Advent Customs

[Stone]

Maria von Trapp: Celebrating with the Family in Heaven
Advent

The events that come to mind when we say "Christmas," "Easter," "Pentecost," are so tremendous that their commemoration cannot be celebrated in a single day each. Weeks are needed. First, weeks of preparation, of becoming attuned in body and soul, and then weeks of celebration. This goes back to an age when people still had time--time to live, time to enjoy. In our own day, we face the puzzling fact that the more time-saving gadgets we invent, the more new buttons to push in order to "save hours of work"--the less time we actually have. We have no more time to read books; we can only afford digests. We have no time to walk a quarter of a mile; we have to hop into a car. We have no time to make things by hand; we buy them ready made in the five-and-ten or in the supermarket. This atmosphere of "hurry up, let's go" does not provide the necessary leisure in which to anticipate and celebrate a feast. But as soon as people stop celebrating they really do not live any more--they are being lived, as it were. The alarming question arises: what is being done with all the time that is constantly being saved? We invent more machines and more gadgets, which will relieve us more and more from the work formerly done by our hands, our feet, our brain, and which will carry us in feverishly increasing speed--where? Perhaps to the moon and other planets, but more probably to our final destruction.

Only the Church throws light onto the gloomy prospects of modern man--Holy Mother Church--for she belongs, herself, to a realm that has its past and present in Time, but its future in the World Without End.

It was fall when we arrived in the United States. The first weeks passed rapidly, filled with new discoveries every day, and soon we came across a beautiful feast, which we had never celebrated before: Thanksgiving Day, an exclusively American feast. With great enthusiasm we included it in the calendar of our family feasts.

Who can describe our astonishment, however, when a few days after our first Thanksgiving Day we heard from a loudspeaker in a large department store the unmistakable melody of "Silent Night"! Upon our excited inquiry, someone said, rather surprised: "What is the matter? Nothing is the matter. Time for Christmas shopping!"

It took several Christmas seasons before we understood the connection between Christmas shopping and "Silent Night" and the other carols blaring from loudspeakers in these pre-Christmas weeks. And even now that we do understand, it still disturbs us greatly. These weeks before Christmas, known as the weeks of Advent, are meant to be spent in expectation and waiting. This is the season for Advent songs--those age-old hymns of longing and waiting; "Silent Night" should be sung for the first time on Christmas Eve. We found that hardly anybody knows any Advent songs. And we were startled by something else soon after Christmas, Christmas trees and decorations vanish from the show windows to be replaced by New Year's advertisements. On our concert trips across the country we also saw that the lighted Christmas trees disappear from homes and front yards and no one thinks to sing a carol as late as January 2nd. This was all very strange to us, for we were used to the old-world Christmas, which was altogether different but which we determined to celebrate now in our new country.

THE ADVENT WREATH

In the week before the first Sunday in Advent, we began to inquire where we could obtain the various things necessary to make an Advent wreath.

"A what?" was the invariable answer, accompanied by a blank look.

And we learned that nobody seemed to know what an Advent wreath is. (This was fifteen years ago.) For us it was not a question of whether or not we would have an Advent wreath. The wreath was a must. Advent would be unthinkable without it. The question was only how to get it in a country where nobody seemed to know about it.

Back in Austria we used to go to a toy shop and buy a large hoop, about three feet in diameter. Then we would tie hay around it, three inches thick, as a foundation; and around this we would make a beautiful wreath of balsam twigs. The whole was about three feet in diameter and ten inches thick. As we tried the different toy shops in Philadelphia, the sales people only smiled indulgently and made us feel like Rip Van Winkle. "Around the turn of the century" they had sold the last hoop.

"Necessity is the mother of invention." Martina, who had made the Advent wreath during our last Advents back home, decided to buy strong wire at ahardware store and braid it into a round hoop. Then she tied oldnewspaper around it, instead of hay, and went out to look for balsam twigs. We lived in Germantown, a suburb of Philadelphia. Martina looked at all the evergreens in our friends' gardens, but there was no balsam fir. So she chose the next best and came home with a laundry basket full of twigs from a yew tree. In the hardware store, where she had bought the wire, she also got four tall spikes, which she worked into her newspaper reel as candleholders, and in the five-and-ten next door she bought a few yards of strong red ribbon and four candles. The yew twigs made a somewhat feathery Advent wreath; but, said Martina, "It's round and it's made of evergreen, and that is all that is necessary." And she was right. An Advent wreath is round as a symbol of God's mercy of which every season of Advent is a new reminder; and it has to be made of evergreens to symbolize God's "everlastingness."

This was the only Advent we celebrated at home because the manager who arranged the concerts for us had discovered that our tenth child would soon arrive and had canceled the concerts for the month of December. In the next few years a much smaller Advent wreath would be made by our children and fastened to the ceiling of the big blue bus in which we toured the country. We always started out by looking for balsam fir, but not until years later, when we were to have our own farm in Vermont, would we have a balsam Advent wreath again. Meanwhile we had to take what we could find in the way of evergreens in Georgia it was holly; in Virginia, boxwood; in Florida, pine. The least desirable of all was spruce, which we used the year we traveled through Wisconsin, because spruce loses its needles quickest. But as long as it was an evergreen....

In order to get ready for the celebration of the beginning of Advent, one more thing has to be added a tall, thick candle, the Advent candle, as a symbol of Him Whom we call "the Light of the World." During these weeks of Advent it will be the only light for the family evening prayer. Its feeble light is the symbol and reminder of mankind's state of spiritual darkness during Advent.

On the first of January a new calendar year begins. On the first Sunday of Advent the new year of the Church begins. Therefore, the Saturday preceding the first Advent Sunday has something of the character of a New Year's Eve. One of the old customs is to choose a patron saint for the new year of the Church. The family meets on Saturday evening, and with the help of the missal and a book called "The Martyrology," which lists thousands of saints as they are celebrated throughout the year, they choose as many new saints as there are members of the household. We always choose them according to a special theme. One year, for instance, we had all the different Church Fathers; another year we chose only martyrs; then again, only saints of the new world....During the war we chose one saint of every country at war.

The newly chosen names are handed over to the calligrapher of the family (first it was Johanna; after she married, Rosemary took over). She writes the names of the saints in gothic lettering on little cards. Then she writes the name of every member of the household on an individual card and hands the two sets over to the mother. Now everything is ready.

In the afternoon of the first Sunday of Advent, around vesper time, the whole family--and this always means "family" in the larger sense of the word, including all the members of the household--meets in the living room. The Advent wreath hangs suspended from the ceiling on four red ribbons; the Advent candle stands in the middle of the table or on a little stand on the side. Solemnly the father lights one candle on the Advent wreath, and, for the first time, the big Advent candle. Then he reads the Gospel of the first Sunday of Advent. After this the special song of Advent is intoned for the first time, the ancient "Ye heavens, dew drop from above, and rain ye clouds the Just One...."

It cannot be said often enough that during these weeks before Christmas, songs and hymns of Advent should be sung. No Christmas carols! Consciously we should work toward restoring the true character of waiting and longing to these precious weeks before Christmas. Just before Midnight Mass, on December 24th, is the moment to sing for the first time "Silent Night, Holy Night," for this is the song for this very night. It may be repeated afterwards as many times as we please, but it should not be sung before that holy night.

Since we have found that Advent hymns have been largely forgotten, we want to include here the ones we most often sing; and we also want to explain how we collected our songs. First, there were a certain number, the traditional ones, which were still sung in homes and in church during the weeks of Advent. Then we looked for collections in libraries; we inquired among friends and acquaintances; we wrote to people we had met on our travels in foreign countries. Each song that has come to us in this way is particularly dear to us--a personal friend rather than a chance acquaintance.

COME, O COME, EMMANUEL

The text of this hymn is based on the seven Great Antiphons (O-Antiphons) which are said before and after the Magnificat at Vespers from December17 to 23. The metrical Latin form dates from the early 18th century.


1. O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here,
Until the Son of God appear.

Refrain: Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel!
Shall come to thee, O Israel!

2. O come, Thou Wisdom from on high,
Who ordrest all things mightily;
To us the path of knowledge show,
And teach us in her ways to go.--Refrain

3. O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heav'nly home;
Make safe the way that leads to thee,
And close the path to misery.--Refrain

4. O come, Desire of Nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Bid thou our sad divisions cease,
And be thyself our King of Peace.--Refrain

DROP YOUR DEW, YE CLOUDS OF HEAVEN

Text, Isaias 45,8; melody, first (Dorian) mode.

This is the medieval Advent call--sing three times, each time a tone higher.

1. Drop your dew, ye clouds of heaven,
Rain the Just One now to save!
With that cry the night was riven
From the world, a yawning grave.

On the earth by God forsaken
Sin and death their toll had taken.
Tightly shut was heaven's gate,
For salvation all must wait.

2. To redeem our sad condition
Was the Father's loving Will,
And the Son took the glad mission
His decision to fulfill.

Gabriel to earth descended,
Brought the answer long attended
"See the Handmaid of the Lord,
Do according to thy word."

3. Let us walk with right intention,
Not in drunkenness and greed,
Quarrels, envies and contention
Banished far from us indeed.

Fully now to imitate Him
As with longing we await Him
Is the duty of these days,
As the great Apostle says.

O SAVIOUR, HEAVEN'S PORTAL REND

Text and melody, 17th century German. This forceful melody in the first (Dorian) mode should be sung in unison.

1. O Saviour, heaven's portals rend,
Come down, from heav'n, to earth descend!
Open celestial gate and door;
Never to lock nor fasten more.

2. O brilliant Sun, O lovely Star,
We dare behold Thee from afar.
O Sun arise, without Thy light
We languish all in darkest night.

3. Drop dew, ye heavens from above,
Come in the dew, O God of love!
Ye clouds now break, rain down the King,
His peace to Jacob's house to bring.

MARIA WALKS AMID THE THORN

German folksong known since the 16th century; probably much older. Translation, Henry S. Drinker.

1. Maria walks amid the thorn,
Kyrie eleison,
Which seven years no leaf has borne,
She walks amid the wood of thorn,
Jesus and Maria.

2. What 'neath her heart does Mary bear?
Kyrie eleison.
A little child does Mary bear,
Beneath her heart He nestles there.
Jesus and Maria.

3. And as the two are passing near,
Kyrie eleison,
Lo! roses on the thorns appear,
Lo! roses on the thorns appear.
Jesus and Maria.

BLESSED MOTHER OF THE SAVIOUR

Text by Hermann the Cripple, 1013-1054, monk at Reichenau in the Lake of Constance. Melody in the fifth (Lydian) mode. This is the liturgical Antiphon in honor of the Blessed Virgin for the season of Advent and Christmas.

Blessed Mother of the Savior,
thou art the gate leading us to heaven,
and Star of the Sea, aid thy falling people,
help all those who seek to rise again.
Thou who art the Mother, all nature wondering,
to thy Lord, thy own Creator: Virgin before, Virgin forever,
from Gabriel's mouth thou didst hear that blessed Ave,
on us poor sinners take pity.


After our first gathering around the Advent light, and the singing of the first Advent hymn, an air of expectancy spreads over the family group; now comes the moment when the mother goes around with a bowl in which are the little cards with the names of the new saints. Everybody draws a card and puts it in his missal. This saint will be invoked every morning after morning prayer. Everyone is supposed to look up and study the life story of his new friend, and some time during the coming year he will tell the family all about it. As there are so many of us, we come to know about different saints every year. Sometimes this calls for considerable research on the part of the unfortunate one who has drawn St. Eustachius, for instance, or St. Bibiana. But the custom has become very dear to us, and every year it seems as if the family circle were enlarged by all those new brothers and sisters entering in and becoming known and loved by all.

And then comes another exciting moment. Once more the mother appears with the bowl, which she passes around. This time the pieces of paper contain the names of the members of the family and are neatly rolled up, because the drawing has to be done in great secrecy. The person whose name one has drawn is now in one's special care. From this day until Christmas, one has to do as many little favors for him or her as one can. One has to provide at least one surprise every single day--but without ever being found out. This creates a wonderful atmosphere of joyful suspense, kindness, and thoughtfulness. Perhaps you will find that somebody has made your bed or shined your shoes or has informed you, in a disguised handwriting on a holy card, that "a rosary has been said for you today" or a number of sacrifices have been offered up. This new relationship is called "Christkindl" (Christ Child) in the old country, where children believe that the Christmas tree and the gifts under it are brought down by the Christ Child himself.

The beautiful thing about this particular custom is that the relationship is a reciprocal one. The person whose name I have drawn and who is under my care becomes for me the helpless little Christ Child in the manger; and as I am performing these many little acts of love and consideration for someone in the family I am really doing them for the Infant of Bethlehem, according to the word, "And he that shall receive one such little child in my name, receiveth me." That is why this particular person turns into "my Christkindl." At the same time I am the "Christkindl" also for the one I am caring for because I want to imitate the Holy Child and render all those little services in the same spirit as He did in that small house of Nazareth, when as a child He served His Mother and His foster father with a similar love and devotion.

Many times throughout these weeks can be heard such exclamations as, "I have a wonderful Christkindl this year!" or, "Goodness, I forgot to do something for my Christkindl and it is already suppertime!" It is a delightful custom, which creates much of the true Christmas spirit and ought to be spread far and wide.

And there is still one very important thing to do for Advent. According to Austrian custom, every member of the family writes a letter to the Holy Child mentioning his resolutions for the weeks of Advent and listing all his wishes for gifts. This "Christkindl Brief" (letter to the Holy Child) is put on the window sill, from whence the Guardian Angel will take it up to heaven to read it aloud to the Holy Child.

To make small children (and older ones, too) aware of the happy expectancy of Advent, there is a special Advent calendar which clever hands can make at home. It might be a house with windows for each day of Advent; every morning the child opens another window, behind which appears a star, an angel, or some other picture appropriate to the season. On the 23rd, all windows are open, but the big entrance door still is closed. That is opened on Christmas Eve, when it reveals the Holy Child in the manger, or a Christmas tree. All kinds of variations on this theme are possible, such as the Jacob's Ladder shown on our illustration, which leads step by step to the day of Christ's birth. All such little aids make Christmas more wonderful and "special" to a child, and preparing them adds to our own Christmas joy.

{Advent Calendar: Take piece of cardboard; cut out clouds, leaving them attached at one point so that they can fold out. Cut spaces in ladder as on insert so that they can fold down. Take transparent paper same size as cardboard. Paint and draw pictures of stars, angels, toys, etc. on spots behind clouds and ladder steps. For top cloud, put Christmas tree or Christ Child in crib. Paste this on back of calendar. Each day another cloud or ladder step should be opened, until Christmas Eve is reached on top of ladder.}

ST. BARBARA'S DAY

There is a group of fourteen saints known as the "Fourteen Auxiliary Saints." In Austria they are sometimes pictured together in an old chapel, or over a side altar of a church; each one has an attribute by which he may be recognized--St. George will be shown with a dragon, or St. Blaise with two candles crossed. One of these Auxiliary Saints is St. Barbara, whose feast is celebrated on December 4th. She can be recognized by her tower (in which she was kept prisoner) and the ciborium surmounted by the Sacred Host. St. Barbara is invoked against lightning and sudden death. She is the patron saint of miners and artillery men and she is also invoked by young unmarried girls to pick the right husband for them.

On the fourth of December, unmarried members of the household are supposed to go out into the orchard and cut twigs from the cherry trees and put them into water. There is an old belief that whoever's cherry twig blossoms on Christmas Day can expect to get married in the following year. As most of us are always on tour at this time of the year, someone at home will be commissioned to "cut the cherry twigs." These will be put in a vase in a dark corner, each one with a name tag, and on Christmas Day they will be eagerly examined; and even if they are good for nothing else, they provide a nice table decoration for the Christmas dinner.

ST. NICHOLAS' DAY

Although St. Nicholas is not in the illustrious company of the Fourteen Auxiliary Saints, he has been one of the most popular saints in the East and in the West for many hundreds of years. He is the patron of seafarers and also of scholars, bankers, and--thieves. But most of all, he is the very special saint of children. Devotion to St. Nicholas is found in every European country. In the north, in Scandinavia and in northern Germany, he is known as Santa Claus. I do not know what happened to him on his way from Europe to America. While he is still pictured in the old world as an ascetic-looking bishop with cope, mitre, and crozier, since crossing the ocean he has turned into a fat, jolly, red-nosed, elderly gentleman in a snowsuit and a red cap. From Lapland he has brought his reindeer. Unfortunately, he has changed the date of his appearance. In the old country he comes on the evening before his feast day (the feast of St. Nicholas, on December 6th), accompanied by the "Krampus," an ugly, chain-rattling little devil, who has to deal with the children who have been naughty. St. Nicholas is much too kind to do the punishing and scolding himself.

It all goes back to the days when St. Nicholas was Bishop of Myra, where he once discreetly threw alms in through a window as a dowry for three young girls, who would otherwise have been sold into slavery, according to the custom of the day. For this good deed God rewarded him by giving him permission to walk the streets of earth on the eve of his feast, bringing gifts to all good children.

While in some places the children only put their shoes on the window sill on the eve of St. Nicholas' Day and find them filled with candies, cookies, oranges, and dried fruit the next morning (but only the good ones; the bad ones find a switch), in other parts St. Nicholas comes in person. He always did in our house. On the eve of December 5th the whole family would gather in the living room with great expectancy. By the time the much-expected knock at the door could be heard, one could almost hear the anxious heartbeat of the little ones. The holy bishop, in his pontifical vestments, accompanied by Krampus, would enter the room while everybody stood up reverently. St. Nicholas always carried a thick book in which the Guardian Angels make their entries throughout the year.

That's why the saint has such an astonishing knowledge about everybody. He calls each member of the household forward, rewarding the good and admonishing the less good. The good children will get a package of sweets, whereas Krampus aims at the legs of the children who did not deserve one. After everyone has received his due, the holy bishop addresses a few words of general admonition to the whole family, acting as a precursor to the One Who is to come, drawing their thoughts toward Christmas, asking them to prepare their hearts for the coming of the Holy Child. After giving his blessing, he takes his leave, accompanied reverently by the mother, who opens the door for him. Soon afterwards the father, who, oddly enough, usually misses this august visit, will come home, and he has to hear everything about it from the youngest in the house.

Of course it did not occur to us, even in the first and second years in America, that St. Nicholas' Day should pass without the dear saint's appearing in our family circle. In the old home this beloved bishop's attire was stored away in the attic to be used every year on the evening before his feast, but now we had to work with cardboard and paper for the mitre, a bed sheet for an alb, a golden damask curtain borrowed from friends for a cope, and a broomstick artistically transformed into a bishop's staff. But at the right moment St. Nicholas opened the door. That taught us that it really does not require money, but only imagination and good will, to revive or introduce these lovely old customs.

"St. Nicholas smells of Christmas, don't you think, Mother?" one of my little girls said once, meaning that on December 5th the whole house was filled with the same good smell as it would be in the days just before Christmas. For this day there is a special kind of cookie called "Speculatius". The dough is rolled very thin and then cut in the shape of St. Nicholas, and these little figures are then decorated with icing in different colors and candied fruit. And just as we are sharing with the reader our ancient songs and customs, I believe we should also share those ancient recipes that have come down to us through the centuries. So here is the recipe for "Speculatius" (St. Nicholas). It comes from Holland.

Speculatius
1 cup butter
4 tsp. cinnamon
1 cup lard
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
2 cups brown sugar
1/2 tsp. cloves
1/2 cup sour cream
4-1/2 cups sifted flour
1/2 tsp. soda
1/2 cup chopped nuts

Cream the butter, lard, and sugar. Add sour cream alternately with sifted dry ingredients. Stir in nuts. Knead the dough into rolls. Wrap the rolls in waxed paper and chill in the refrigerator overnight. Roll the dough very thin and cut it into shapes. Bake in moderate oven 10 to 15 minutes.

Another family recipe must not be forgotten here. As we are a rather cosmopolitan family, with one branch of English relatives and with my husband's people coming from northern Germany, and sprinkled with cousins from France and Italy and Switzerland, not to mention personal culinary memories of my husband's early years in the Balkans and our own far-flung journeys, we have quite a number of recipes. This one is a venerated old "must"--a real British plum pudding. It has to be started on the first Sunday of Advent, which in England is still known to this day as "Stir-Up Sunday." There is an old belief that the more you stir a pudding the better it will be, and that each member of the household must come for a good stir. Plum pudding is painstaking to make, and time-consuming, but when it finally appears on the table, aflame with burning brandy, everyone agrees that it was worth the trouble and it wouldn't be Christmas without it.

Plum Pudding
1 lb. suet
1 fresh orange peel
3 cups brown sugar
1/4 lb. candied orange peel
2 cups stale bread crumbs
1/4 lb. candied grapefruit peel
6 eggs
1-1/2 lb. raisins
juice of ten oranges
1/2 lb. currants
4 cups sifted flour
1/2 lb. citron
1 tsp. ginger
1/4 lb. blanched almonds
1 tsp. salt
2 medium-size raw potatoes
1 tsp. cinnamon
2 medium-size raw apples
1 tsp. nutmeg
2 medium-size raw carrots
1 fresh lemon peel

Grind the suet and bread. Moisten with beaten eggs and orange juice. Add sifted dry ingredients. Grind fresh and candied peel with the raw vegetables. Add these to the batter. Stir in raisins, currants, citron, and almonds. If the pudding is dry or lumpy, add fruit juice. Pack in buttered tins and steam.

"And steam" is taken literally in our house, even now in the days of the pressure cooker. It takes a whole day, eight to ten hours, but then the pudding keeps indefinitely, or, rather, it improves with time. As I write this we have just begun the holy season of Advent.

Yesterday there was in my mail a somewhat bulky, large envelope and when I picked it up, something rattled. I found a Christmas card from our good friends the Sisters of Social Service, and a little brown envelope containing seeds (that, of course, explained the rattling). "Christmas wheat," it said. When I read the explanation, I was happy to know that here was a group who wanted to share a folk custom from their old home--the Sisters of Social Service were founded in Hungary--with their friends in America. With the permission of the Sisters, I pass on the story of this lovely custom, feeling sure that many of us will wish to adopt it.

THE MEANING OF THE CHRISTMAS WHEAT

It is an ancient Hungarian custom to offer to the Infant in the manger the green sprouts of wheat.

Agriculture is the mainstay of the Hungarian nation and wheat is the symbol of sustenance and prosperity for this nation. It is therefore the most suitable gift for the newborn Saviour.

But it also has a meaning for everyone. The "new wheat" symbolizes the "new bread" in the natural order and also the "New Bread of Life" in the supernatural order; for it is from wheat that the altar bread is made which becomes the Holy Eucharist, the bread of our souls.

The wheat seeds are planted on the day of St. Lucy, the virgin martyr, December 13th. Kept in a moderately warm room and watered daily, the plant reaches its full growth by Christmas. The little daily care given to it is flavored with the joy of expectation for the approaching Christmas and spreads the spirit of cheerfulness as the tender plant reminds us of our spiritual rebirth through the mysteries of Christmas.

To plant the seeds, take a flower pot four or five inches in height and fill it with plain garden sod. Spread the seeds on the top and press gently, so that the seeds are covered with sod. Do not push them too deep.

Watered daily at the manger and paying its simple homage to the newborn Saviour, the plant will last until about January 6th.

"O all ye things that spring up in the earth, bless the Lord." (Canticle of the Three Children)

THE CHRISTMAS CRIB

If asked about the origin of these old folk customs, one sometimes finds it hard to answer. They have come down to us through the centuries out of the gray past. Some are so old that they go back to pre-Christian times, having been baptized together with the people and turned from pagan into Christian customs. But once in a while we know how one or the other custom originated. The Christmas crib as we have it today goes back to St. Francis of Assisi. Not that he was the one who made the first creche.

This devotion is almost as old as the Church. We are told that the very place of Christ's birth and the manger in which He lay "wrapped in swaddling clothes" were already venerated in Bethlehem in the first centuries of the Christian era. Later devout people substituted a silver
manger for the original one and built a basilica over it; and, with the centuries, the veneration of the Holy Child Iying in the manger spread all over the Christian countries. More and more ceremonies sprang up around this devotion, until in medieval times they had grown into a real theatre performance--drama, opera, and ballet combined. Finally, Pope Honorius had to put a stop to this, for it had grown into an abuse. A generation later St. Francis of Assisi got permission for his famous Christmas celebration in the woods of Greccio near Assisi, on Christmas Eve, 1223. His first biographer, Thomas of Celano, tells us how it happened:

"It should be recorded and held in reverent memory what Blessed Francis did near the town of Greccio, on the feast day of the Nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ, three years before his glorious death. In that town lived a certain man by the name of John (Messer Giovanni Velitta) who stood in high esteem, and whose life was even better than his reputation.

Blessed Francis loved him with a special affection because, being very noble and much honored, he despised the nobility of the flesh and strove after the nobility of the soul.

"Blessed Francis often saw this man. He now called him about two weeks before Christmas and said to him "If you desire that we should celebrate this year's Christmas together at Greccio, go quickly and prepare what I tell you; for I want to enact the memory of the Infant who was born at Bethlehem and how He was deprived of all the comforts babies enjoy; how He was bedded in the manger on hay between an ass and an ox. For once I want to see all this with my own eyes." When that good and faithful man had heard this, he departed quickly and prepared in the above-mentioned place everything that the Saint had told him.

"The joyful day approached. The Brethren [the Friars who had gathered around St. Francis] were called from many communities. The men and women of the neighborhood, as best they could, prepared candles and torches to brighten the night. Finally the Saint of God arrived, found everything prepared, saw it and rejoiced. The crib was made ready, hay was brought, the ox and ass were led to the spot....Greccio became a new Bethlehem.

The night was made radiant like the day, filling men and animals with joy. The crowds drew near and rejoiced in the novelty of the celebration. Their voices resounded from the woods, and the rocky cliffs echoed the jubilant outburst. As they sang in praise of God the whole night rang
with exultation. The Saint of God stood before the crib, overcome with devotion and wondrous joy. A solemn Mass was sung at the crib.

"The Saint, dressed in deacon's vestments, for a deacon he was, sang the Gospel. Then he preached a delightful sermon to the people who stood around him, speaking about the nativity of the poor King and the humble town of Bethlehem....And whenever he mentioned the Child of Bethlehem or the Name of Jesus, he seemed to lick his lips as if he would happily taste and swallow the sweetness of that word." (Celano. "Life and Miracles of St. Francis," as quoted in Francis X. Weiser, "The Christmas Book," pp. 106 f., New York, Harcourt, Brace & Co.)

That is the beginning of the creche as we know it in our own day. St. Francis' idea of bringing Bethlehem into one's own town spread quickly all over the Christian world, and when there was a Christmas crib in every church, the families began to re-enact the birth of Christ in their homes too. With loving imagination, more or less elaborately, the little town of Bethlehem would be reconstructed. There would be the cave with the manger, "because there was no room at the inn," and the figures would be carved in wood or modeled in clay or worked after the fashion of puppets. They also might be drawn and painted and then glued on wood.

In some countries whole valleys would take up the carving of these figures--as in Tyrolia and southern Bavaria. Some of these creches are works of great art. On the long winter evenings, during the weeks of Advent, the people are working on them. First, the scenery is set up
again, and then the figures are placed, each year seeing some new additions, until such a crib fills almost a whole room with its hundreds of figures.

Outside the town of Bethlehem, Connecticut, the nuns of the Benedictine Priory, "Regina Laudis," have devoted a whole building to their huge Christmas crib, a Neapolitan work that was given to them as a gift. This beautiful crib could become an American shrine, the center for a pilgrimage during the Christmas season.

Just as the Reformation did away with statues and pictures of saints in Protestant churches, it also deprived many Protestant homes of the creche. A few of the German sects, however, kept up this custom even after the Reformation, and brought it to America. When the Moravians, for example, founded the town of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, on a Christmas Eve, they had preserved the custom of the creche.

At home in Austria we wanted a creche which we could make mostly by ourselves. That is why we did not buy one of the ready-made models, but went out into the woods with the children before the first snowfall and carried home stones, moss, bark, lichen, and pine cones. A large table-top, three by five feet, was placed over two carpenter's sawhorses and draped with green cloth. This was the foundation on which every year a slightly different scene would be erected by artistic young hands--the stony hill with the cave, the field, covered with moss, with shepherds in the foreground. For the figures we bought only the heads and hands, beautifully modeled in wax at a little store in Salzburg that sold handmade and artistically decorated candles and "Lebkuchen". At home we made the foundation of the figures with wire and then dressed them with loving care, and it is incredible what ingenious hands can produce with a needle and thread and remnants of dress material. Every evening during Advent some time was devoted to the creche. At the end of the first week the landscape was completed; the second week was animal week, at the end of which many little sheep were grazing on the meadow and the ox was standing in the cave. In the third week the shepherds appeared, watching their sheep in little groups; while in the fourth week Mary and Joseph could be seen approaching from afar with the little ass, advancing steadily every day. Finally, on Christmas Eve, they reached the cave. The ass joined the ox behind the empty manger. Mary was kneeling down in expectation (that's the beauty of the wire under the blue dress the figures can kneel, stand, or sit), while Saint Joseph hung up a lantern above the manger and everyone seemed to hold his breath, waiting until just before Midnight Mass. Then the youngest member of the family would put the little Baby into the manger and joy would reach its height. After Midnight Mass, the figure of the big angel would appear, suspended on a long wire above the shepherds, announcing, "Glory to God in the Highest."

There is no telling how much love and joy goes into the making of such a crib year after year.

Again I must go back to our first year in this country. Of course, Christmas without a crib under the tree would for us have been Christmas with something essential missing. The beloved figures of our Christmas crib, however, were among the things we had left behind. But now the older children's Christmas present to me in that memorable first year turned out to be a large, elaborate Christmas crib with the figures and the little town of Bethlehem, self-designed, cut out of cardboard and hand-painted. Our neighbors in Germantown had kindly invited the children
to help themselves in their gardens to the necessary bark, moss, and stones.

In addition to the large Christmas crib in the living room, we had one more custom in our family as long as the children were little. We used to place in the nursery a large wooden crib which could hold an almost life-size Infant Jesus. On the first Sunday in Advent it would be empty, but a big bag full of straw would rest beside it. Every evening, after the family evening prayers, each child could take as many pieces of straw from the bag as it had performed sacrifices and good deeds during the day "in order to please the Infant Jesus"--in other words, out of love of God. This is a precious opportunity for a mother to teach her little ones the true nature of a sacrifice brought voluntarily for the love of God.

Meal times furnish excellent occasions for self-denial. To take an extra helping of an unpopular vegetable or to pass up a delicious dessert may be a real sacrifice for a child. So Hedwig ate a whole plateful of very healthy but unloved beets, while Martina followed the chocolate cake with longing eyes, saying, "No, thank you," however. Toys gave another opportunity for self-denial. I could hardly believe my eyes when I found Hedwig's favorite doll, "Happy," in Martina's lap, and Martina's little family of dwarfs--Father Dwarf, Mother Dwarf, and Baby Dwarf--in Johanna's corner, while Johanna had put her otherwise jealously guarded doll house into the middle of the room for everybody to use. These may be acts of heroism; we have only to think of the parable of the widow's mite--in the eyes of God she had given more than any other, for the others gave from their abundance, while she had given all she had.

What a race among the youngsters from evening to evening until the crib was finally filled to the brim! When, on Christmas Eve, little Martina--for a long time the youngest among the children--was allowed to put the Holy Child on His bed of straw, the Infant seemed to smile at the children, grateful for the soft bed prepared with so much love. It is curious how such a childhood habit stays with you through life. You may be grown up, even white-haired, but all during Advent you will feel the same urge to "collect more straws for the crib."

SEEKING SHELTER

In the old country we had in our house an oil painting showing St. Joseph leading the Blessed Mother, who was with Child and looked fatigued and tired, as they were asking shelter at the inn. Through the crack of the door one could see the ugly, rough face of the innkeeper, and it was rather easy to guess what he had just said. This picture played a big role during the last part of Advent in the custom called "Herbergsuchen" (seeking shelter). By lot, nine members of the household were chosen to be host to this holy couple, to make up for the hard words, each one in turn offering room and shelter for one day. The children, especially, vied with each other, decorating little altars with candles and fir branches and trying to outdo each other in loving care for the august visitors. The one who was the host for the day could have the picture in his room and spend as much time with his holy guests as he wanted and school permitted. He could, for instance, take his meals together with them upstairs. How inspiring this is for the imagination of the very young--sharing even their meals with the poor Holy Mother, who "doesn't look so tired any more and seems to like it here." Every night, before evening prayers, the whole family would gather outside the room where the picture had stayed for the day, and in solemn procession it would be carried through the house accompanied by the singing of Advent songs, until it reached the next resting place. Each evening there would be enacted the scene before the closed door of the inn. We used to sing the old Austrian "Herbergsucherlied," the song called "Wer Kopfet an":

Who's knocking at my door?

Two people poor and low.

What are you asking for?

That you may mercy show.

We are, O Sir, in sorry plight,

O grant us shelter here tonight.

You ask in vain.

We beg a place to rest.

It's "no" again!

You will be greatly blessed.

I told you no!

You cannot stay.

Get out of here and go your way.

When we were in Mexico, we learned that there they have a similar custom, called the Posada. On the nine evenings before Christmas they play the "Herbergsuchen" from house to house. They invite the local priest, who joins the procession, saying prayers. Eight nights the holy couple is refused shelter and on the ninth evening, Christmas Eve, they are let into a house where everything is prepared most lovingly--a large cradle is waiting, and while a statue of the Infant is put on the straw, the cradle is being rocked and a famous lullaby is being chanted, "A la Rurruru."

As the weeks of Advent are now our busiest concert season, we have had to give up this custom of "Herbergsuchen"--but only in one way. Every evening of these holy weeks of Advent we sing our Christmas program in a different town. While doing so, we hope we may prepare a warm place for the homeless holy couple in many hearts among our audiences.

CHRISTMAS GIFTS

In ancient Rome, people used to exchange gifts on New Year's Day. According to their means, these might be jewelry, pieces of gold and silver, or just home-made pastry, cookies, and candies. But they were a means of saying "Happy New Year." (In French Canada this custom has been preserved to the present day.)

This is one of the instances where Holy Mother Church took an already existing custom and "baptized" it. When the Apostles brought the Gospel to Rome, the people learned of the Three Wise Men who came from the Orient to present gifts to the newborn King of the Jews. From then on, the old custom was only slightly changed. The exchanging of presents remained, but now it was done in imitation of the Three Holy Kings.

It should be understood that everyone in the family has a present for everybody else; these presents should be precious, though not in terms of money, as they should not be bought, but home-made. This is quite a task in a large family, but fingers become skilled in handicrafts of many kinds block prints, wood carvings, leather work, needle work, lettering with beautiful illuminations, and clay work. All these, and one's imagination, are called upon to create many beautiful, useful things, which could not be bought for money because they are made not only with the hands but also with the heart.

But it is not of the immediate family alone that we have to think when we make gifts. The true Christmas spirit results in a desire, if only it were possible, to extinguish all suffering, all hunger and need of any kind, all over the world. Inspired by this desire, everyone prepares for some poor or unfortunate member of the community some real substantial Christmas joy. The parcels that have to go a long distance, or even overseas, are made in the first week of Advent, and the boxes are lined with fir branches from our own woods. "Geben ist seliger als nehmen" ("To give is more blessed than to receive"), says an old proverb, and these are the weeks of the year to prove how true it is. The very essence of Christmas is to give, give, give--since at the very first Christmas the Heavenly Father gave His only begotten Son to us.

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