The Gift

By John D. O'Brien, S.J.

Photo: Brian Nelson

This following story is written by a guest writer, who shall remain anonymous. 

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The children are lying on the living room rug, their stomachs distended with turkey and Christmas cake. Our guest, Father Brian, turns a beaming smile on them, lights his pipe, and seats himself with a sigh on the old rocking chair beside the wood-stove. He is content just to soak up the family atmosphere and listen to our children’s after-dinner banter.

“Tell us a story, Father,” they cry before long. The priest has a reputation for stories. More than that, he has all the time in the world for children.

“What kind of a story?” he asks.

“A Christmas story!”

“Well,” he says, pondering, his eyes growing thoughtful, “I think I do know a true story about a gift that was given on a Christmas day many years ago. But no, it’s too strange.”

Now they’re hooked. “Yes, yes, that one! That one!”

“It’s full of grown ups, “ he murmurs, “Nazis and war and things like that.”

“Yes, yes,” they squirm with anticipation.

His eyes go far away and his brow furrows. He rocks back and forth slowly, slowly, and the room grows quieter.

“I’m quite serious, when I tell you,” he says, “that this is a true story. I saw parts of it with my own eyes. I lived with the family to whom it happened.”

Then he begins:

Telling A Brilliant Story: Reading the Signs of the Times

By Santiago Rodriguez, S.J.

Credit: http://1.bp.blogspot.com

They knelt before Mary's babe and paid him homage. The three Wise Men who traveled from the East bore gifts for the child King: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Since I was a child, the story of the Magi seized my imagination. I used to imagine their journey from the East: the great caravan, their camels, and their lovely tents. I would visualize their faces as they knelt before Jesus - as Melchior, Caspar, and Balthazar contemplated the child and finally found the peace they were seeking. Then, I would have a laugh as I imagined them flipping a coin or playing Rock-Paper-Scissors to decide who would be the first one to hold the baby.

Christmas: Time and Time Again

By Edmund Lo, S.J.

A few years ago, a fellow Jesuit introduced to me a beautiful Christmas story. It was written by Jérôme and Jean Tharaud, called La Dernière Visiteuse (The Last Visitor), and published in their work The Tales of the Virgin in 1940. Both the French original and the English translation can be found elsewhere on the interweb, but I take the liberty to include the short story here: 



It was Bethlehem, the end of a long night. The star had just disappeared, and the last pilgrim had left the stable. The Virgin arranged the straw: at last the Child could sleep. But who can sleep the night of Christmas?

Transitions

By Brother Daniel Leckman

Many things have taken place in my life during the past month that I wanted to blog about:

• The call I received one night after my Vatican II class (in the midst of all my business during the last few weeks of class no less) to begin a new blog on Pope Francis’ exhortation Evangelii Gaudium: Praying with Papal Documents. Almost two weeks later, I’ve slowly made my way through the introduction of the exhortation, taking two paragraphs every second day or so, and giving my own analysis of what I think the Pope is inviting us to with this document!

Nelson Mandela and the Embodiment a Socratic Paradox

By Adam Hincks, S.J.

(Image: biography.com)

The oppressed and the oppressor alike are robbed of their humanity. – Mandela

I was out of town at a meeting when Nelson Mandel died and learned of his passing early in the morning when I glanced at a newspaper box. Even though I knew he had been in poor health, the news surprised me and I felt the weight of a great period in history coming to an end.

I have always been inspired by Mandela. Several years of my childhood were spent in Lesotho, the small, independent nation surrounded by South Africa. Although much poorer, it was a kind of haven from the senseless and often brutal apartheid that existed in its gigantic neighbour. I remember watching on television when Mandela was released from prison and the swift changes that began happening across the border. But since Mandela died two weeks ago, my memory keeps returning to an old, abandoned house not too far from where we lived. Riddled with bullet-holes and stained by the soot of fire, it had been an African National Congress (ANC) hideout that the South African army had assaulted by helicopter a few years before we moved there. I suppose this image comes back to me as a reminder of the oppression which Mandela devoted his life to eradicate.

A New Approach to the Missions?

By Artur Suski, S.J.

On Monday of this week, I came upon a very inspiring article in the Toronto Star: “Good news from Canada's aboriginal communities” by Carol Goar. It is about a very ambitious project wherein the mission is to supply laptops to aboriginal children. It has been quite successful. “Since its founding in 2010, it has distributed 3,800 of the tough little computers,” writes Goar. But that’s not all; they’re not just on a mission to give out laptops to kids.

The Silence of Advent

By John D. O’Brien, S.J.

Northern Nativity, William Kurelek

Only when you are familiar with silence have you learned to speak; what you have to say can ripen only in silence. – Adrienne von Speyr, Lumina/New Lumina 

Have you ever had that experience when you can’t get to sleep, even though your mind and body are thoroughly exhausted? It’s frustrating, but there’s nothing you can do about it. Last night I tossed and turned, and wondered why. I hadn’t had any caffeine. Nor had I been staring at luminescent screen, which often fools the brain into extending its waking hours. I had thought that I would fall headlong into deep slumber after a long trip, for I was in a warm cabin, surrounded by peace and silence. It was not to be.