Advent 3
December 11, 2005
by T. Matthew Rowgh
Third Sunday of Advent December 17, 2000
The hut on the southern slope of the Apennines was built of the same stone as the rock on which it stood. It appeared
a part of nature, not a work of human beings.
The inside looked wretched, even though Brother Angelo was trying to clean and decorate the hermitage for Christmas.
At last the dirty red of the rough brick floor became visible, and the young Franciscan put the broom in the corner.
Satisfied, he looked around the bare, gloomy room. Through the half-open door came the faint light of day, together
with a moist, chilly draft.
The monk broke a dry branch into pieces and threw them into the fire burning in a crooked brick stove. "It
ought to be warm when the brothers come home, and festive," he murmured. Proudly he examined the rough wooden
cross on the wall, which he had decorated with fresh ivy. Two white candles were fastened to the beams of the
cross. They were to burn for the Christmas Eve celebration.
Brother Angelo sat down on the floor close to the fire, folded his delicate brown fingers across his thin knees,
and listened for something outside. His soft, fair hair hung down to his shoulders. The well cut features were
those of a young Knight of the Cross rather than of a brown-clad penitent monk,
Suddenly the door opened and a small, gaunt man came in, barefoot and carrying a coarse, half-filled sack on his
back and a little pitcher of wine in his hand. Brother Angelo started up devotedly and relieved him of his burden.
"Come to the fire and warm yourself, Brother Francis," he said eagerly. "It is cold outside, but
the soup is boiling already and the brothers will be here soon."
The dark-haired man with the emaciated face, in which great eyes shone, looked around the little hut. "You
have been quite busy, Brother Angelo. The Holy Child may well visit our hut. Would that our hearts, too, might
be well prepared!"
"Yes, Brother Francis." The youth's reply sounded slightly embarrassed. The older man raised his eyes
in question. The younger kept silence and bowed his head.
"You were alone this morning?" "Not the whole time. I had a great fright. Three robbers from
the mountains--they are known here, I think--came and asked me for food."
"And you?" I sent them away and scolded them well for their bad ways. I told them God would damn them
eternally."
"You said that and sent them away?"
"Their hands were red with blood."
"They stretched them out for help and you left them unfilled?"
"They were robbers, Brother Francis."
"They were brothers, Brother Angelo."
"Brothers? The robbers?"
Francis looked at him severely and his great eyes blazed. "Yes, the robbers," he said emphatically.
The young man blushed and did not answer.
"They wander in cold and hunger," Francis continued, "and you make yourself comfortable in the warm
house. Oh, Angelo, your heart is not so well prepared for Christmas as this hut is.
Tears sprang to the youth's eyes. "Be not angry with me, my brother, I will make good where I failed!"
A mild light began to glow in the monk's serious face. "If you want to make it good, take this sack with
bread and the pitcher with wine and go out into the mountains to seek the robbers. Take the food to them and ask
their forgiveness for your hardness. Then return, so that we may celebrate Christmas together with a pure heart."
"And if they kill me in anger?"
Francis smiled, serene and unworried, and remained silent.
Thereupon the young man bowed his head obediently, threw the sack over his shoulder, and walked out of the house
without a word of contradiction.
Angelo kept his eyes turned to the ground looking for footprints. There were deer and fox tracks coming from the
near-by forest. And among the many tracks there were naked feet; they went criss-cross in confusion. Blood in
one of the footprints appeared again and again. The monk followed these footprints. They were leading into the
mountains.
The sun was no longer high, --he must hurry if he wanted to find the robbers before nightfall! His brown habit
was whipped about him while he battled patiently against the wind, his eyes turned toward the ground, all the time
taking care not to spill the wine in the pitcher.
After a time the monk grew weary and looked back. How long had he been walking in this wintry silence, in dull
obedience, towards an adventurous goal? He became despondent and to loose direction but then a light began to
shine from within as he thought of Brother Francis. He cried out, "No, not dully and lifelessly like a corpse,
but I go in joyful obedience on the way you send me, Brother Francis!" With new zeal he climbed over rocks
and pushed on even though the wind had blown away the snow and blotted out the footprints.
Suddenly a black, disheveled head appeared behind a rock, staring at the approaching friar with sinister, burning
eyes. The young man's step faltered. Horror gripped his heart. He turned pale.
"Ho there," the robber shouted, rising to his feet in anger. Slowly another figure rose and threatened
the frightened monk with his hairy fist. A third was plucking a crow he was about to roast over a small, smoldering
fire.
"It seems you want to share our Christmas treat, pious brother?" he mocked. "I can't promise you
more than a leg."
"What do you want, monk?" the first one bellowed at him, making Angelo tremble. "To give us a penitential
sermon as you did this morning? It's hard preaching to empty stomachs! Look out!"
"No," said Brother Angelo humbly, stepping close. He laid down the sack of bread and placed the pitcher
of wine carefully on a ledge. Then he knelt down in the snow and said pleadingly, "Dear robbers, forgive
me for sending you away from the threshold today with such hard words. I have come now to bring you some bread
and wine and to ask your forgiveness for my sin." The wild men looked at the delicate, aristocratic figure,
at the youthful, sensitive face. The oldest of the robbers turned pale, bit his stubborn lips and turned away.
As for the second, the hot blood rose to the black tufts of hair above his brow. He covered his eyes with his
hands like a child who feels ashamed. But the third, the youngest, laughed a little, embarrassed, and said, "We'll
gladly forgive you, because you are a good man. We felt very hungry today...."
"Why don't you get up?" asked the pale one.
"Stay and eat with us," said the other.
Brother Angelo stood up and shook the snow from his habit. "I cannot stay and eat with you," he said
timorously. Brother Francis expects me for midnight mass down at the monastery. And I must hurry, for it will
soon be night. But perhaps you can visit us in the monastery some time when you are in need of something."
"And Brother Francis? Will he not scold us?"
The face of the young man lit up. "He calls you brothers."
"Brothers!" said all three as with one voice, and then kept an uneasy silence.
"Farewell, brother robbers," said Angelo. Without answering a word, the three wild fellows stared after
the young monk as he disappeared from their sight. Nor did any one of them reach for the wine or bread, and each
avoided the glance of his companions. The fog had swallowed up the figure of the young man and the desolate countryside
lay silent and white. Then the old Christmas song was carried up to the three lost men:
"Adeste fileles, laeti triumphantes,
Venite, ventite ad Bethlehem."
There is a legend that at a later time these same three robbers came down and joined the Brotherhood of Franciscans
and led a blessed life until their peaceful end. ("Brother Robber," Behold that Star, A Christmas Anthology,
Edited by the Bruderhof, The Plough Publishing House, Farmington, PA, 1996).
Brother Francis was rather stern with Brother Angelo, "Your heart is not so well prepared for Christmas as
this hut is."
John the Baptist was rather stern as well
with those who came before him seeking a baptism of repentance.
He shatters the illusion
that preparation for the coming of Christ is a simple affair
like preparing the house for Christmas.
Much more is expected if we are to truly receive Christ....
to live in response to the needs of others,
sharing even our clothes and food;
to look seriously at what our work requires;
to be honest and upright in our dealings with all;
no cheating of clients or stealing from employers.
Christmas is more than God's love for us.
Rather Christmas is our love for one another in this world.
Savoring the love of Christ within our hearts
will enables us to respond to those who are the most diffiuclt.
In this final week of Advent
we will be given many opportunities to respond to the needs of others!
May we be attentive to one another
as Christ calls us to be attentive!