Newspaper Page Text
PAGE 6-B—THE BULLETIN, December 24, 1960
A CHRISTMAS
(Continued from Page 1-B)
for your chair,” he said, kind
ly-
Joseph liked the man’s face
and voice. In spite of his sad
ness, he began to feel happy.
The man took him to a yard
in which stood a small, gray
donkey. His coat was smooth
and clean, his legs were strong
and he had a broad, sturdy
back. Joseph’s heart beat fast
with surprise. It seemed as if
the donkey smiled at him! But
Joseph, like any other grown
man, knew that animals and
especially donkeys, could not
smile! (The children loved this
part.)
Joseph had a wonderful
feeling as he put his hand on
the donkey’s head. He felt that
at some, time in the future,
this little gray donkey would
do something of supreme im
portance.
Joseph handed the little
cedar chair to the stranger.
Then he picked up the rope
and led the donkey home.
(When I reached this point
in the story, I stopped to give
the children a chance to settle
themselves more comfortably
around the crib. I’d pass some
apples or cookies and then re
sume the story.)
THE JOURNEY
The next day, Joseph took
their extra clothing and blan
kets and made a neat bundle
which was strapped to the
back of the donkey. He had
placed his tools ip a bag which
he carried over his shoulders.
Then he closed the door of the
little home where they had
lived since their marriage.
Suddenly, he had a strange
feeling. It seemed, as he closed
the door, that he would not
open, it again for a long, long
time; and that when he did
come home, something won
derful would come with him.
The small, gray donkey car
ried Mary over the rough, long
road. He was a very cheerful
little donkey; he never balked;
he never showed temper when
he was tired. And Joseph al
ways thought that the donkey
wore a smile of contentment
on his furry face.
And then they came to Beth
lehem. They had made such
good time that Joseph had a
few coins left. He decided that
Mary would have the best
lodging he could find.
But there was no room at
the inn — or anyplace.
The night grew cold. Joseph
became very worried because
of Mary’s condition. He re
turned to the inn and begged
for some kind of shelter. The
pity of the inn-keeper was
aroused.
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“There is a stable back near
the hill,” he said. “It will pro
tect you from the cold.”
There was plenty of clean
straw in the stable. And there
was a handful of oats for the
donkey to share with a kindly
cow owned by the inn-keeper.
That night, Mary became
the mother of a Son. As she
gazed at the Baby, she re
membered the words, of the
Angel — that the Child was
the Son of God and that He
would some day save the
world.
No birthday of a king, be
fore or since that night, was
ever celebrated so royally.
The skies opened and a chorus
of Angels sang in honor of the
new-born King. Heavenly
messengers appeared to shep
herds and sang: “Peace on
earth to men of good will.”
Angels pointed the way to the
stable and shepherds came to
worship the Infant King.
(The first night I told this
story, my son cried out: “But
no one cares about Christ
Child downtown. All we see is
•Santa Claus.”
“Things will be different
next year,” I promised him.
And I kept my word. In 1943,
our Catholic Mothers Study
Club began a tiny movement
that in later years became na
tionally known as the plan to
The Basilica of the Nativity in Bethlehem is built on the site
which tradition says is the birthplace of Jesus. The cave in
which He was born is preserved and attracts visitors all the year
round, but especially at Christmas. The dress of the native
women seer, here dates back to the time of the Crusades and is
considered the appropriate garb when visiting the Manger.
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THE WISE MEN
Three Wise Men or Kings,
following a brilliant star that
had led them across a desert,
through towns and even into
the city of Jerusalem, found
their way to the stable at
Bethlehem and worshiped the
Baby Jesus, as the child was
called.
On the way to Bethlehem,
they had stopped to ask di
rections from another King —
Herod, who ruled in Jerusa
lem. But he was a wicked
man. He told the Three Kings
to find the Babe and then re
turn to him and tell him the
directions, so that he, too,
could go and worship the
Child. But he meant to kill
the Babe, for he would not al
low another king in his coun
try.
The Three Wise Men left
Jerusalem and, with the aid of
the star, found the stable and
the Christ Child a Bethlehem.
They knelt down on the straw
and worshipped the Babe
Whom Mary had wrapped in
swaddling clothes.
The little King lying on the
straw held His court and re
ceived the gifts from the Kings
of the East — gold, frankin
cense and myrrh.
And in the background,
keeping the stable warm with
his breath, never taking his
eyes from the figure of the
Baby, was the small gray don
key.
1 The time came when the
Kings had to return to the
East. But they did not go back
to Herod.
The Holy Child grew strong.
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Then, thundering down the
the road from Jerusalem to
Bethlehem, came the soldiers
of King Herod. He had found
out where the Child had been
born and he gave orders to kill
every male baby under two
years old.
But the Baby Jesus was far
away. The night before the
soldiers came, Joseph had been
warned in his sleep, by an
Angel, to take the Child away.
Long before dawn, he awak
ened Mary. She packed their
few belongings.
Then Joseph led the small
gray donkey out of the stable
and helped Mary and the
Child to sit on his strong,
broad back.
The donkey, with Mary
holding the Child, carried him
self proudly. This was the
hour for which he bad been
born.
Joseph led the donkey out
into the dark, narrow street,
far into the open country in
the direction of Egypt.
The little animal stepped
briskly along the road. He was
beginning to fulfill his destiny.
His sturdy legs would carry
the King of all the World to
safety.
The listening children of
1942 are men and women to
day. They, too, are fulfilling
their destiny. Upon their
shoulders, they are carrying
on the movement to honor the
Christ Child at Christmas.
In their hearts, a love of
the Christ Child has grown
steadily. One, who worked
most devotedly to get other
children to love the Infant
Jesus, has been called Home.
One has organized groups of
young people to build neigh
borhood cribs. Another has
shown great talent in religious
posters. And all today pay
public homage to the Babe of
Bethlehem.
At the same time when
Mary consented to become the
Mother of God, She also con
sented to become the mother
of all the children of salva
tion, and bore them already at
that time beneath her heart.
—St. Bernadine of Siena
CHRISTMAS IN CAIRO
(Continued from Page 5-B)
tie concerned about how Mah
moud would take it. I need
not have been. Mahmoud
seemed to welcome this op
portunity to get his bearings.
His eyes wandered, unobtru
sively, over every part of the
church. The beautiful crib, set
in an alcove on the left side of
the church, seemed to fasci
nate him. But when the Mass
began, he gave his whole at
tention to the altar.
The celebrant was a tall old
man, with a sparse white
beard, and the face of an asce
tic. As far as I was concern
ed, except for the sermon,
which was delivered in Ital
ian, I might have been attend
ing midnight Mass in my par
ish church at home.
As in every Mass, at the
Consecration an almost tangi
ble air of mystical solemnity
pervaded the church. But to
night this sense of awe seem
ed palpitant. At the Commun
ion almost every person in the
church went up to the altar
rail to receive. But even this
mass movement did not sever
the bond that had lifted each
of them out of himself. When
the Mass resumed, the rapt
silence that had endured since
the Consecration settled again
over the congregation.
It was after one o’clock
when Mahmoud and I des
cended the steps of the church.
I turned the car around and
headed for the corniche, or
river road. Neither of us spoke
for. a few moments,-then Mah
moud said:
“Thank you for letting me
come along with you, Jim. It
was a beautiful experience and
I will never forget it.”
“It was good of you to come,
Mahmoud. And neither will I
ever forget it.”
EVERYWHERE —
CHRISTMAS TONIGHT
I turned right on the cor
niche, toward Fuad bridge.
Across the Nile, on the island
of Zamalek, the facade of the
row of apartment buildings
stood out clearly in the moon
light, like background scenery
in a stage setting. I could
make out my own building by
the three tall slender date
palms, standing like giant fea
ther dusters on the banks of
the river.
I slowed the car as we ap
proached the bridge intersec
tion. On the sidewalk in front
of a coffee house;, a half dozen
late customers, in their white
galabias and turbans lounged
at their tables. Two or three
of them were holding or suck
ing at the long stems of their
hookahs, the bottles of which
stood on the ground beside
their chairs.
None of the Western signs
of the Christmas season were
in evidence here: no wreathes,
or soft rosy glow of electric
candles in windows; no spark
ling Christmas trees in the
lobbies of apartment build
ings; no cheery greetings of
“Merry Christmas!” as friends
parted for the night.
But I knew that in churches
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Clem B. Rakel
scattered all over Cairo,
througout the early hours of
this Christmas morning, the
birth of Christ would be com
memorated. Not only in the
Latin Mass, but in the Divine
Liturgy celebrated in other
ancient tongues: in Coptic, in
Syriac, in Arabic, in Armen
ian, and in Greek.
I knew, too, that less than
two miles down the corniche,
in Old Cairo, in a 1200-year-
old church, the Divine Liturgy
would be chanted in Coptic,
as it was once, and only.once
each year, on the Coptic
Christmas, in a little crypt un
der the altar — a crypt that
was venerated as the place
where the Holy Family found
refuge after their flight into
Egypt.
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