One of my mother’s favourite Christmas carols was Good King Wenceslas. When I was a kid I thought this was kinda weird, but as I got older I learned more about my mother and the song, and it made a little more sense. These days a lot of the things my mother liked and did seem to me, if not wonderful, at least a little less weird. Can’t help but wonder if my kids are going through the same experience re me, but I’m afraid to ask.
The song, written by John Mason Neale in 1853, recalls a legend about a good, tenth century King (actually a Duke) of Bohemia (modern Czech Republic). On the feast day of Saint Stephen, which is the day after Christmas, this man of privilege goes out with one of his servants into the bitter cold and snow. He leaves the warmth of his palace, not to snap up a Boxing Day bargain, but to take food and fuel to a peasant who is in need. It’s a beautiful story of a greatly advantaged man who, like Saint Nicholas, used his advantages to bless the disadvantaged.
Wenceslas was only 28 when he was assassinated in the year 935, but his short life of selfless piety had made quite an impression. He was revered and venerated, and eventually declared a Saint, which is to say an example for all of us. We all have advantages, and the spirit of Christmas is the spirit of Christ, who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant,... (Philippians 2:6-7).
Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Gath'ring winter fuel
"Hither, page, and stand by me
If thou know'st it, telling
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint Agnes' fountain."
"Bring me flesh and bring me wine
Bring me pine logs hither
Thou and I will see him dine
When we bear them thither."
Page and monarch forth they went
Forth they went together
Through the rude wind's wild lament
And the bitter weather
"Sire, the night is darker now
And the wind blows stronger
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, my good page
Tread thou in them boldly
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly."
In his master's steps he trod
Where the snow lay dinted
Heat was in the very sod
Which the Saint had printed
Therefore, Christian men, be sure
Wealth or rank possessing
Ye who now will bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing
My Mom died several years ago, but her influence endures. This weird little carol is growing on me.
Good King Wenceslas
or
No comments:
Post a Comment