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THE BULLETIN, December 26, 195?—PAGE 7-B
T R A N <3
Little-Known
•y M. J. MURRAY
i SUT TRUp
Fact* for Catholics S*® 1
CbpTTlfM. 1SW, N.C.W.C. W#w* Servtoo
DEVIL’S
FUNERAL-1
/// MEDIEVAL
> ■ Britain, a mourN/nq |
Bell was tolled the I
■Hour Before midnight I
TO CELEBRATE THE LEqEND\
that the devil died as
Christ was born .
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§ AeA'eve glRLW S
GUR ~6o fvn/e
actuary taken p/ace
"■between, tAe yecJtS
SA. . 7 &■ 4. -B.C : i
AS PART OF THC
CHRISTMAS NIGHT
CELEBRATIONS AT
CASTFLNAU, FRANCE,
A CHILD SOLEMNLY
leads a 'Donkey .
INTO THE CHURCH .
®sbsp v v 7
touch cadol-S/ngert often go from house td house
IN THE CjVISE OF ANIMALS, AND ARE PAID WITH GIFTS OF FOOD. !C
dale's
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PEACHTREE AND IVY STREETS
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TRANSIT
“Serving the Southeast Safely”
Atlanta and
Doravsiie, Ga.
Twas Fite
m m m
n The Seminary
By
Joseph A. Drew, C.S.P.
I watched the eager eyes of
my prospective convert as they
told their own story. They told
of a deep sense of gratitude to
God and to me . . . buzz . . .
buzz . . . Oh, the bell! Five
thirty and time to get up ■—■
time to forget my dreams and
return to seminary life . . .
I struggle out of bed and
reach my chair. Clumsily I yank
my socks up over my ankles.
“Lord, did I have this much
■trouble rising back in Flush
ing?” Too drowsy to decide
such a question, I pick
up my towel and walk to the
washroom. I’m relieved to see
eight or nine other faces looking
just as tired as mine. The wat
er on my face is good, too. Now
I remember: it’s the day before
Christmas and this is my first
one in the seminary. I wonder
if I’ll be disappointed. I always
loved Christmas at home.
DIFFERENT THIS YEAR
I try to picture the scene at
Bethlehem: it’s rather difficult
with soap in my eyes. Each
time I have an image of the
stable or the crib or the Child,
it gets shoved about by my er
rant thoughts. Jesus Christ be
came an infant. Jesus Christ,
God Almighty, became so
small. He became so weak, just
like I feel now (buzz . . . buzz).
That’s two bells for chapel; I’ll
think about it some more down
there.
Some mornings I find myself
sleeping like the Apostles in
the Garden, with the Master
only a few paces away. But not
this morning. Christmas knocks
too loud. It won’t let me sleep.
I sense that this Christmas will
be different. It’s been different
already. I didn’t have to battle
the bumper-to-bLimper traffic
in front of Gertz Department
Store to buy Pop the belt that
turned out four inches too large.
Nor did I grow deaf listening to
the story of Rudolph’s red nose.
And Santa Claus, the jovial old
fellow who wants to fulfill ev
erybody’s wish, did not stare at
me from every shopping win
dow.
I know I’m not indifferent to
it all. The steady stream of mail
and packages that lie in wait
for Christmas on the Superior’s
floor interests me. Mom, Pop,
Sis, Jim — even my seven-
months old Godchild has sent
me something. I know I’ll like
the bathing suit: the veterans
here at the college tell me it’s
just what one needs for our
sumrher place at Lake George.
I’ll like all the presents — but
this Christmas I’ll think a little
more of the love that goes with
them.
Oops, here I sit in chapel
meditating on the meaning of
Christmas and I can’t get gifts
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out of my mind! Perhaps I’m
not so far from the meaning.
Isn’t gratitude at the heart of
Christmas? Didn’t we receive
the greatest gift at Christmas?
Thanks, Lord. Thanks for Mom,
Pop, and my plump little God
child; thanks for my bathing
suit; thanks for calling me here
in your service.
NOISY JOY
Father starts the Salve Re
gina. Meditation is over and
Mass is about to begin. I don’t
reach for my missal this morn
ing; my heart and mind are still
engrossed in God’s goodness.
There are so many people to
thank, and God is so good! The
priest approaches the altar. My
eyes see him but my mind is
far away. It’s a year ago last
summer. I’m still in a warm
living room in Greensboro, Ver
mont. A huge fire licks away
at the logs in the fire place.
Doctor Stockdale, a retired
Protestant minister, makes me
feel that his home is my home.
Such_ hospitality and kindness,
it deserves my thanks. I pray
for him Lord. Remember him
in Your Mass today. He’s been
dead only a few months.
And on and on I go until
Mass and thanksgiving are both
over.
At breakfast everyone seems
exuberant. I’m not the only one
who knows Christmas is here.
My joy is just a part of theirs.
It’s after breakfast that the
Christmas preparations begin.
Frank, Ed, Jim, and another Ed
set to work on the dining room;
George, Dave, Paul and Bob
have the windows; Ben, Char
lie, Gerry, and I take the cha-
pel. t
Work is going on everywhere.
It doesn’t sound like a mona
stery! Hammers and buckets
and buffers send their distinc
tive notes through the busy
halls. In all this din, the largely
responsible for it, is the joy
that seems almost tangible. It’s
not an isolated joy; it takes on
the force of an esprit de corps.
It’s as real as the paint of the
walls or the wreaths on the
door. And it’s contagious. I
even felt happy to build the
chapel stable. (Why mention
this as strange? Because I’m one
of those people with ten
thumbs, each one clumsier than
his neighbor next door.)
How can I explain this jubi
lant spirit? The Psalms said it:
“One day in Thy courts is bet
ter than a thousand.”
'THE LORD IS COME'
The hours of the day fly by.
The stable takes form. Then
mail call — with all the Christ
mas mail from home. Then
lunch, common recreation, more
work on the crib, a short stroll
to get some fresh air — each of
these like a fast-moving cloud
that is too excited to stop. Fin
ally, supper. And after that, an
other stroll to view the cribs
and trees that decorate the
homes in the area. By nine o’
clock I’m in my room, readying
myself for a two-hour sleep
before Midnight Mass. I bury
my excitement under the cov
ers and lose myself in dreams.
Throughout the year, bells
call us to all our exercises. But
not on Christmas Eve. Instead,
a group of carolers walk
through the long corridors
waking the sleeping and ush
ering in the joy of Christmas. I
had not been long asleep when
I heard their voices faint in the
distance. The sound grew loud
er. “Joy to the World, the Lord
is come.” I moved quickly from
the bed, out into the hall and
down the corridor, pajamas and
all. I wanted to hear the song
and join in it. “Let heaven and
nature sing.”
Joy to the world —this was
the joy that I found in my first
Christmas at the seminary. The
carolers sang joy; the walls
sang joy; the whole community
sang joy; and I, a real part of it
all, sang joy. Thanks to You,
Lord, for the joy that comes in
Your service!
The Shepherds
(Continued from Page 6-B)
•peared with the soldier behind
a rise in the land. Another sol
dier, almost invisible in the
darkness, but ever watchful,
kept surveillance of the car and
its passengers. Twenty minutes
lapsed and calls of, “Where’s
Joseph?” into the night brought
only muffled answers in Arabic.
Another ten minutes passed
and Joseph returned, climbed
behind the wheel and said, “Do
not worry—everything is all
right.”
We turned on to another road,
not much better than the first
and proceeded on our way. Now
lights could be seen twinkling
in a city that we knew must be
beyond the border.
Every few yards we were
ordered to stop and identify
ourselves. Close to our destina
tion we came upon a police
post. We stopped again and this
time a soldier replete with caifa
(headdress of the Arab Legion)
and Tommy-gun got into the
front seat of the car and es
corted us into Battir and Mr.
Collins to the home of his cook.
Our return trip was exactly
like the first and in view of the
absence of taxis, Joseph was
destined to travel that road
twice more that night.
Back at the hotel in Jerusa
lem, nervy from our experiences
I actually wept in fear for his
life—soldiers could make mis
takes! I later learned that my
fears were unfounded. The sol
diers not only knew he was to
return but had asked him to
bring them cigarettes from the
town! We also learned later that
the humble village we visited
that Christmas eve was, so close
to the border that ordinarily no
one could enter it after dark.
The house which offered its
hospitality was 150 feet from
the border!
'GLORY TO GOD
By eleven o’clock that night
our adventures over, we were
settled in our pews listening to
the Franciscan Boys Choir while
we waited for midnight.
The Solemn Pontifical Mass
was offered by Patriarch Albert
Gori, O.F.M., of Jerusalem. He
was assisted by a colorful array
of priests—a living testimony
of the Church united. They
ranged from a bearded Greek
priest with his tall black hat
(Kalemaukion) to the clean
shaven American with a very
Irish face.
The church held a standing
room only crowd from all walks
of life and all corners of the
earth. From the British Ambas
sadors, to an American clerk-
typist. From the Lord Mayor of
Jerusalem to a Jordanian goat-
herder.
At the Gloria, much to the
surprise of the first-timers, a
neon sign over the altar lit up
and said in glowing letters—
“Gloria in Excelsis Deo.”
The curtain over the taber
nacle was drawn back revealing
the beautiful state of the Infant,
the Prince of Peace, (usually
kept in a glass case in the
church) which, after Mass, is
borne to the crypt below the
church and placed in the man
ger.
Thus did a smattering of the
earth’s peoples gather in Beth
lehem to usher in the Birthday
of a King—while the soldiers of
another Kingdom shepherded
their country with Tommy-guns.
As a staunch Moslem said to
us while guiding us through
Jerusalem, “It is a pity—the
land of the Prince of Peace
should be in peace and not in
pieces!”
O manifest infirmity, O won
drous humility, in which all the
greatness of God lay hid! The
mother to whom His infancy
was subject, He ruled with His
power; and to her at whose
breasts He nursed, He gave the
nourishment of truth. May He
Who did not shrink from tak
ing a beginning even like ours,
perfect in us His gifts; and may
He also make us children of
God, He. Who for our s a k e s
wished to become a child of
man. — St. Augustine
In the lands of Central and
South America, the Christmas
festival reaches its zenith with
the celebration of the Misa del
Gallo (Mass of the Cock) at
midnight Christmas Eve. This
traditionally is the hour at
which Christ was born. The
name itself stems from Chris
tian Rome’s early practice of
holding the first service when
the cock crew.
HIGH-SPEED
Today the future becomes the
past almost before a man rea
lizes it is present.
At a church fair in Rome a priest arranges a display of
sculptured figures of the Infant Jesus, in preparation for Christ
mas shoppers. They are used in the traditional mangers made
by many farhilies. (NC Photos).
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