It seems like it was only a few hours ago that the sisters were brushing up the last pine needles and checking their Graduales to make sure each song of the Midnight Mass was marked and ready. Through the centuries Christmas Eve has always occupied a throne of its own in the human heart. For Poor Clares this evening, the feast of Our Lord’s Baptism, also has an aura of its own, albeit a poignant one. It is the last time we will gaze upon the Holy Infant reigning from His manger bed. Tomorrow it must all come down: pine cones returned to their boxes, branches of evergreens lifted carefully, oh so carefully, from window sills and tables to avoid coating the floor with pine needles. Candles and pictures, wreathes and lights and the numerous manger scenes that are scattered through the monastery: it all has to go. This evening we will sit in our community room and look longingly at Little Jesus in His crib, and someone will say what we say each year, “Can’t we just stay here for the night?”
That is the best thing about being a Poor Clare. We really do get to stay here, next to Him, for this night and every night of our lives.
