The Shepherd’s Secret

 

Photo credit: Darnok, Morguefile.com

A little Christmas story for today.

I think I’ve mentioned my aunt before, Sister Janice Buettner, O.P. Aunt Lucille (her given name) is a Dominican sister from Amityville, New York. Every holiday, my dad would drive to the convent to pick up Aunt Lucille. She liked to save the cars in the convent’s auto pool for the sisters who wanted to drive to their relatives’ houses, but who didn’t have anyone to pick them up. So my dad was always drafted for the task. He usually stuck his toolbox in the trunk of the car because inevitably, my aunt or another sister would ask him, “Frank, do you mind looking at the sink in the bathroom?” or “The door to the chapel is a bit squeaky; do you mind?”

When I was about five, we drove to Maria Regina Hall to pick up Aunt Lucille for Christmas dinner. When we got there, someone must have had a request for my dad, because Aunt Lucille led me into the kitchen into the care of Sister Flavia. She was the convent cook. Isn’t that the best name for a nun assigned to cooking detail – “Flavia”? Sounds like ‘flavor’!

Sister Flavia was a little old German nun who wore a spotless white apron over her long white Dominican habit. She smelled like talcum powder and onions and I loved her. With eyes twinkling, she’d hoist me onto a big stool next to the worktable where she was mixing stuffing for the turkey or slicing vegetables, and we’d sing Christmas carols together. She’d say, “My, but you look hungry!” and I’d pretend to be fainting with hunger. Then she’d hand me carrot sticks sliced with a chef’s precision and I’d munch on them while she’d tell me stories.

When my aunt returned, I didn’t want to leave Mother Flavia.

Aunt Lucille asked me, “Do you want to visit the chapel to say a prayer?” I always said yes and she always asked. I loved the nun’s chapel at Maria Regina Hall. She’d lead me through the dining room, all beautiful and sparkling with white china and crystal for the holiday, and then we’d wind our way through the convent and into the plain little room they called the chapel. The sanctuary light was blue; I remember that, because the one at Our Lady of Victory Church was red, and I thought all of them “had” to be red.

The chapel was a magical place. It was cool and dark. The kneelers were hard. But we’d kneel and say a prayer. Then my aunt, with a whispered word, would lead me right up to the altar. There on a table next to the altar was the manger scene. I remember those little figures so well. I have never seen one quite like it before. There were shepherds and lots of sheep, and of course the Three Kings. Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus, and the donkey and cattle.

But best of all was The Secret.

Aunt Lucille showed me the Secret. “Pick your favorite,” she suggested with a smile.

I chose a shepherd because he had a dog (it looked like a German Shepherd – portent of things to come?) at his feet and a sheep over his shoulders, and he looked kind. She picked up the figure and with a smile, turned it over. The base of the statue was concave, with a little key hidden underneath.

“Turn the key,” she whispered.

I turned the key with trembling hand. The little notes of “Silent Night” played through the chapel.

It was a tiny music box. Some of the figures had tiny music boxes hidden inside!

Somehow, the little figures with the hidden secrets sums up the mystery of Christmas for me….a baby, looking from the outside very human, shrouding something mysterious and wonderful inside.

The convent is now a building on the campus of my alma mater, Molloy College. The sisters have all moved back to Amityville, or gone to their eternal homes.

I miss the dark, cool chapel and the hard kneelers and the magical nativity scene. I miss Mother Flavia Schulein, who was always so kind to me, and all the other nuns who fussed over me whenever I went to visit. Most of all, I miss my aunt, who is now gone on ahead to eternity, and too far away to whisper secrets to me anymore.