Had a new bed delivered a couple of days ago (a story in itself). Two guys pulled up in the truck–I welcomed them, showed them where to set it up, and went into my office to get out of their hair. “All set,” the one guy, Latino, 25 or so, called after a while. I went into the bedroom, said, “Wow, it looks great.”
And then, glancing around the room–which is adorned with a large picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe, a crucifix, a Tree of Life, several small retablo and prayer cards, and a portrait of St. Martin de Porres–he asked: “Are you Catholic?’
“Heck, yeah!” I confirmed.
“My wife is Catholic,” he continued. “She’s teaching me all kinds of stuff. LIke…Christmas is when the baby Jesus was born!”
He hadn’t known.
“We approached our last house high up on the hill, the place of Joseph the farmer. For him we had chosen a special carol, which was about the other Joseph, so that we always felt that singing it added a spicy cheek to the night…
Crossing, at last, the frozen mill-stream–whose wheel in summer still turned a barren mechanism–we climbed up to Joseph’s farm. Sheltered by trees, warm on its bed of snow, it seemed always to be like this. As always it was late; as always this was our final call. The snow had a fine crust upon it, and the old trees sparkled like tinsel.
We grouped ourselves round the farmhouse porch. The sky cleared, and broad streams of stars ran down over the valley and away to Wales. On Slad’s white slopes, seen through the black sticks of its woods, some red lamps still burned in the windows.
Everything was quiet everywhere was the faint crackling silence of the winter night. We started singing, and we were all moved by the words and sudden trueness of our voices. Pure, very clear and breathless we sang:
As Joseph was a walking
He heard an angel sing;
”This night shall be the birth-time
Of Christ the Heavenly King.
He neither shall be borned
In Housen nor in hall,
Nor in a place of paradise
But in an ox’s stall…’
And two thousand Christmases became real to us then; the houses, the halls, the places of paradise had all been visited; the stars were bright to guide the Kings through the snow; and across the farmyard we could hear the beasts in their stalls. We were given roast apples and hot mince-pies, in our nostrils were spices like myrhh, and in our wooden box, as we headed back for the village there were golden gifts for all.”
–from Cider with Rosie, by Laurie Lee
Leave a Reply