The joy of Christmas has not faded — but today it deepens, and sharpens.
Yesterday we lingered at the crib, contemplating God’s closeness. Today the Church places before us Stephen, the first martyr, to remind us what that closeness costs. The Word made flesh does not remain safely wrapped in straw. He walks into the world as it is — and invites us to follow.
In the Cistercian tradition, this day speaks quietly but firmly. Love made flesh will always disturb what is hard, fearful, or closed. Stephen’s witness is not loud or vengeful. It is faithful, exposed, and forgiving. He sees heaven open not because the world has softened, but because he refuses to harden in return.
Here in the monastery, the rhythm continues: prayer, work, silence. Yet Stephen stands among us as a reminder that contemplation is never an escape. To welcome Christ is to accept that his gentleness may place us at odds with a violent world — and that fidelity may ask more than comfort.
As Christmas unfolds, we learn that the child we adore grows into a truth that cannot be contained. May we, like Stephen, learn to stand quietly within that truth — trusting that even when love wounds, it also opens heaven.