
1 DEC
“O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.”
Christmas Eve is a night suspended in wonder.
The world seems to hush, holding its breath for love to be born again.
Later this year, our community will begin a new chapter. Some sisters will move to Gloucestershire, and I will begin a new chapter in our Franciscan house in London. Even now, I sense the stillness that such a threshold brings – pregnant with hope, trembling with promise.
Like Mary, we carry Christ into new places. We do not always know how we will be received, but we trust in the slow, unfolding work of God.
The Franciscan charism of joy, hope, and peace is never ours to keep – it is a light we are called to bear into the shadows.
Tonight, beneath the silent stars, I wait not only for Christ to be born in Bethlehem, but to be born again in us – in unfamiliar streets, in new neighbours, in the quiet readiness of our hearts.
Come, Lord Jesus. We are waiting.
Sister Beverley CSF
Provincial Guardian
Aled Jones – Watching the White Wheat
HONOUR THE LAND
Today take inspiration from the Indigenous communities of Guyana and the Akawaio people:
Honour the land by choosing one simple action that reconnects you with the earth—walk barefoot on grass, cook with local ingredients, or light a candle and pray in silence outdoors.
Create a moment of quiet joy: turn off all devices one evening and gather with others to sing or simply sit in silence by candlelight, reflecting on Christ born in stillness.
Celebrate intercultural faith: learn a carol or blessing in a different language, or explore how local customs in your region can express Christian joy—honouring both tradition and the Spirit’s movement.
Let your celebration of Christ’s birth be rooted in simplicity, kinship, and reverence for creation—close to Mary, close to Joseph, close to God.
The holy man of God preaches to the people standing around him and pours forth sweet honey about the birth of the poor King and the poor city of Bethlehem. Moreover, burning with excessive love, he often calls Christ “the babe from Bethlehem” whenever he means to call Him Jesus. Saying the word “Bethlehem” in the manner of a bleating sheep, he fills his mouth with sound but even more with sweet affection.
(The Life of St Francis by Thomas of Celano, the First Book Chapter XXX, 86)
Christ of the forest and river,
Born in stillness and
sung in many tongues,
Make your home
in our humble hearts.
Teach us to walk gently,
To rejoice quietly,
And to welcome your light
in every culture
and every soul.
.
In our Indigenous communities of Guyana, Christmas is a quiet joy, shaped by the rhythms of the land and the warmth of kinship. We gather in small wooden churches along the rivers or deep in the forest, bringing cassava bread, fish, and fruit to share after worship.
Children sing carols in local languages, and candles light up the darkness with gentle hope. We feel close to Mary and Joseph – far from cities, but close to God. In the stillness of the rainforest, Christ is born again, not in grandeur, but in the hearts of people who walk gently with the earth. We now have a Franciscan Akawaio priest in Guyana. Also 4 Akawaio novices and 2 Akawaio postulants.
Since the mid-19th century, the Akawaio have embraced a syncretic Christian expression known as Alleluia, or Hallelujah religion – rooted in their traditional spirituality yet centred on the Christian Creator. Led by indigenous prophets and shamans, it merges ancestral ritual with Christian worship. This faith, still vibrant, blends native language, music, dance, and spirit possession alongside Christian teachings .
Charlie McCarron TSSF
Minister Provincial Americas
“We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time… But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.”
Mary stands on the threshold.
The child she has carried for so long is ready, yet still hidden.
She feels the tightening of her body, the ache of waiting, the shifting nearness of what is to come.
Every breath draws her closer to the moment she will offer Him to the world.
She knows the weight of this sacred task.
The One who formed her has been formed within her, now fully alive, ready to enter the world he created.
Yet still she waits. Not in fear, but in hope. Not in control, but in surrender.
This is holy ground. This is the thin space between hiddenness and revelation, silence and song.
Mary waits, not knowing when or how, but trusting the one she carries is already preparing the way.
I wonder how Mary surrendered to the ache of waiting when the time felt so near.
I wonder how I might rest in this threshold space, trusting God’s perfect timing.
If you keep an Advent Journal, here are some ideas you could write about;
Christmas Eve invites us into stillness: the kind that listens more than it speaks, that waits not with fear but with open hands and hope.
Take some quiet time tonight to write and reflect: Where in your life do you sense God is inviting you to carry light into a new place?
What unknowns are you stepping into, like Mary or the shepherds, with faith rather than certainty?
Tonight, write not just with pen, but with wonder, awe and anticipation.