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The Christmas at Greccio: A Story of St. Francis
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The Christmas at Greccio: A Story of St. Francis
Sophie Jewett
"The beautiful Mother is bending
Low where her Baby lies
Helpless and frail, for her tending;
But she knows the glorious eyes.
"The Mother smiles and rejoices
While the Baby laughs in the hay;
She listens to heavenly voices:
'The child shall be King, one day.'
"O dear little Christ in the manger,
Let me make merry with Thee.
O King, in my hour of danger,
Wilt Thou be strong for me?"
—Adapted from the Latin of Jacopone da Todi. Thirteenth Century.
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One
night in December . . . Brother Francis, with one companion, was walking
through the beautiful valley of the Velino River, toward
Rieti, a little
city where he came often on his way from Assisi to Rome. To-night he had
turned somewhat aside from the main road, for he wished to spend Christmas
with his friend, Sir John of Greccio. Greccio is a tiny village, lying
where the foothills begin, on the western side of the valley. The very
feet of Brother Francis knew the road so well that he could have walked
safely in the darkness, but it was not dark. The full moon floated over
the valley, making the narrow river and the sharp outlines of the
snow-covered mountains shine like silver. The plain and the lower hills
were pasture land, and, not far from the road, on a grassy slope, the
Brothers saw the red glow of an almost spent shepherds' fire. "Let us
stop and visit our brothers, the shepherds," said Francis, and they
turned toward the fading fire.
There was no sense of winter in the air, scarcely a touch of frost, and
the only snow was that on the silver peaks against the sky. The shepherds,
three men and one boy, lay sleeping soundly on the bare ground, with their
sheepskin coats drawn closely around them. All about them the sheep were
sleeping,
too, but the solemn white sheep dogs were wide awake. If a
stranger's foot had trod the grass never so softly, every dog would have
barked, and every shepherd would have been on his feet in an instant. But
the dogs trotted silently up to the Grey Brothers and rubbed against them,
as if they said, "We are glad to see you again," for they knew the
friendly feet of the Little Poor Man, and they had more than once helped
him to eat the bread that was his only dinner. Followed by the dogs,
Francis walked about among the shepherds, but they slept on, as only men
who live out of doors can sleep, and Francis could not find it in his
heart to waken them. The sheep lay huddled together in groups for more
warmth. Around one small square of grass a net was stretched, and, inside
it, were the mother sheep who had little lambs. There was no sound except
the faint cry, now and then, of a baby lamb. The coals over which the
shepherds had cooked their supper paled from dull red to grey, and there
was only a thin column of smoke, white in the moonlight. Francis sat down
on a stone, and the largest of the white dogs pressed up against his knee.
Another went dutifully back to his post beside the fold where the mothers
and babies slept. The Italian hillside seemed to Francis to change to that
of Bethlehem, which he had seen, perhaps, on his Eastern journey; the
clear December night seemed like that of the first Christmas Eve. "How
these shepherds sleep!" he thought; "how they would awaken if they heard
the 'Peace on earth' of the angels' song!" Then he remembered sadly how
the armies that called themselves Christian had, year after year, battled
with the Saracens over the cradle and the tomb of the Prince of Peace. The
moonlight grew misty about him, the silver heights of the mountains and
the silver line of the river faded, for the eyes of Brother Francis were
full of tears.
St. Francis
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As the two Brothers went on their way, Francis grew light of heart again.
The sight of the shepherds sleeping on the grass had given him a new idea,
and he was planning a surprise for his friends at Greccio. For at Greccio
all were his friends, from Sir John, his host, down to the babies in the
street. In the valley of Rieti he was almost as well known and as dearly
loved as in his own valley
of Assisi. The children of Greccio had never
heard of Christmas trees, nor, perhaps, of Christmas presents. I am not
sure that, in the thirteenth century, Italians had the beautiful custom
which they now have of giving presents at Twelfth Night, in memory of the
coming of the three kings with their gifts to the Christ Child; but in the
thirteenth century, even as now, Christmas was the happiest festival of
the year. This year all the folk of Greccio, big and little, were happier
than usual because their beloved Brother Francis was to help them keep
their Christmas-tide. Next day Francis confided his plan to his friend,
Sir John, who promised that all should be ready on Christmas Eve.
On the day before Christmas, the people came from all the country around
to see and hear Brother Francis. Men, women and children, dressed in their
holiday clothes, walking, riding on donkeys, crowding into little carts
drawn by great white oxen, from everywhere and in every fashion, the
country folk came toward Greccio. Many came from far away, and the early
winter darkness fell long before they could reach the town. The light of
their
torches might be seen on the open road, and the sound of their
singing reached the gates of Greccio before them. That night the little
town was almost as crowded as was Bethlehem on the eve of the first
Christmas. The crowds were poor folk, for the most part, peasants from the
fields, charcoal burners from the mountains, shepherds in their sheepskin
coats and trousers, made with the wool outside, so that the wearers looked
like strange, two-legged animals. The four shepherds who had slept so
soundly a few nights before were of the company, but they knew nothing of
their midnight visitors. The white dogs knew, but they could keep a
secret. The shepherds were almost as quiet as their dogs. They always
talked and sang less than other people, having grown used to long silences
among their sheep.
Gathered at last into the square before the church, by the light of
flaring torches, for the moon would rise late, the people saw with wonder
and delight the surprise which Brother Francis and Sir John had prepared
for them. They looked into a real stable. There was the manger full of
hay, there were a live ox and
a live ass. Even by torchlight their breath
showed in the frosty air. And there, on the hay, lay a real baby, wrapped
from the cold, asleep and smiling. It looked as sweet and innocent as the
Christ Child Himself. The people shouted with delight. They clapped their
hands and waved their torches.
Then there was silence, for Brother Francis stood before them, and the
voice they loved so well, and had come so far to hear, began to read the
old story of the birth of the Child Jesus, of the shepherds in the fields,
and of the angels' song. When the reading was ended, Brother Francis
talked to them as a father might speak to his children. He told of the
love that is gentle as a little child, that is willing to be poor and
humble as the Baby who was laid in a manger among the cattle. He begged
his listeners to put anger and hatred and envy out of their hearts this
Christmas Eve, and to think only thoughts of peace and good will. All
listened eagerly while Brother Francis spoke, but the moment he finished
the great crowd broke into singing. From the church tower the bells rang
loud; the torches waved wildly, while voices here and there
shouted for
Brother Francis and for the Blessed Little Christ. Never before had such
glorious hymns nor such joyous shouting been heard in the town of Greccio.
Only the mothers, with babies in their arms, and the shepherds, in their
woolly coats, looked on silently and thought: "We are in Bethlehem."
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