Long ago, before the people
of Ireland had ever heard of Jesus, a small band of monks came to found a
monastery there. At their head was Brother Comgall,
a man of great and strange wisdom.
It is even said that Brother Comgall could understand and speak the language of
animals. When he and his brothers looked for a place to stay, the people were
suspicious of them. No one wanted these newcomers near them with their strange
new faith. But the wild creatures had no such fear. Birds and beasts welcomed
him and guided him to the best place to build his abbey.
So the monks built their
church and room to welcome guests as well, and though the people had been wary,
they soon realised that these monks had a great gift to share, the gift of
learning. Few people could read or write, but the monks could, and soon the
local people realised that this was something which could change the lives of
their children. So they began to send them to Comgall and his brothers for an
education. Soon they were running a thriving school and taking in children who
had no one to care for them.
It was hard work to look
after so many, alongside all the other tasks of running the monastery. Night
after night the other monks would find Brother Comgall still up at midnight,
working in his cell by the light of a candle. They took to bringing him a
little extra food, some bread and cheese to sustain him through the night. But
unknown to them, Brother Comgall was not keeping even this to himself. Every night, as he settled down to this bite
of food, a small dark, twitching, whiskery nose would appear at a hole in the
corner of the room, and two tiny shining eyes would peep out. “Come, Brother mouse”,
Comgall would say gently. “Come and share what I have”. And a field mouse would
creep quietly out of his hole and scamper ups the table leg and perch in front
of Comgall. As Comgall divided the bread and cheese between them he would ask,
“Now, Brother mouse, what news do you bring me today?” And the mouse would talk
to him of life beyond the monastery, tales he had heard from other mice and the
creatures which lived round about. Sometimes a migrating bird would bring news
from further away too. Everyone wondered how Comgall knew so much about the
world, but no one ever guessed the truth.
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| Illustration: Trina Schart Hyman |
ow it so happened one year that the weather was unusually harsh and
all through the land the crops failed. Comgall could see with his own eyes how
it was, because the monks’ own vegetable garden gave little produce that year.
To make it worse, the people were forced by the ruler of that land, the Prince
of Ulster, to pay more and more of their crops in tax to him, so even the
little they had was taken away. Comgall looked around at the children in his
care. How would he feed them, not to mention the monks themselves? The autumn
wore on, and the food stores dwindled. The monks were as sparing as they could
be, each one eating less and less, so that there was enough for the children,
but as mid-winter approached they could see that what they had would not last
till spring.
One night, as Comgall sat up
late worrying about what to do, the mouse appeared from his hole, looking angry
and upset. “What’s the matter, Brother
Mouse?” asked Comgall. “Today when I was out in the fields with my brothers and
sisters we came across a great white swan that had flown down from the north of
our land, where the prince of Ulster lives. All the land he flew over is in the
grip of famine. Yet he says that the storehouses of the prince are piled high
with grain and meat and every delicacy you could imagine. Every night, he says,
the prince and his friends feast till the small hours, while the prince’s
subjects starve. There is food enough for all if only they would share it.”
Brother
Comgall pondered the mouse’s words that night, and then he gathered the monks
together. “Brothers,” he said, “we have barely enough food to last until
Christmas, let alone to sustain us and the children till the spring. I have
heard though, that the prince of Ulster has food aplenty in his stores. The
Bible tells us that our Lord worked many miracles through the power of God. He
fed 5000 with a few loaves and fishes. We can’t do that. But he did even
greater miracles when he changed the hearts of selfish men and women and taught
them how to love each other. This we can do, or at least we can try… I shall go
to the Prince of Ulster and tell him that his people are starving while he has
it in his power to feed them and see if I can’t melt his heart.” The other
monks were afraid for Comgall. “The prince is no friend to us or to our God. He
is as likely to kill you as to give you food.” “If we have no food we shall die
anyway,” said Comgall “and so will the rest of the people around us, so I must
at least try”.
It was a long, cold walk through
the worst of the winter weather, and with little food in his pack Comgall
worried that he would not have the strength for the journey, but at last he
came to the castle of the Prince of Ulster and knocked on the great wooden
doors. It was evening and from inside he could hear the sound of feasting and
laughter. “Who’s there?” shouted the prince. “Just one of those monks, and a
poor, thin, ragged specimen at that,” answered the doorkeeper. “Send him away!”
said the prince. “I can’t be doing with having his sort in my halls!” But
Comgall wouldn’t go. “I ask just a moment with the prince” he begged. Finally
he was shown into the feasting hall. The tables were loaded with food and the
smell almost made Comgall faint from hunger. “Well, what is it?” said the
prince. “Your people are starving, yet you have food aplenty!” said Comgall, “The
children we care for have nothing in their bellies and will die before winter
is out if you don’t help!”
“What is that to me?” said
the prince. “If the poor cannot care for themselves, why should I help them? You
say your God is so great – appeal to him! Throw this man out!” he shouted to
the doorkeeper. And Comgall was picked up like a sack and flung out into the
cold night. He turned towards home with a heart made heavy by failure. By the
time he got back to the monastery he was half-dead with cold and hunger. Just
outside the monastery gates he collapsed in the snow, and if one of the monks
hadn’t seen him there he would have died. They took him in and put him to bed
in his cell as he told them what had happened. “Nevertheless,” he said, “Tonight
is Christmas Eve, and in the morning we shall celebrate the birth of
Christ. After all, it was no easier for the Holy Family than it is for us. There
was no room for Mary and Joseph at the inn. If the animals had not given Jesus
their manger he would have had no place to lie, and being poor folk I daresay
they had little to eat either. Yet even so, at his birth the star shone and the
angels sang, and so shall we.”
That night Comgall slept, and
in the morning he got up and celebrated the Christmas Communion as he had said he
would. The monks sang of the shepherds and the angels, the wise men and the
star, and most of all that tiny poor child with only an animals’ feeding trough
to lie in. Then, when they had finished their worship, Comgall said to the
monks, “Go and look in our storerooms, and see if there might not be some scrap
of food left for us to share.” Sadly he turned back to the altar to pray, but
he had scarcely sunk to his knees when he heard shouts of joy and surprise.
Hurrying off he found the monks gazing in astonishment through the storeroom
door. There, stacked from floor to ceiling was fine food, food enough for all
the people around to eat for months to come, and soon the invitation was sent
far and wide for people to come and have their share.
But where had it come from?
Comgall had no idea. That night, he sat in his room as usual. Sure enough,
after a while, a small whiskery nose appeared, and two bright eyes. The mouse
scampered up onto the table. “Brother mouse, do you happen to know how it came
to be that our storerooms are full of food?” he asked. “Ah, well. It so
happens,” said the mouse “that when the prince of Ulster so insulted and
mistreated you, there were more creatures listening than he thought. One of my
relatives was sitting in a corner unnoticed, and he heard every word. He knew
of your kindness from the stories that had reached him from the other wild
creatures and it pained him to see you so ill-treated when you were simply
trying to care for people who might so easily be fed. So last night, the word
went out and every wild creature in the land made its way to the castle and we
crept our way into that storeroom and carried away every scrap of food that was
there and brought it here to you. Not a slice of cheese is left to the prince
of Ulster, and he has no idea why!”
Comgall laughed. “In years to
come people will talk of this as a miracle, and probably give me credit for
powers that I know and you know I have not got. But God be praised that the best
and truest miracles of all are the ones which happen when every creature, great
and small, works together for everyone’s good.”
And that's my tale, and it's absolutely true, whether it happened or not...
Amen
My version of this story
is adapted from a variety of sources, with particular acknowledgement to Ruth
Sawyer’s lovely old book of Christmas Legends, “Joy to the World” (Long out of
print, sadly…)
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