As I raise our kitchen blind
a peaceful morning scene
is revealed.

Motionless silhouette
of a slender-branched birch
against a primrose
winter morning sky.

Cars speeding past
over the motorway bridge
(too early just yet
for the cars to be
bumper-to-bumper!)

An air of peace and serenity
this winter morning.

The prospect
of a leisurely, weekend breakfast
followed by coffee
at Apple Green –
bliss!

After lunch
we’ll put up our cribs
which bring back
so many happy memories
of Christmas Past.

Thank You, Lord,
for the gift
of a peaceful December morning
and the prospect
of a happy, family day ahead
(before the mad rush
of Christmas preparations begins
next week!)

© Claire Murray, 16th December 2023

It’s Christmas morning
and we’re at Mass
to celebrate Jesus
coming into the world,
specially for us.

During Mass
my heart lifts when I see
the wee crib,
all lit-up with fairy lights
that sits up at the front
of our tiny basement chapel
and I sense
that I am welcoming Jesus
to Bethlehem
this Christmas morning.

Later on,
during the Consecration,
our priest blesses bread and wine
and, as he raises on high
the body and blood
of Our Lord Jesus Christ,
I welcome Jesus
into our tiny basement chapel.

There’s just something
so special
about welcoming Jesus
into the stable in Bethlehem
and into our wee, tiny chapel
in Belfast.

And as I kneel in prayer
after receiving Our Lord
I feel truly blessed.

© Claire Murray, Christmas 2023

It’s that special time of the year
when I get to sing a song
that, for me,
is bursting with wonder –
The Drummer Boy.

Through the person
of the little drummer boy,
I find myself
face-to-face
with the Baby Jesus,
asking myself
what I have to offer.
And like a child
I find myself thinking,
“What can I give –
sure I’m only wee!”

Yet part of the amazing beauty of God
is that He comes to meet us
right where we are.
And so, just when I feel
small and insignificant,
like a child,
My God comes to meet me
through the Drummer Boy song
in the wee, tiny, Baby Jesus.

How reassuring is that?

In the presence of the Baby Jesus
I sense My God smiling
as whispers in my ear,
“Don’t worry.
You don’t have to be perfect –
you just have to do your best!”

And as I silently vow
to do just that
I sense the Baby Jesus
smiling at me
(just as he smiled
at the drummer boy!)

© Claire Murray, 26th December 2020

Many birds visit our garden –
tits and finches,
blackbirds and robins,
doves and pigeons
and even a sparrow hawk.
But there’s one bird
we watch out for eagerly
that never seems to come –
a thrush.

It’s Christmas morning
and as I leave the house
to go up to Mass
I’m feeling a little bit nervous.
You see,
I’m going to sing at Mass this morning
for the first time
and I’m not quite sure
how the congregation will react.

As I load my guitar
into the car
I hear a beautiful outburst
of birdsong
coming from the garden –
a Christmas morning chorus!

Looking round
the soloist is easily spied
right at the top of a silver birch –
it’s a thrush!
And in this early morning serenade
I sense My God whisper to me,
“Go on, Claire –
it’s Christmas –
sing your heart out!”

And I drive off
to sing at Mass
with a smile.

© Claire Murray, Christmas Day, 2019

In the busy run-up to Christmas
I find the time
to go to confession
at St Oliver Plunkett’s.
In preparation
during the course of the day
I go over in my own mind
my failings
and short-comings
and, as I arrive for confession,
my mood is quite sombre.

When I approach Fr Ciaran
I’m greeted
by a huge smile
and a warm handshake.

When I confess my sins
I get the impression
that Fr Ciaran’s focus
is not so much
on the sins themselves
as on my repentance.
After absolving my sins
I receive another huge smile
and another warm handshake
and I have the impression
that Fr Ciaran sees my confession
as a cause for celebration –
the return of the sinner.

I feel like the Prodigal Son
on his return home.

And as I leave the church
to continue my preparations
for Christmas
I feel challenged
to bring some of that warmth
and sense of acceptance
to people I meet –
especially those
who don’t expect it.

© Claire Murray, 18th Dec 2019

My Granny Fisher had a unique view
of the many different strands of Christianity;
she used to say,
“The smoke all blows the one way!”
It was her way of explaining that,
at the end of the day,
the prayers of all Christians
are heard by the same God.

Last night
I went to the carol service
that was organised by my parish,
the Catholic parish of Hannahstown.
The carol service was led by Father Kevin
from Hannahstown
and by Reverend John
from the Church of Ireland
at Stonyford.

There was a real cross-community feel
to the carol service.

Father Kevin and Reverend John
stood side by side on the altar,
dressed identically
in robes of black, white and purple
and taking it in turns
to lead the congregation in prayer.
Catholic primary school children
led the singing
and re-enacted the Christmas story
while Rosemary, from the Church of Ireland,
played the organ.
And all the while
Catholics and Protestants sat side by side
in the congregation.

I had a strong sense
of Christians setting aside differences
to celebrate all that we share in common.

Granny Fisher would have loved this carol service
and I know exactly
what she would have said about it –
“Sure doesn’t the smoke all blow the one way?”

© Claire Murray, 16th December 2016

All good things
must come to an end,
or so they say.

This evening we went
to the vigil Mass
for the feast of the Epiphany.

On one hand
I rejoice in this –
exotic kings,
robed in splendour,
surrounded in mystery
and steeped in wisdom,
entering a cow shed
to bow down
before a Baby Jesus,
born in poverty.
I delight to see My Lord,
the Baby Jesus,
given his rightful place.

On the other hand
I feel saddened
because this signifies the end
of the Christmas season.
My heart sinks
at the thought of an end
to my beloved Christmas carols.
An end to silent nights, mangers,
shepherds and kings.
And end to stars and angels,
lambs and donkeys.
And end to songs
about drummer boys
and a beautiful first time mother
nursing her baby.

Lord,
your wonderful gift of music
has touched my heart
and stirred my soul
this Christmas season
but deep inside I know
that all good things
must come to an end –
even this lovely Christmas.

© Claire Murray, 5th January 2016

This Boxing Day morning
as I go into our living room
to spend time in prayer
I pause for a few moments
before our wee crib.
I’m struck by how basic
a stable would have been,
providing the bare necessity of shelter
and absolutely nothing more.
Surely the holy family deserved
so much more than this?

And I feel guilty.
I had such plans
for all of the spiritual preparation
I was going to do
for Christmas
but I got so little of it done.
I feel that, spiritually,
my preparation for the Baby Jesus
has been very basic,
as basic, really, as that stable was.

Unexpectedly
I find myself thinking
about how I feel
when I go to visit someone
in their home.

I’m not really interested
in whether the house
is like something I would see
on the “Grand Designs” TV programme
or just a tiny bedsit.
I’m not really interested
in whether the house
is beautifully decorated
and furnished
and I’m not really interested
in whether the house is spick and span
or untidy.
Only one thing interests me –
the welcome that I receive.

And as I stand before our wee crib,
conscious of my many faults
and shortcomings
I feel a strong sense
of being so unprepared
to welcome the Baby Jesus
and yet so delighted
that He has come.
And I sense Jesus whisper to me,
“Claire,
I’m not really interested
in the fact that you weren’t prepared –
I’m just delighted
at the welcome I received from you
today.”

© Claire Murray, 26th December 2015

We were camping in Scotland
and had just endured
48 hours of non-stop rain.
We arrived, cold and wet
at a campsite in Stirling
late at night.

The campsite owner opened the door
and, in answer to our question,
told us the camping rate
for the night.
Our faces fell –
we were only students
and we couldn’t afford that.

The campsite owner’s wife
juked around the door
and a whispered conversation ensued.
“Let them sleep on the floor,”
whispered the wife.
“No, no!” hissed the campsite owner.

We left, downcast,
and cycled off into the darkness
in a town we didn’t know.

Tonight at St Agnes’ carol service
that memory resurfaced
when the children’s choir chorused,
“There isn’t any room
and you can’t stay here.
There isn’t any room for strangers!”

And for the first time in my life
I had an inkling
of the disappointment
that Mary and Joseph must have felt
when they were told
that there was no room at the inn.

Thank you, Lord,
for the children of St Agnes’ choir
who, tonight, brought life
to the Christmas story.

© Claire Murray, 20th December 2015

It’s only two weeks until Christmas
and yet the Christmas tree
and the decorations
are still in the roof-space,
many of the presents
have yet to be bought
and Christmas cards
remain unwritten.

We are so far behind!

And yet on this December Sunday morning
we rise early,
pack a picnic
and head for Tollymore,
putting all thoughts
of our substantial Christmas “To Do” list
firmly out of our heads.

Tollymore, when we arrive,
is unusually quiet
(most people are probably
busy catching up
on Christmas shopping).

Wandering along the paths and tracks
we enjoy the luxury
of precious family time together.
As we explore and chat
cares and worries slip
to the back of our minds
and we simply enjoy the moment.

Dandering along
I have a sense
that this family time
is part of my own preparation
for Christmas
and I am convinced
that My God will help me
to sort out
everything that I need to.
in good time.

But right here, right now,
with only two weeks to go to Christmas,
this is a day
for family.

© Claire Murray, 13th December 2015