On the feast of Stephen

Non-Catholics may be confused by the Christmas carol Good King Wenceslas. What does a song about a Bohemian saint have to do with Christmas, other than that it is a miracle story about care for the poor? The answer, of course, is in the opening lines:

Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even...

Catholics keep the memory of St. Stephen, the first martyr, on the day after Christmas. It is this connection to Christmas that makes the miracle tale a part of Christmas concerts in lots of places where people haven't a clue who Wenceslas was, or even what happens after the first verse of the song, which is usually all one hears on such occasions.

Over the years there seem to have many Stephens or Stevens or Steves in my life. First there was an uncle; then my best friend for many years -- Steve Yarbrough; a roommate at MSU -- Steve Wagner; my best friend among the Carmelites -- Steve Payne. Then these are the DC Steves -- Comeau and Phan, plus a whole slew of Steves out in Silver Spring -- and Steve Flower in Ohio.

I'm sure some are slipping my mind here, but at any rate -- a happy feast day to them all from Wisconsin on this feast of Stephen, where the snow lies round about, deep and crisp and even.

And for those of you who do not know how the story turns out, here is the whole song:

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 him 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 dented;
Heat was in the very sod
Which the Saint had printed.
Therefore, Christian folk, be sure
Wealth or rank possessing
Ye who now will bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing