During Christmastide, the streams of grace overflow their banks…
By Marcellus Allen Roberts*
It’s 4 am on Christmas morning. As the bulk of men who woke up for breakfast return from the chow hall and climb back into their bunks, a small contingent of Catholics trickle into the day room. There is a playful, schoolboy air about them as they greet each other with hugs and smiles that radiate lighthearted mischief. They have negotiated a concession with the guard on duty who allows them to remain in the day room until he leaves for shift change.
Some of the men are bright-eyed morning people, ready to cheerfully awaken the dawn. Others had to be shaken awake by elder brothers. Yawns melt into grins and spread broadly across faces as the men, each in turn, deposit their offerings on the steel table about which they have encircled themselves.
“For consider your call, brethren, not many of you were wise according to the flesh…” (1 Corinthians 1:26a RSV2-CE)
No gold, neither frankincense, nor myrrh, but an assortment of commissary-bought confections descend on the table. There is enough black-bag instant coffee, creamer, sweetener and cinnamon-flavored fireballs to brew every cup thick as eggnog and syrupy-sweet. The men brought cookies: duplex cremes, vanilla cremes, iced oatmeal cookies, and little green and red sprinkled shortbreads in the shape of Santa Claus and Christmas trees. Plus, barbecue chips, to cleanse the palate and bring out the flavor of the sweetmeats.
The men look around the circle at one another and glory in the small act of devotion that is transpiring. They have come to worship the King enrobed in swaddling clothes who accepts even the most modest gifts. Christ is especially theirs this morning. The excitement of lowly shepherds is all over them. While the rest of the cellblock sleeps, these few have risen early to proclaim the birth of Christ.
“…not many of noble birth…” (1Corinthians 1:26b RSV2-CE)
This congregation is representative of the nations the Christ Child came to save. They have a Gaspar from Upstate New York. A Balthasar hails from Indiana. Their Melchior was born and raised in a small parish outside New Orleans, Louisiana. All of them, at a point in the past, morally bankrupt. Each of them admittedly poor in spirit. None of them too proud to approach the Child Jesus empty-handed and asking for his blessing.
The goodies on the table will be shared among the men. Sharing between Catholic inmates is a study in compassion, how they learn the love to be shared with the world by expressing it within the household of God first. But before they indulge, adoration is due to the guest of honor: an Office of Readings for the newborn Lord of Glory.
This celebration begins with the invitatory: “Christ is born for us; come, let us adore him.” (Invitatory Antiphon, Christmas)
Maybe, one day, when the right to privacy has been whittled to nothing, the world might tune in to a YouTube channel and witness one of these solemn moments of prison devotion, polished to a shine by the living Gospel — genuine reflections of Christ’s love blinking in and out of existence like the stars of a distant, crystalline galaxy. Be aware, there is a carousel of goodness that spirals outward to the rhythm of the liturgical calendar. During Christmastide, the streams of grace so overflow their banks and flood the deltas of hearts in prison that those inside the walls become exceptionally vulnerable to the Glory of God, peace and the goodwill of their fellow men.
No wonder that they can feel it. The inmates who lay snug in their beds testify. They speak to themselves in their hearts, saying, “Here it comes. Here it comes, just like in the movies.”
Pope Saint Leo the Great, whose texts are a source of reflection for the author of this article. He was the 45th Bishop of Rome and Pope of the Catholic Church. He is venerated as a saint by both the Catholic and Orthodox Churches. His pontificate lasted from
September 29, 440, until his death on November 10, 461.
The haunting, toy-box melody of Greensleeves drifts uninvited down the corridors and finds its occupants tucked under, but fast awake.
Fragments of lyrics. Familiar faces. Fond memories. Ghosts of Christmas past. Two cellmates in their separate bunks silently surrender a portion of themselves to the words of “What Child is This.” Secretly, they both find joy in the courage of the Catholic cohort that is willing to risk ridicule in order to solemnize the day. Neither cellmate crawls from under the comfort of his covers to join them.”Here it is,” they speak to themselves in their hearts. “Christmas. It came. Just like in the movies. Just like Dr. Seuss said it would, without the shopping or the presents. Just the adorers of the Babe and their indomitable joy.”
“The Word was made man, alleluia.
— He lay among us, alleluia.” (Office of Readings Responsory, Christmas)
The men linked together in liturgical prayer are learning that there is no present like the presence: of a loved one, a brother, a stranger, a friend. Aloof from family and far from home, these keepers of the Solemnity insulate themselves from the bitter pangs of loneliness and separation by being present to one another now, this Christmas.
“Dearly beloved, today our Savior is born: let us rejoice. Sadness should have no place on the birthday of life. The fear of death has been swallowed up. Life brings us joy with the promise of eternal happiness.” (Pope Leo the Great, Office of Readings, Christmas)
Today the yoke is gentle and easy, simple and light. Christ speaks, through Peter, from the Chair, and banishes sadness from his celebration. He makes no exceptions, not for the weak and suffering, not for the well living in relative peace. We all have every reason to joyfully glory in God.
Pope Leo the Great exhorts the prisoners and delicately steers their gaze away from the present condition of their exile, and fixes it on their everpresent position at the right hand of the Father. He asks that they pierce the veil, squint and look as far as the eyes of faith can see. In this way, they are reminded that all is well because it ends well. This life is, quite literally, a Divine comedy, the greatest story ever told; the depths of its drama are incapable of impeding its promised eternally happy ending.
“Today the whole earth was filled with heaven’s sweetness.” (Responsory, Office of Readings, Christmas)
The guard on duty is watching and listening, paying attention to the activity in the day room. An inmate begins to sing “Mary Did You Know?” and the officer surrenders to the Solemnity. He starts singing along, softly and to himself, in Nigerian-accented English. In his mind’s eye, he holds the image of his wife and children; he sings sweetly, tenderly, as if they are present with him this Christmas morning.
Pietro Cavallini, Natività, Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere, Rome.
The correctional officer speaks to himself in his heart, saying, “Those prisoners do not know that I am their brother. I love Jesus too! I am far away from my family and homeland. I have not been to Mass since I left my country. Maybe I will go to Mass after work. Perhaps I will go to confession.”
The Christmas season is powerful. It is impressive in the way that a child’s palm is impressive to a slab of wet cement. We should go as far as to say that it is the Trojan horse of the Catholic Faith. The Christ Child accepts gifts from all nations and welcomes every culture to put its stamp on the holy day.
The Bambino only makes one request: The people of God, regardless of situation and circumstance, must always celebrate the festal day with glory to God in the Highest, peace on the earth, and goodwill toward men. It is expected of us by both God and man. Merry Christmas.
*Marcellus Roberts is a Catholic Texas prison inmate and Prison Oblate of St. Benedict’s Abbey, Atchison, Kansas, serving a 25-year penance.
