  There is time for repentance.  I will answer for you to Jesus Christ.  I am ready to lay down my life for you.  I am sent by Christ!"  The young robber stopped when he heard those words.  Suddenly he began to weep.  He was won over by the love of St. John.  Before he left that city, the beloved Apostle made sure that the young man had become a good member of the Church once more.

When he had grown so old and weak that he had to be carried to church, St. John used to say to his people over and over again, "My little children, love one another."  The Christians once asked him why he said the same thing each time he spoke to them.  St. John answered, "Because   it is the Word of the Lord, and if you keep it, you will be doing enough."
 
Today try to resemble St. John at least in one of his three great virtues - purity of heart, charity toward all, and love for the Blessed Mother.   

A coloring picture of St. John can be found below.

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The Twelve Days of Christmas - Second Day - St. Stephen

12/26/2017

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THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS
*For The Twelve Days of Christmas my True Love sent to me the feast of St. Stephen and the story of King Wenceslaus, the feasts of St. John the Evangelist and the Holy Innocents, the feasts of the Circumcision and the Holy Name of Jesus, and the feast of the Epiphany with the Three Wise Kings. And on through the feast of the Holy Family and the commemoration of the Baptism of Christ.  If you are loathe to bid farewell to Christmas even then, you may continue it without interruption until Candlemas Day, February 2nd.  However you keep it, long or short, it is a far longer season for the Catholic child than the world understands.  For him the festivity is not officially over with the last wrapping torn off the last gift, or the last nut retrieved from the last toe in the stocking.  The Church would have us enjoy this season now that it is here, and celebrate the feasts that follow.

I will be posting each of the 12 days of Christmas with the Saint story and a coloring page.
 
ST. STEPHEN, THE FIRST MARTYR
December 26
Stephen's name means "crown" and he was the first disciple of Jesus to receive the martyr's crown.  Stephen was a deacon in the early Catholic Church.  The Apostles had found that they needed helpers to look after the care of the widows and the poor.  So they ordained seven deacons, and Stephen is the most famous of these.

God worked many miracles through St. Stephen and he spoke with such wisdom and grace that many of his hearers became followers of Jesus.  The enemies of the Church of Jesus were furious to see how successful St. Stephen's preaching was.  At last, they laid a plot for him.   They could not answer his wise arguments, so they got men to lie about him, saying that he had blasphemed against God.   St. Stephen faced that great assembly of enemies without any fear.  In fact, the Holy Bible says that his face looked like the face of an angel.
The Saint spoke about Jesus, showing that He is the Saviour God had  promised to send.  He scolded his enemies for not having believed in Jesus.  At that, they rose up in great anger and shouted at him.  But Stephan looked up to heaven and said that he saw the heavens opening and Jesus standing at the right hand of God.

His hearers plugged their ears and refused to listen to another word.  They dragged  St. Stephen outside the city of Jerusalem and stoned him to death.  The Saint prayed, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!"  Then he fell to his knees and begged God not to punish his enemies for killing him.

After such an expression of love, the holy martyr went to his heavenly reward.
If you are tempted to take revenge, pray from your heart for the one who has offended you.  Jesus said: "Forgive and you shall be forgiven".

You can find a coloring picture of St. Stephen here.

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Eleventh day of Christmas -Vigil of Epiphany

1/5/2017

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                                                          'Tis Christmas in Your Heart
                                             Tis' a story that they love to tell in Ireland.
'Tis a story the whole world loves to hear. For 'tis the story of how warm arms held the Infant King and Christ found His cradle on a human heart while Mary slept. It seems that Brigid was still a young woman the loveliest and the sweetest in all Ireland. The water of Patrick's baptism was still moist on her white; unstained forehead; the light of faith had wakened Bethlehem stars in her eyes — When God gave her a vision and a dream.

She knelt; sweet maid; in her father's castle, alone in the little room in which she prayed to God and loved God's mother. Christmas was in her heart as Christmas was in the crisp, crackling air about her. For 'twas the lovely eve of the lovely day when Heaven came to earth and the bosom of an immaculate maid became the first cradle of a God made man.

ALONE with her thoughts, Brigid dreamed of the Christmas soon to be sung in the chapel by the old priest who had once been a Druid, till he had bowed his venerable head, as did the Magi, before Incarnate Wisdom. The cold winds swept across her room, playing like mice among the rushes on the floor, or sighing about the corners like wishful souls of the weary Old Law, tired of their long delay.  But Brigid swept and garnished her soul for the coming dawn and the coming King.

SOON at the Christmas Mass the the Infant Savior was to come again. Soon she could hold Him within her breast. And for a moment even Mary she regarded without any envy. Christ would be hers too. He would be born in her virgin soul. What else could Christmas be except Christ coming to fill the soul with the glory of His Godhead hidden in swad- dling clothes or in the disguise of a white host? Yet the heart of Brigid was only for a moment content. The white host would hide Him too completely. It held Him safe as never swaddling clothes had done, and it would bind Him away from her searching sight.  Ah, how she longed to see Him in all the pale sweetness of His infancy! How she ached to feel His tiny fingers fumbling at her throat, His helpless little head pillowed against her breast. His warm breath keeping rhythm with the sighs which were the beat of His soul, that could not sleep for love of heedless men.

'TRULY the host was fair and hid Him in its whiteness. Yet even the Christmas Mass would not bring to her His mother. 'Twould be the priest that would bear Him to her, not Mary, who had placed Him trustfully in the arms of shepherds sweaty from running at an angel's command. Brigid sighed for the whole of Christmas, for Christ and His mother, for the Child and the Madonna.  Oh she sighed and she prayed. She prayed and she sighed. For her heart was heavy with the joy of Christmas and heavy too with an unsatisfied longing for Bethlehem. Then came the vision. The sentry struck the midnight hour heavily on her father's wall. Brigid's eyes closed, then opened again. And Christmas began. The rough stone walls of her room, damp with the winter's chill and scarred with the never healing wounds of ancient masons, receded and grew dim. Gently the walls sloped back until they were the slanting of autumnal hills, grey-brown against the heavy folds of velvet sky. She lifted her head to see, not the tapestried ceiling of her cell, but the faint flickers of watchful stars grown pale before the resistless glory of one rival star that glowed over the hills. And the little door that sh'e had passed so often, as she talked from her room to the chapel, was the dark; forbidding entry of a cave.

SLOWLY Brigid rose, for the vision needed no angel to interpret it. Off in the pathways of the hills she heard voices that she knew were those of shepherds hurrying away to their heedless fellows with glad tidings of great joy. It was no longer the sighing of the wind she heard about her, but the last faint echoes of angelic song stirring the farthest corners of the earth. And through the mouth of the cave trembled a failing light that touched the scarred entry with fading warmth and beckoned her as it receded.

WITH quick steps she hurried forward and stood while the last rays of the light died against the warm wool of her white mantle and the heavy red folds that were her sleeves, and the linen coif that bound her head and held captive her heavy braids. Drawn forward by the dying light, she entered the cave — And paused. Surely, she should kneel and adore. Heaven was here, buried in the blue shadows of a cave. God was among His people, wait- ing for His worshipers. But Brigid did not kneel. Her woman's heart was too full of pity for the scene, struck down by the heavy hand of exhaustion, a stalwart man lay upon the rough earth of the cave, his traveler s cloak scarce wrapped around him, his traveler's stick dropped from his nerveless hand. And against the wall, close to the manger, in which no mother long would leave her child, sat the weary Mary. Her back curved as it sought rest against the cold surface of the cave's hewn rock. Her eyes were stroked with heavy lines of blue. Her shoulders sagged as if they bore the weight of the heavens. And her head bent forward in utter weariness. Only her arms were alert. With the tireless skill of a mother, those arms made up for the frail strength of the girl. They curved  protectingly about her sleeping Son.

BRIGID looked and marveled. Marveled that God could be so small and so sweet. Marveled that God's mother could be so weary. Marveled that she herself felt as much of pity as of love. And out of a heart of mingled pity and love Brigid spoke. "Mary" she said, and her voice was like the voice of a harp which is swept by a breeze, "Mary, you're tired indeed." And the gentlest eyes in all the world looked up beneath lids laden with sleep, and the fair head that was Mary's bowed in assent. Then whispered Brigid:  "AH, well you might be, ma-cushla. For 'tis I that know all you did and suffered ere you  bore your Joy. Long was the way from Nazareth and few the inns, and crowded. Sure, your strength was never great, and 'twas far miles you carried Him under your heart. You wandered long from house to house, weary and affrighted with the doors slamming in your face — and in His. Then up the long hillside to the cave and this cold comfort on a wintry night. '"Alone, macushla, well I know it was alone you bore your Child. For what use is even a good man when a woman's great hour has come? No woman took Him from your arms to bathe Him and wrap Him against the bitter wind. That too you did, alone. could you sleep, mav- ourneen, till you had held Him up to adoring angels. And were you wearied by the shep- herds, who lingered long, held captive by their joy in Him and their unwillingness to leave the Lamb of God even for their own straying lambs along the hillside? "'Mary, beloved, you're weary. Good reason you're weary." And Mary smiled, even though her lips were tremulous and her head was crushed with sleep. "But you can sleep now, Mary machree." And Brigid slipped off her white wool mantle and laid it on the ground. "Of course you couldn't sleep; not till I came, beloved. What with the dangers of the night and the men that hate Him, you had to watch. But, Mary, if you'll let me ... if, Mary, you'll trust me ... if my arms can learn from yours the art of guarding Him . . . why, here's my cloak for  your cot and my bosom for His cradle and bold in her desire, yet abashed at her temerity, Brigid dropped her eyes — blue, starred with the stars of hope; then slowly lifted them, hoping, praying, holding out her arms. Then Mary smiled again, and Brigid knew her prayer was answered. Brigid was on her knees that second, close to Mary's side. Gently the mother passed her Babe from the hollow of her arms to the cradling arms of Brigid. Gently she relaxed her weary body upon the soft wool of Brigid's mantle. Her eyes fluttered and closed. She was asleep. Within the arms of Brigid the Infant King stirred as if accustom- ing Himself to His new cradle.  Then a deep sigh was born of trust and contentment. His tiny body snuggled against her bosom. Small fingers warm and helpless yet resistlessly powerful; touched her throat. And Brigid sank back against the wall of the cave; her voice; the sheerest breath of melody; singing to Jesus of Bethlehem an Irish lullaby.

AND so it happened that while Joseph slept the sleep of shame and exhaustion (shame for the cave he had offered his bride; exhaustion from his efforts to avoid that shame); and Mary rested trustfully upon the mantle of Brigid; Brigid played nurse and foster mother to the Son of God. And the Son of God accepted her bosom; pure as the snows never were upon the roofs of her convents; comforting as the fire of  a love that was strong enough to warm her God. The Infant of Bethlehem had made of Brigid's heart the second cradle of His Christmastide. Vision faded, say the Irish bards who tell the story, as all visions must fade until the unfading vision of the eternal Christmas. The slanting hillside stood straight again and became the cold gray stone of her familiar wall. The tapestry-hung ceiling shut out the sight of stars. The weary Joseph and the sleeping Mary were gone, and Brigid looked down into the empty hollow of her arms that had recently cradled the King of Christmas. Empty, but not for long. For Brigid rose, and through the door that had been the mouth of Bethlehem's cave she walked from her room into the chapel for the Mass of Christmas. Do you see now why the Irish call their Brigid the foster mother of the Savior? And shall we follow her through that little door which leads to the Bethlehem that is our Christmas Mass? And shall we too take into our cradling hearts the Christ of the Christmastide?

Source: Tis Christmas in Your Heart, Imprimatur 1934

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Tenth day of christmas - octave of the holy innocents

1/4/2017

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                                   LEGENDS AND STORIES OF THE CHILD JESUS     
                                                                           IRELAND
                                                            "The poorest of them all."

                                                 But they made answer to Him, " Nay "
                                                     They were lords' and ladies' sons;
                                                       And He, the poorest of them all,
                                                  Was born in an ox's stall.—Old carol.

WHAT a grumpy old woman was Nanny-Fox ! How she used to storm at her little grandson Charlie ; and when she was not crippled and helpless with rheumatism, how she used to beat him too! Even the rough crew of Tile Street, Dublin, where Nanny lived, cried shame on her for her ill-use of little Charlie. Not that Charlie ever complained, or made a fuss about any of his trials. He was a pluckylittle chap, and his natural courage was strengthened by the grace of God given him in the sacraments and by prayer. " When Jesus is present, all is well, and nothing seems difficult: most rich is he who is dear to Jesus " that is what Charlie felt in his heart of hearts, though I don't think he could have told it in such a beautiful way.

Charlie's father, old Nanny's son, had married when he was quite young. His wife had died
when Charlie was born: she had been weak and ailing for some time, and her husband had not money enough to buy her food and nourishing things to keep her alive. For he had no trade; the little money he earned was for selling white mice and rats, of which he had always a great number in cages at home—in the one room in which they lived. Perhaps living in the stifling atmosphere with so many animals helped to kill the mother, as it certainly did Charlie's father, who, stricken with a fever, for want of pure air, good nursing, medicine, and nourishment, died when Charlie was only twelve years old. He had been good to his boy while he lived, for he had never forsaken his religious duties; and, when dying, he made Charlie promise faithfully to go regularly to confession and communion, never to miss Mass on Sundays or days of obligation, and to be very devout to our blessed Lady. Charlie had promised, and in spite of temptations and difficulties had kept his promise manfully ; for our dear Mother upholds amid all trials and obstacles those who ask her for her help, and do not turn aside when it comes.

Nanny was a wicked old woman. She had drowned all the whispers of her conscience in gin, long ago; and if at times loud warnings would make themselves heard, she hugged the devil closer to her heart, till at last she heard no voice, obeyed no dictates, but his. Charlie took care of the mice, and went about the streets with them trying to sell them. It was not such a poor business, after all. Many children liked to watch the little pets running up ladders, playing hide-and-seek, and doing the other pretty tricks that Charlie taught them; and they generally begged pennies from their nurses or parents to give to Charlie, who would have got on very well as far as money was concerned if it had not been for his grandmother. But old Nanny took all his money from him at the end of the day, and spent most of it for gin.

Charlie could have kept it from her had he chosen, for of course he need not have told her how much money he had taken during the day; but he had promised his father to be good to her—his father had not foreseen the result and he could never tell a lie, or deceive the least little bit in the world, not even though his grandmother took the money for gin, and left him half-starved and in rags. Drink is so selfish, so unkind : it uproots the feelings that
are deepest-rooted by God in our hearts—the longing for Him and the love of our own relations.

When Nanny was ill, Charlie was as gentle and forbearing with her as a Sister of Charity. Not that he was perfect. Now and then, when she sent him to the public house at the end of the street to spend some of his hard-won coppers on gin, Charlie would stand in the street outside the door of the " Red Lion" for a moment and stamp his foot, and say dreadful words, in his rage that such things should be. Now and then, too, he would watch some well-dressed boy of his own age. There was one in particular he often saw walking by the side of his mother or companions, chatting gaily, and going in and out of toy, sweet, or book shops; and dark rebellious thoughts would come into the poor boy's heart, and a half-quelled murmur against God for making him poor.
 
One winter in particular, old Nanny was very trying. She began by taking all the money she
could get for gin, and often Charlie had not enough for food. It was no unusual thing for him to have only a hunch of dry bread for his dinner, and neither breakfast nor supper. He
was more than usually cheerful and patient, however, for he was preparing for confirmation; and Father Southwell, who was instructing him, guessing at many things in Charlie's life that the boy kept secret, took advantage of the time, not only to fit his instructions with the boy's daily need, but also to keep him back sometimes when the rest of the class was dismissed, to give him a few kind, encouraging words, to help him on his way. You who are surrounded by loving friends and relatives little know the worth of kind words of sympathy to a soul that is in its daily struggle alone but for unseen help.

One day Charlie was coming home, after a long tramp; it was so cold and snowy that few people had ventured out, and Charlie had not liked to disturb the little mice in their warm nest of hay, to make them perform. He met a funny little old gentleman in Tile Street—a most unusual place to meet any one in clean, respectable clothes. "Ah! you're the white-mice boy? " he said, stopping Charlie.
"Yes, sir," answered Charlie, who remembered to have seen the old gentleman in church and in a house at the other end of the town, where the rich people lived.
"Well, and where do you live, and where are your father and mother? " Charlie thought the old gentleman very inquisitive, but being a very modest, courteous boy, he answered quietly:
"I live at No. 17, sir; and my father and mother are dead."
"Do you live alone?" asked the old gentleman.
" No, sir; I live with my grandmother."
" What's her name?" was the next question.
" Nanny Fox," answered Charlie, more and more astonished, and truth to tell, a little annoyed at being catechised so abruptly.
" And how much do you make a day?"
"Sometimes ninepence or a shilling; never more than that. Sometimes I don't sell anything or take any coppers all day."
" You'll never make your fortune at that rate," said the old gentleman. " And how much do
you give to your grandmother? "
" All I get," Charlie answered sharply, for he was getting very angry at having his affairs pried into.
"All! Stuff and nonsense! Don't tell lies, boy," said the old gentleman tartly.
" Very well, sir. Why did you ask me all those questions, which are no business of yours, if you did not intend to believe me?"
The old gentleman was more pleased with Charlie's sudden blaze of wrath than he cared to show. He chuckled away in his white silk handkerchief that was muffled all about his throat and ears, but he only said:
"Here's sixpence for you, boy."
"I don't want your sixpence," answered Charlie.
"Why won't you take it? You take money from other people."
"That's for my white mice, or for making them act," said the boy. " If I let you pay me for answering your questions, you might come and ask some more tomorrow, and I won't answer them."
Charlie was very angry. He hated the old man, and would have gone home penniless rather than take his money.
"Very well," said the old gentleman, and went on his way. If Charlie had looked round, he would have seen the old man standing still in the middle of the pavement to look after him; and if he had followed him, he would have heard him talking to himself in this wise:
"Very fine lad; I quite believe all Father Southwell tells me about him; a great deal more there is, too, as I have learned from the neighbors; more, too, if one only knew it. Dreadful
old woman!" he added, waving his stick fiercely in the air. The dreadful old woman was Charlie's grandmother. He had been asking questions of others in Tile Street that afternoon, and had learned a great deal about Charlie that had convinced him of the justice of the good opinion he had formed of the boy from seeing him in church.

We will leave Charlie, having seen him met at the door by Nanny and beaten with her crutch for having brought home so little money, shivering and sobbing in the miserable attic that he called home (for even he broke down sometimes), and follow the old gentleman home. He lived, as I have said, in the better part of the town, in a large house standing back from the road, in a pretty garden. It was dark when he reached home, and the warm, well-lighted hall as he entered struck him in painful contrast to the houses in Tile Street. For Sir Charles Felton was a good old man, with a large heart brimful of love for God and his neighbors, and his questions had not been purposeless or merely inquisitive; but I must not tell his secret yet. He went into the drawing-room as soon as he
had taken off his things, where he found Lady Felton, a lady as good and kind as you could
wish, and Annie, their daughter, true child of such parents. There was also a little boy about thirteen years old, though he looked much younger, curled up in the most comfortable chair in the room, reading.
"Late again, father," said Annie, getting up and moving a chair near the fire for Sir Charles.
"It's six o'clock, but we waited afternoon tea for you, as it was such a wretched afternoon." Be it noted the little boy did not offer to move, not even to look up and smile a greeting to his grandfather.
"Where have you been?" asked Lady Felton as she gave Sir Charles his tea.
"In Tile Street, making inquiries about that little white-mice boy that we have all taken a fancy to."
"Oh! I am so glad, father," said Annie. "I hope he is the little saint we think him."
"Very nearly, very nearly," answered Sir' Charles. He told them all he had heard about Charlie. "He's a namesake of yours, Charlie," he added, turning to his little grandson. But the boy gave no answering smile. He looked up for a moment from his book half-contemptuously and then went on reading. He had only been with his grandfather and grandmother for a month or two, since his father's regiment had been ordered out to India, and his mother had gone too. At home he had been left to himself a great deal; his mother spoiled him or took no notice of him. His father was never at home, and being supposed to be too delicate to go to school, he had had a private tutor, who came only for three hours in the morning. Charlie had been left a great deal to the servants, who had filled his head with pride and nonsense. The consequence of all this was that he was a very disagreeable, overbearing little boy, and considered it an insult to his dignity to have a poor street boy spoken of as his namesake. His grandfather noticed his disdainful manner,
and being very particular about respectful behavior in children, ordered him out of the room.
"That boy is perfectly unbearable, with his airs and graces," he said. " He is so rude and unmannerly, too."
"Yes, it's a great pity," said Lady Felton.
"The only grandson, too, and always the eldest. But I think we shall be able to do something with him, and he will get a lot of it knocked out of him at school."
" What have you been doing all day?" asked Sir Charles of his daughter.
" I have been out with coal tickets this morning. We went for a drive in the afternoon, and since then I have been practising for the concert in the schoolroom tomorrow."
Soon it was time to dress for dinner, so they had no further talk about either of the Charlies, though they were none the less the subject of much thought. Sir Charles could not help contrasting their behavior to their grandparents.
"And the difference between them," he said in a loud voice in the middle of dinner, to everybody's surprise.
"Difference between what? " asked Annie, laughing.
" Your mother and that poor boy's grandmother," he answered warmly. " And to think--"
but suddenly remembering the servants, he, relapsed into silent thought.

The next day the ground was covered with snow. Charlie, our first friend, started out with his mice, for it was a bright, clear day, and he thought he would be sure to get some coppers, for many people would be about shopping now, it was so near Christmas. When he came to the upper part of the town, which was more like country than town, with its detached houses in their large gardens and wide roads with avenues of trees, he saw a lot of boys making a snow man. When they had finished it, they began to shy snowballs at the
pipe they had stuck in its mouth. Charlie, unthinking, and with a boy's love of fun, made up a snowball and threw it. It just struck the barrel of the pipe and knocked it out of the snow man's mouth.
"Bravo!" cried most of the boys, in admiration of the good aim. But one of them came up to him and said haughtily, "Go away ! What right have you to shy at our snow man, you dirty little cad?"
Not a blow with Nanny's crutch, or a cold night on the bare floor, would have made the poor boy wince with pain, or the tears gather in his eyes, as did these cruel words uttered by Charlie Felton. Little did the latter know his grandfather was within sight and earshot.
"Shame !" cried the other boys, and one of them ran after Charlie Fox and asked him to come back and share in the game. But he was too deeply wounded, and he ran off. Just as he was turning a corner of the road, he met the little old gentleman of the night before.
"Ah! my boy, we have met again. I wanted to see you. The day after tomorrow's Christmas Day, and you and I will forget that we misunderstood each other last night, and you will come to wish me 'a merry Christmas' after High Mass. I live at Felton House, but in case I miss you after church or you forget, I have written it down on this piece of paper." Giving Charlie the piece of paper, he bustled off.

Charlie Felton came in to luncheon glowing with health and fun; he was rather surprised at his grandfather's dry, short answers to all he said. "But he is such a queer old stick," he said to himself. In the evening he went to the concert in the school. He enjoyed the first part very much. He always imagined himself of much importance when he went out with his grandfather, as every one made so much of Sir Charles, for all loved and honored the good old man. In the second part of the programme was a pretty old Christmas carol sung by four of the school children, each taking a different part. It is an old English one, not so well known as many others, though beautiful in the lesson it teaches. Charlie could not make out why his grandfather fixed his eyes on him with such a meaning look. I will give some of the verses here, and you will discover, as Charlie did, at the third verse what Sir Charles meant by it.
                                                           As it fell out one May morning,
                                                                    On one bright holiday,
                                                   Sweet Jesus asked of His dear Mother
                                                                   If He might go and play.
                                              
                                                      "To play, to play, sweet Jesus shall go,
                                                             And to play now get you gone;
                                                           And let me hear of no complaint
                                                            At night when you come home."

                                                     Sweet Jesus went down to yonder town,
                                                                     As far as the Holy Well,
                                                           And there did see as fine children
                                                                      As any tongue can tell.

                                                        He said : "God bless you every one,
                                                                And Christ your portion be.
                                                      Little children, shall I play with you?
                                                               And you shall play with Me."
                                                    
                                                      But they made answer to Him, "Nay"
                                                         They were lords' and ladies' sons;
                                                           And He, the poorest of them all,
                                                                   Was born in an ox's stall.
 
                                                         Sweet Jesus turned Him about,                
                                                      And He neither laughed nor smiled,
                                                   But tears came trickling from His eyes
                                                                Like water from the skies.

Charlie grew redder and more uncomfortable every moment tinder his grandfather's gaze. He guessed now that Sir Charles had seen his unkindness to the little white-mice boy in the morning. And poor Charlie, who was there owing to the kind forethought of Father Southwell, his only friend, who gave him any little treat he could, rejoiced in thinking that at least in one point he resembled our most sweet Lord, who, with His dear Mother, suffered such poverty and hardship and contempt for our sake. Nothing more was said by Sir Charles, but on Christmas morning after High Mass, when Charlie Fox came to Felton House, his little namesake received him with kind words and frankly spoken regret for his cruel speech about the snow man, and offered to give all his Christmas presents to make atonement. He was as active as his grandfather ever after in trying to be kind to the poor, especially to Charlie Fox, who was given regular work in the garden by Sir Charles; and the boys became such friends that when they were grown up and Sir Charles and his son dead and little Charlie succeeded to the title and estates, his namesake was made his agent—nay, more, his confidential and honored friend.

Dear children, the winter is as cold now as then; the poor suffer in as great reality; all around us are the poor, the sick, and the sad. If we cannot give alms, if we cannot go on errands of mercy and charity, we can at least speak words of brotherly love and comfort. We can love all, as we would wish to be loved ourselves. Is it much to ask of us one little encouraging sentence to some one weary at heart, one little act of self-denial to help the needy? Much? No, nothing. Is anything too great a sacrifice for the love of our most sweet Lord? We can never, never love Him enough, never do anything to show the millionth part of our gratitude to Him. And let us not forget our dearest Mother, Mary; let us ask of her to help us give ourselves and all we have in the best and wisest way to sweet Jesus for His Christmas gift. We will offer our gifts through her, for then we know they will be accepted; for her Son will welcome all that comes through her hands, and we shall be safe in His keeping now and evermore.
Source: Legends and Stories of the Holy Child Jesus, 1894
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ninth day of christmas - st. genevieve

1/3/2017

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Picture
Genevieve was born at Nanterre, near Paris. St. Germanus, when passing through, specially noticed a little shepherdess, and predicted her future sanctity. At seven years of age she made a vow of perpetual chastity. After the death of her parents, Paris became her abode; but she often travelled on works of mercy, which, by the gifts of prophecy and miracles, she unfailingly performed. At one time she was cruelly persecuted: her enemies, jealous of her power, called her a hypocrite and tried to drown her; but St. Germanus having sent her some blessed bread as a token of esteem, the outcry ceased, and ever afterwards she was honored as a Saint.

During the siege of Paris by Childeric, king of the Franks, Genevieve went out with a few followers and procured corn for the starving citizens. Nevertheless Childeric, though a pagan, respected her, and at her request spared the lives of many prisoners. By her exhortations again, when Attila and his Huns were approaching the city, the inhabitants, instead of taking flight, gave themselves to prayer and penance, and averted, as she had foretold, the impending scourge. Clovis, when converted from paganism by his holy wife, St. Clotilda, made Genevieve his constant adviser, and, in spite of his violent character, became a generous and Christian king. She died within a few weeks of that monarch, in 512, aged eightynine.

A pestilence broke ont at Paris in 1129, which in a short time swept off fourteen thousand persons, and, in spite of all human efforts, daily added to its victims. At length, on November 26th, the shrine of St. Genevieve was carried in solemn procession through the city. That same day but three persons died, the rest recovered, and no others were taken ill. This was but the first of a series of miraculous favors which the city of Paris has obtained through the relics of its patron Saint.

Reflection.—Genevieve was only a poor peasant girl, but Christ dwelt in her heart. She was anointed with His Spirit, and with power ; she went about doing good, and God was with her.

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eighth day of christmas - the holy name of jesus

1/2/2017

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Jesus, thy name ever blessed,
Bids every heart rejoice,
'Tis fit thy praise should be confessed
By every youthful voice.

Jesus, at thy blest name,
'Tis beautiful to see,
With one accord, a multitude
Adore, on bended knee.

Jesus, the mighty God,
Jesus, meek, and gentle one,
My heart its Lord adores in thee,
Its brother dares to own.

Jesus, thy bitter woe,
Demands that tears be given ;
Jesus, my risen Lord, thy triumph
I'll sing with, those of heaven.

Jesus, thou Shepherd good,
I sing thy dying love,
Who, that thy lambs might not be lost,
Left thy bright throne above.

Jesus, thou Lamb of God,
I sing thy purity ;
Model of innocence, no guile
Was ever found in thee.

Jesus, the humble babe,
Let praise be sung to thee,
Who, in the crib at Bethlehem,
Hid thy dread majesty.

Jesus, the judge of all,
Thy mercy will I sing,
For thou hast justice satisfied,
My Saviour and my King.

Jesus, the King of Kings,
Thy glories dare I sing,
Before whom angels veiled adore,
And fitting tribute bring ?

Jesus, the Prince of Peace,
Oh ! while I sing thy praise,
I pray thy blessed peace be mine,
The remnant of my days.

Source: Catholic Hymns for Youthful and Infant Minds, 1847

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