Plus is a bright and upbeat weekly bulletin for today’s Catholic. Covering a multitude of topics, Plus helps readers engage their faith with the often challenging reality of day-to-day life. Written in a popular style, yet underpinned by solid pastoral theology, Plus is ideal for all Catholics who wish to make their experience of faith truly transformational.

On the face of it Catholic mum Lucy and professed hermit Rachel have very different lives, though earlier this year they discovered much they have in common. In Sunday Plus they’re enjoying a new conversation as preparations for Christmas continue. The most recent letter is at the top of the page.

The Holy Family

Dear Rachel,

Last year our parish priest invited all the children to see the completed crib during Mass on Christmas morning. What were the names of those in the nativity scene? Mary; Jesus; Caspar was one of the Kings on their way (they weren’t so confident about Melchior and Balthasar). James suggested “Eeyore” for the donkey. But the children hesitated and needed prompting to name Joseph: provider and protector, he stood by Mary.
But how have the holy family come to be sheltering in a stable? Surely Joseph must have had family locally, he was returning to his home town. Has there been a falling out? Did Joseph’s family disapprove of his choice of bride? Family get-togethers can be delicate; there are often arguments. That first Christmas had its own share of tensions. Joseph’s family are absent from Jesus’ birth.
This Christmas there will be joy and celebration, but also over-excitement, tiredness and anticlimax. When the children inevitably start arguing and crying, and I feel my blood pressure rising, I’ll come back to the crib. Here the holy family are safe and have what they need. We have more than we need. Christmas is a time to be thankful.

Lucy

The Crib

Dear Lucy,

I agree, the key to it has to be living in the moment – it is the only place to encounter God.
For me, Advent is a moment for cherishing: ivy from the garden is used for the Advent wreath; the jam from the summer harvest is prepared for Christmas gifts; the frustrations of waiting and anticipation (which I always find very difficult) are allowed in, to become the focus of prayer and daily musings. I wonder if it is possible to “rest” in your exhaustion in the same way?
The only decorations which find their way into the house before Christmas Eve are the wreath, the Christmas cards and the crib. In the final countdown from 17 December I start to build my crib gradually, pairing each figure with one of the O Antiphons of the Advent Vespers (Old Testament prophecies which anticipate God-with-us in the longed-for nativity of the Christ Child). The ox and the ass, Mary, Joseph, the innkeeper, the shepherds, the kings, the angels: all find their way to my mantelpiece in turn. It becomes a little place of waiting, keeping vigil for me even when I am overtaken by the business of the day.

Rachel

Traditions

Dear Rachel,

The increasing commercialisation of Christmas has made me feel that while I can’t avoid the cards, presents and tree, I have to make sure we emphasise the religious to balance the secular. But the two could – and should – be integrated, as you say.
When we celebrated our first Christmas with James I began a tradition of reading the children The Night Before Christmas every Christmas Eve at bedtime. That wonderful poem about Father Christmas, reindeer, sugar plums and Christmas stockings was written by Clement C. Moore, a man known for his charity and study of theology – and the son of an Episcopalian minister. Christmas is a celebration of Jesus, and Jesus is about us, so this year I will reflect on how the holy family journeyed to Bethlehem and what that might have been like as we journey to the Santa Special and home again. I will concentrate on trying to enjoy what is going on (rather than seeing it as another thing to get done), and pause to reflect in moments of calm during our activities. I wonder how your own Advent and Christmas reflection is different, and what traditions you have adopted at the hermitage?

Lucy

God’s joy

Dear Lucy,

Goodness! I cannot pretend to anything like the same degree of pressure – my sister’s reaction when I hoped to join the family for Christmas last year was, “That’s great, we weren’t sure if you were staying at the hermitage to be holy!” So expectations are much lower.
But I wonder to what extent your exhaustion is due to the tension between what you are doing, and what you feel you ought to be doing? I am reminded of a debate we had in the parish last year. For the first time we had a Christmas tree in church, and there was some concern as to whether the tree (at the back) distracted from the crib (at the front). I wondered why the tree could not be simply moved forward to decorate and honour the crib?
Jesus’ birth was the beginning of a new revelation of God as human; and so Christmas gives the fullest honour and joy to everything it means to be human – the carols, the cakes and cards, nativity plays and pantos, even the Santa Special! All speak of God’s joy, of our joy in our shared humanity.

Rachel

Not enough time

Dear Rachel,

I always think I have more time in December to get ready for Christmas than I do. I’ll remember your tip to write the cards early. Any more ideas? When I had James some of the excitement of Christmas that I felt as a child came back. But so did a feeling of complete exhaustion by Christmas Day.
Last Christmas was James’ first at school. There was a carol service, nativity play (he was a sheep), pantomime, Christmas party and fayre, all before the third week in Advent. Meanwhile, I wrote cards; bought and wrapped presents; planned a trip on the Santa Special; and made a Christmas cake (which never got iced).
Every year I resolve to keep things simple, to find time each day for prayer and reflection. Last year I managed this once; like the cake, the scripture readings waited patiently for my attention. But I made sure the children were spiritually prepared for Christmas.
I spent Advent responding to and meeting the expectations of others. I wonder how I could have given myself more time to prepare spiritually for Christmas, so I could enjoy it when it came?

Lucy

Preparation time!

Dear Lucy,

Christ the King, and the end of another year. I am already eyeing up the ivy in the garden for my Advent wreath, and trying to remember where I hid the candles bought in last year’s January sales. I love the way the liturgical seasons entwine around the natural seasons so intricately that our reactions to them become almost intuitive: it feels a little premature to be even talking about Advent on this wonderful day of triumph and celebration. Last year I sent out my Christmas cards too early and was greeted, quite justifiably, by a chorus of indignation!
I have friends who are more astute – they take a weekend off during October, hide themselves away in an inexpensive hotel armed with cards, address book and laptop, and spend a happy and relaxed 48 hours putting together their newsletter and writing their cards: a lovely way to review their year with each other and with family and friends, and turning what could otherwise become a chore into a treat. But then they have the sense not to send anything until the middle of December.
I wonder what seasonal rituals your little family has created to celebrate together?

Rachel

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Lucy and the hermit: a conversation across two worlds

Lucy Russell and Rachel Denton are both familiar names to readers of Plus. As a Catholic mum, Lucy has found new insights into faith from her busy family life; Rachel, a hermit, has shared much from her place of solitude. We thought it’d be fun to put them in touch, and over the next few weeks we’ll share their conversation with you…

Dear Rachel,

I was getting my two little boys some juice after Mass one week when someone said to me, “I hear you write for the newsletter. Are you the hermit?” Life is frenetic; opportunities to spend time reading, or thinking and praying, are rare and require planning and determination. “No,” I replied to the enquirer, “I’m not the hermit!” But I was amused by the idea of being mistaken for you.

     On the surface our lives couldn’t be more different. But when I started thinking about it I considered there are also similarities. Many of those who seek solitude as a hermit discover a deeper spirituality and renewed creativity; motherhood can be seen in similar terms. And while caring for young children is busy, noisy and messy, it can feel very lonely. I might not live in solitude, but being a full time mother means I am cut off from the society I once inhabited.

     Although changing nappies and wiping noses doesn’t require much mental effort, it can be difficult to find space to think during the day, but wakeful nights provide an opportunity for meditation and prayer. It is a different vocation from yours, but it is a vocation.

Lucy

Dear Lucy,

I, too, am amused, that you might imagine that my times for reading and prayer do not require planning and determination. Even in the seclusion of the hermitage there are deadlines to be met: carrots, chickens, accounts, calligraphy, all jostling for attention and all needing to be sorted yesterday. But you are right, I do have more control over my time, and it is possibly less messy; certainly less noisy.

     People often say, on hearing of my hermitage, “I could do with a bit of that!” Most people would enjoy a bit of peace and quiet occasionally. It takes a keen eye to recognise that the key elements of hermitage are not to be found in a serene, tranquil existence, but in the same creative struggle that you experience in facing up to the noise and muddle of family life. The “noise” might well be in my head (the endless conversations and preoccupations) and the “muddle” of my own making: nonetheless, it is within this chaotic space that I try to live out my vocation too.

     Yes, the night time is a good time; a time of vigil; a time for prayer. I shall pray for you tonight.

Rachel

Dear Rachel,

Thank you for your prayers; I feel in need of them. It’s been a tough few weeks. Both boys have had chicken pox, and Edgar ended up in hospital with a secondary infection. I’m worn out.

     We’re now on holiday, but it doesn’t feel like it: the boys are up early and ready for action! There are times when I wonder if I am up to the task. Sometimes I get crabby with the children and wonder if they wouldn’t be better off with a childminder with more energy and patience. But, it’s a passing thought. I’m lucky to be at home with them.

     Today I had an epiphany. I thought of you as we fed the ducks at the steam train station. I don’t think they are often fed: coming close they surrounded us. It was a moment in a busy, noisy day when I connected with my “inner hermit”. I wondered if, when you were feeding your chickens, you felt touched by the mother within you? I realised – as we stood by the pond – your point that the calm comes from within.

     And then I said a prayer for the health of my boys. And for you.

Lucy

Dear Lucy,

Chickens, cats, froglets, even the garden hedgehog brings out the mothering instinct in me. But I remember my novice mistress, many years ago, quietly advising against becoming too attached to the monastery cats which we employed as resident mouse-catchers. The desert fathers warned against nurturing even a tiny plant in order to keep the soul free for soaring heavenwards, and a well-known hermit of our own time has written that she does not keep a pet because it might make her solitude less.

     So, you see, I am an unconventional hermit – though I have yet to meet a conventional one! There are always of course well-meaning souls kind enough to share their expertise, who know far better than I do how to live the hermit life – often without ever having set foot in a hermitage. At first I found it difficult to cope with their expectations, but now I accept that, with guidance of course, and the safe-guarding of critical friends, I need to respect first my own prayerful insights in determining best how I can live as a hermit. But I expect motherhood attracts its own share of uninvited wisdom. I wonder how you respond?

Rachel

Dear Rachel,

Motherhood certainly attracts uninvited wisdom, much from those without lived experience! Several leading baby-care manuals are written by “experts” who are childless. Some favour strict no-nonsense routines; others argue (equally forcefully) for a fluid approach. It can be hard to know which way to turn. I worry, am I doing the right thing? Several times our GP has said, “You’re their mother. Where we go from here is up to you...” The buck stops with mum. Sometimes the responsibility seems overwhelming.

     It’s, perhaps, a different kind of solitude: largely cut off from my “previous” life as an academic. I crave time to myself (do you ever wish for company?), but feel lonely and lacking intellectual stimulation. Some days I count the minutes until my husband returns from work. Former colleagues were surprised I decided to stay at home. There is a pressure on mothers to return to work, and notions of identity are bound up with what we do. Is it enough to be “just” a mother? I used to worry what others thought and feel I had to defend my vocation. Perhaps the person I had to justify my decision to most was me. And I have.

Lucy

Dear Lucy,

A friend once asked how I coped when things got tough – to whom did I turn? I told him that I tried to rely on God, rather than fill the emptiness with myriad voices. Six months later, I heard that my friend had died of cancer and had probably just learnt about it when we spoke. I wonder now, if I hadn’t been so smug and self-assured, if he might have wanted to talk about it.

     Solitude is an odd thing for many people, and seems to require justification if it is to be indulged for more than a day or two. I am solitary by nature, but I can still get lonely at times. There are family and good friends I can call if I need to, but it would be a strong friendship that survived only my low points, so we try to meet up at least once a year to have fun together. That was something else I had to get my head around when I first came here: justifying my solitude and then justifying leaving it occasionally. I wonder if you ever venture back to the world of work. I wonder if that sustains, or confuses you.

Rachel