The Meaning of Christmas

There's some certainty to the fact that whoever is reading this blog is an adult. And there is a statistical probability that you may not even have time to read the laboriously languid tripe I write, be it today, or ever. Bottom line...everyone is busy!

People are making frantic dashes to the market and shops for that last minute purchase and some of us might even admit to be filling out a Christmas card for someone whom we 'forgot,' and are slightly uneasy over the fact we've just received a card from them. In other words - it's all a big rush.

But somehow tonight, in whatever country you live, a sort of magic will fall on each of us. Sure, we'll probably still be stressed; someone will be fretting over the big meal that must be made and you'll somehow endure the bumping and pushing in stores, but on the whole, the Christmas magic will do its work- Kindness, good will, sympathy, compassion, and charity, and a willingness to overcome the Scrooge that is in many of us.

Of course, I will have to acknowledge with sadness that the Christmas Eve magic soon fades. The week will pass in a bewildering and dazzling kaleidoscope of tinsel, carols, turkey with all the trimmings, stockings and presents, Scrabble tournaments, a fun game of Monopoly or Charades, sports on the telly, and for us here in The United Kingdom: Her Majesty's Christmas message. (and we wish The Duchess of Cambridge a calmer tummy over the Christmas period with her family!). Shortly after however, the decorations will go back into the box; life will return to normal and Scrooge reigns for another year.

But at least as Christians, we do know that there is another sense of values in which true meaning is found. If only the magic which possesses us at Christmas could be made to last, what a different world we would have - instead of a world in which we long for peace and prepare for war; instead of a world where we constantly make excuses for our own personal failures; instead of a world in which there is plenty to eat and where millions perish for lack of food; instead of a world where we talk so much of love but hate reigns- ah, Christmas Eve beckons us on, not to rely on magic but on action.

When we are willing to invite the mysterious Christ-child into our hearts we will find that the Christmas 'magic' lasts forever.

Loving Father, into this magical season of Christmas, we come to worship that little child whose life was given for us. May His spirit dwell within us, that we may all become His instruments in reaching out to others. We pray that Your gentle breath touches those who have been referred to this blog during the year, whilst searching for words of comfort for the loss of a loved one, the death of a child, or the pain of personal loss. I offer my thanks for the friendships I have made through this medium. May our happiness bring peace into our hearts, making us peacemakers in our homes and communities, and make us, in small but real ways, makers of peace in our world. Amen


A Christmas Note:

This year has been the most challenging year we've experienced since I started my mission in Eastern Europe. We have more children entrusted to our care than we've ever experienced; gas and electricity prices have soared, and the cost of food has literally doubled over the past two years. And tragically, many of the kind people who have supported us for over a decade are facing their own financial crises. The world is in a real pickle. I've taken pride in the fact that I've never once asked for financial assistance since I began these blogs. But today I need to. For a place like Moldova, even €10 will make a difference. If you can help, thank you from my heart. If you cannot, I still thank you for coming to my blogs; I hope you have found an occasional smile.

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I wish you a joyous Christmas! Fr. Bill+
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The Country Cemetery

I drove past a cemetery early this morning. I decided to turn around and pay a visit to this small community.

I parked my car and walked quietly through its swinging gates. The cemetery was waking to the new day; birds were singing and the flowers were beginning to open. Sitting on the old wall, which ran past the field, you could imagine the activity going on within.

Many people were doing errands and gossiping over gravestones, while their children went to school just across the way.

You could hear Uriah Cornfield, died 1753, talking excitedly with John McCormick, died 1804, about the great harvest coming soon and the possibility of a long Indian summer.

And you could see Maggie Turner, died 1821, sitting by the stream, cleaning the family’s clothes on the smooth stones, while her two young daughters were playing games, waiting for their mother to finish her chores.

On a sleeping country road in the midst of the Sussex countryside, the cemetery lived quietly from day to day, and every so often a car would pass by, not even glancing at the thriving community.

One man died at age eighty-seven. He was a self made man who often recalled stories of marauders who killed his parents. And next to him there lay a young boy who had seen only six short months of life, only to die a violent death, when smallpox hit the region in ‘29.

And there are many more, all lying patiently, living death to its best, thinking and waiting and celebrating with God.

Soon, when the living have forgotten, the men and women will be born again and out of death they will come, marching slowly, hand in hand.

It was sad for a time when everyone was alone, and then, methodically, one by one, they all put their feet into the marble world and have since been forgotten.

Now it seems to be much the same. All are alone in this hidden world and one by one they are dying to live.

Many were neglected by time, but slowly they’re coming back, to once again, complete the endless cycle of eternity.

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