Pastor Iuventus

or, The Curate's Egg
Christmas Past
10 am never sure whether to be amused or slighted when parishioners ask, as they ften do, "What are you doing for Christmas, Father?" The temptation to be facetious and say, "Oh 1 thought I'd go abroad this year", is a strong one. I explain that I will be spending it in the parish, probably saying Mass, that kind of thing. It is odd; I suspect that it is partly ignorance of the role of a curate, but also more a reflection on how Christmas is celebrated round here. Many of our regular families go away for Christmas; we have quite a lot of ex-pats, some visit their families and some of our parishioners are lucky enough to own second homes. Christmas will be celebrated with a rather different constituency from the normal one: fewer regulars and lots more irregulars. It feels strange.
It is a great thing, from a clergyman's point of view, that Christmas falls on a Thursday. As the schools have broken up the previous Friday it means, ironically, that Christmas week itself will be free of carol services and nativity celebrations. One has a chance to recover from saying three or four Masses over the weekend before having to do the sane all over again. So things should proceed quite routinely. They won't, of course; there is bound to be a funeral to be fitted in before Christmas Eve and for some reason there are always more sick calls at Christmas and Easter.
On Wednesday I will visit the housebound with Holy Communion of Christmas Eve. This is a Christmas celebration of its own special intensity. Jesus continues to come to some poor, unlikely venues, dusty, threadbare bedsits and sorry homes for the elderly. This Communion will bring Christmas to them in its purest form, whatever else they lack_ For some the hardest thing is not that they are alone, but that they cannot get to church. One lady always gives me money for flowers for Our Lady though she will never see them herself. She sang for 45 years in the choir, and so last year she sang "In Duki Juhiln" partly as a thanksgiving and partly to please me as I had said it was my favourite carol. I feel so strongly that it is such people, by their prayers and sufferings, who arc quietly earning enough grace to sanctify the parish, the lapsed, the lukewarm, who knows? These visits are a joyful and uplifting part of Christmas amid so much rush and fuss. Sobering too, to reflect that for some of these people it will be their last Christmas. I think of the people whom I visited last year and there are five fewer this year.
I normally manage to get home to my family after the last Mass on Christmas Day, drink a glass of sherry and fall into a deep sleep. I usually come round for an early dinner, and early night and then head back early on Boxing Day. We have a Guild of St Stephen special Mass on Boxing Day for altar servers, an example of hope triumphing over experience and perhaps one that needs to be rethought. Then the days after Christmas are very quiet, really because everyone has other things on their minds.
The number of cards and presents from parishioners is overwhelming, some really thoughtful presents too. I confess to opening one early, suspecting it was a CD and I am very glad, for it is the Pope saying the Rosary. In the hectic days leading up to Christmas I found it was a great comfort to listen to it when I was finding it hard to concentrate on anything, or when I was in the car. His voice is so strong, there is an intensity about the way he prays that seems to put new heart into one.
It reminded me of visiting the Little Sisters of the Poor at their home for the elderly in Rome. Often in such institutions you find everyone sat in the television lounge with the big screen providing a terrible sort of ersatz human interaction.
There at four o'clock everyone would be glued to it, as it was tuned to Vatican Television and the Pope was saying the Rosary. Round the four walls they sat in their high-backed armchairs, telling their beads. It inspired me to get copies of it for the people on my Communion round and they were delighted with it.
seem to have dwelt much on the elderly. The child in the manger comes precisely to open us to a new and Divine life. This. surely, is the real beauty of Christmas, more poignant than ever the older we get.
The child in the manger is the Lord of heaven and earth. He says "follow me" even in Bethlehem, for he is come to lift as up to share his life.