What we waited for in the dark is now quietly among us.
There is no great change in the monastery this morning. The stone is the same, the fields are still winter-bare, the rhythm of prayer unchanged. And yet everything is different. God has taken flesh, not to impress or overwhelm, but to belong — to the ordinary, the fragile, the real.
For Cistercians, Christmas does not pull us away from simplicity; it draws us deeper into it. The Word made flesh sanctifies the everyday: the shared bread, the familiar psalm, the slow work of the hands. Nothing is too small now to carry God. Nothing is too humble to be a dwelling place.
Today we rejoice quietly. Not because the world is suddenly healed, but because it is no longer alone. God has entered the long human story and chosen to remain within it — patient, vulnerable, faithful. As we move through this day, may we learn to recognise him where he still prefers to be found: not in noise or triumph, but in closeness, gentleness, and love made flesh among us.