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Night Before Christmas
Series |
’Twas the night before Christmas, the church was all dark,
Not a soul to be seen, neither layman nor clerk.
The doors were all bolted and locked with great care
For the problem of vandals was cause of despair.
Yet the faithful would gather there at a late hour,
And bells would ring out from the medieval tower.
The mass would be sung from the altar so high,
And angels would echo the tunes from on high.
At the stroke of ten thirty the verger appeared.
With keys on his belt, round the corner he leered.
He opened the lock of the sacristy door,
And tripped on a cassock that had lain on the floor.
With muffled a-cursing he turned on the light,
For it really had given his system a fright!
He turned up the heat and he tidied the room,
And he walked round the chancel three times with his broom.
The next to appear was the organist dour,
Who’d spent the week practicing preludes obscure.
He shuffled his music and sat on his bench,
And played all the notes of a carol so French.
The MC came next to lay out all the vestments,
And lovingly handle the chalices ancient.
His eau de cologne filled the sacristy air
As he ticked off the things on his checklist with flare.
Half an hour to go, and the servers drew near.
Thurifer, crucifer, boat boy so dear.
On went their cassocks and cottas just pressed,
Then came the acolytes - last to get dressed.
Father arrived, with an Advent-creased face,
Gave a nod to the MC and frowned at his lace.
He tied on his amice with priestly technique,
And slipped on his alb for the ninth time that week
The thurifer blew on his charcoal with pride.
He’d secretly slipped extra carbon inside.
Embers to turn precious grains into smoke,
And please heart and soul of good Catholic folk.
All the candles were lit, and the organ did thunder,
And the eyes of the trebles all filled up with wonder.
The choir all lined up and the introit was sung,
The first mass of Christmas had truly begun!
Copyright
© Pharisaios 2002.
With apologies to Clement
Clark Moore 1779-1863.
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