On the Third Day of Christmas: Chapters Five and Six

THE KING, THE PAGE AND THE HERMIT:

A CHRISTMAS STORY

CHAPTER FIVE

“What did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet” (Luke 7:26)

“My dear man,” Vácslav looked into his mug as he hesitated for a moment. “I do not wish to pass this time with you in vain. I feel as though God has seen fit to reveal to me that you are a man of God. When I saw you gathering winter fuel I was drawn to you; I believe God has put you in my path for a reason. Please, advise me; help me to become a better ruler, a better Christian,” the Duke spoke in earnest, leaning forward and waiting with expectation to hear what the hermit would tell him.

“You are called to be a great example, King Wenceslaus,” Jaro the Hermit said with purpose, sitting up straight in his seat, his face bathed in the orange light of the fire, his eyes animated with emotion. “Not only for your subjects, but for people of all nations, of all generations,” his voice rang with conviction and certainty.

Hearing these words, the strange name Jaro had pronounced, Vácslav’s heart began to beat faster; he felt fear stirring in his stomach. He looked on the hermit with admiration.

“Like the faithful rulers of old – the Prophet and King David, Constantine the Emperor – you too can become great, my dear Duke. In fact, if with the help of God, you are successful in this endeavour, a day will come when they will no longer call you duke, but “king”, and you will not be recognized by your Old West Slavic name, Vácslav, but rather by a foreign rendering of it, Wenceslaus.

“You see, Sire, if you were of the world, the world would have loved you: but because you are not of the world, therefore the world hateth you.” Here the hermit paused, as though giving Vácslav the opportunity to process all that was being said.

The Duke glanced at Podevin who sat motionless, seemingly petrified by the conversation unfolding before him.

“Man of God, your words fill me with both fear and love,” the Duke began with stalled speech. “Fear, because you speak of me as though I could ever compare to holy rulers, and love because your words inspire in me a zeal for Christ, a zeal to live and die as a faithful ruler, a faithful servant of Christ.”

The Duke did not hesitate to pour out his heart to the hermit. For so long he had supplicated the Lord to provide him a trusted guide. Sitting before this disheveled and yet noble hermit he felt as though he had finally found one.

He paid no mind to the fact that Podevin, his loyal page – sitting closest to the fire with bright eyes as though hanging on every word the hermit said – was hearing this intimate conversation.  He had often called to mind how God is not a respector of persons, and so he also strove to be humble and full of love. Though he felt he often fell short of this aspiration, he nevertheless tried.  

“But how, how, will I do this?” Vácslav asked with wide, hungry eyes leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“Until your final day you must struggle to let your light shine before our countrymen, so that they will glorify our Father in Heaven. Even if you must do it alone, and even if you are considered a fool in the eyes of the world, you must set an example and draw men out of their selfishness. Encourage them to love one another,” the hermit advised.

“You have had a secret desire for some time now, my dear Duke, to buy all children being sold into slavery and give them a proper home.” Here Vácslav’s eyes grew wide with surprise; Podevin’s did likewise.

“I adjure you, make haste and do it. You should not only provide food and shelter to the young orphans, but give them the opportunity to learn and live the Christian faith. With this good deed you fill find peace because you will follow God’s command,” here the hermit fell silent.

The Duke took in all that he heard. He understood the hermit before whom he sat was illumined by the grace of God since he had never revealed to anyone his desire to save children from the cruel life of slavery.

Looking out the small windows of the hut he saw that evening had crept into night. The snow was falling. Big, soft flakes silently falling for the glory of God, he reflected. He knew he should have one hundred questions to ask the holy hermit but at that moment all he felt was peace and pleasure to be in the presence of a man of God. And so he was content to sit in silence, pondering everything in his heart.

CHAPTER SIX

“His servants ye are to whom ye obey; whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness”(Romans 6:16)

After sitting in silence for some time the hermit suddenly rose, walked toward a faded woven tapestry hung on the wall and drew it back to reveal an entrance. Having affixed the now draping tapestry to one side, he turned to them, “Come. It’s time.” Bowing his head he entered.

Vácslav exchanged a look with his page and followed after the old man.

The light from the hut’s main room spilt into what Vácslav could now see was a chapel.

As the hermit began to light the oil lamps hung above the stone altar against the wall, Vácslav took in the sights of the room. 

To say the Duke was surprised by the revelation of a beautifully adorned, if small, chapel in this small hut was an understatement. He knew his subjects to be faithful, but it was rare for someone to have a chapel in their home, much less in the hut of a poor hermit.

A mixture of sweet beeswax and frankincense hung in the air. Two medium sized images rested on simple wooden stands in the middle of the room. To the left was an image of the Mother of God, cloaked in dark blue holding the Christ Child. To the right was an image of Jesus Christ as a young man: his face serene, his right hand fixed in the form of a blessing. The Duke noted they looked a great deal like the images hung in his own bedchamber.

They couldn’t possibly be done by the same hand, though. My grandfather had those images commissioned from a visiting monk from Constantinople years ago, he thought.

Having lit the lamps, the hermit turned to him with expecting eyes, “Would you, Sire, do me the honour of reciting the morning prayers with me?”

The Duke nodded and stood to the side of the room where a few books lay on a book stand. Question after question vied for his attention, pleading with him to spill them out before the hermit but he understood there was a time for speech and a time for deeds. Now they would pray, later they would speak.

Atop the bookstand was a three-bar candlestick with large, fresh candles ready to be lit. While waiting for the hermit to finish lighting the candles he began chanting in a deep, low, harmonious voice the words scrolled before him in a foreign script: “What shall we offer you O Christ, who for our sake has appeared on earth as man? Every creature made by you offers you thanks. The angels offer you a hymn; the heavens, a star; the Magi, gifts; the shepherds, their wonder; the earth, its cave; the wilderness, the manger; and we…” at this point, to Duke Vácslav’s surprise, overcome with emotion, his voice trailed off.

He didn’t know if it were the words of the hymn, the chapel or the mysterious person of this hermit that had evoked such compunction in him. He cleared his throat and attempted to finish the hymn but before he could he heard an old, frail, almost familiar voice sing out, “and we offer you a Virgin Mother.” 

He turned toward the hermit, who was smiling at him. Vácslav was both impressed and perplexed. There was something about the old man that made the Duke feel as though he knew him all his life.

***

Podevin watched with curiosity, both at his Master and the mysterious hermit.

He understood the words of the hymn which his Master chanted. Having been raised with his family in the castle – all of whom were employed in the Duke’s service – Podevin had been fortunate enough to learn to read and write. The Duke felt it necessary for his household to not only believe in Christ, but understand the Liturgical language, Slavonic, a language which had long been in use, but was only given an alphabet when the blessed missionary brothers Cyril and Methodius from Constantinople came to convert their lands. He had heard many stories about them; not only from his Master, but even his own father.

It was, however, not only the divinely inspired words that he found moving, but his Master’s voice and the deep love and longing he somehow communicated when he sang.

“Podevin,” the hermit interrupted his thoughts. “We will now pray the morning prayers. I am going to place this stool here for you so that you can sit if you grow tired.”

“Oh, no, please, I couldn’t dare sit while my Master stands,” Podevin said with his hands raised in protest.

“That is noble of you, Podevin,” the hermit rested his large hand on Podevin’s arm. Looking at him with intense eyes, he said, “It is praiseworthy to push oneself beyond one’s natural capabilities. But I want you to take note of that small stool there against the wall and I want you to demonstrate your perfect obedience. When you grow tired you will rest,” the hermit finished. The kindness in his commanding voice only added to Podevin’s desire to please him.

“May it be blessed,” the page finally answered with a gentle smile.

“Let us begin then…” the hermit said nodding at Vácslav as he joined him at the reader’s stand.