The Wondrous Babe in a Cave

A Christmas story by Fr Ralph de Hahn

When twins Sally and Molly Kenny went missing, Mom knew where to find them. Not too far from their forest home was a little cave on the hillside, large enough for two young girls, their dolls and a makeshift crib.

St Clare’s parish in Elsie’s River, Cape Town staged a 45-minute Nativity play at its Christmas midnight Mass last year. Mary was played by Charne Classen and Joseph by Christopher Fourie. The congregation filled the gaps with carol singing. As Jesus was born, a new spirit of hope filled the church. Fr Job Kaleekaparampil MFSFS roceeded with the Christmas celebration to the sound of the hymn “O Holy Night”.

There were also little items from mother’s kitchen and bedroom to adorn the quaint little hideout.

After school hours and during the holidays this was their favourite playground; it was here that they would pray together their “Jesus Mary Joseph” prayer, and place some wild flowers before the rather shabby Joseph statue.

Here for them was a sanctuary of peace, yet always the same routine, ever uneventful—until the night of December 24, 1982.

When Sally and Molly arrived at their cave dwelling on that late afternoon, with the sun already dipping over the tall pines, imagine the shock and utter amazement of the twins on finding a real live baby nestled in their play crib, wrapped in rags and lying motionless at the feet of St Joseph. Another surprise!

Pinned to the baby’s clothing was a scrap of paper reading: “I have no right to be a mother, sorry.”

“You watch the baby,” cried Sally as she started off for home. “I’ll take that message and tell Mom and Dad about our find.”

When the folks heard the amazing story it was Dad who spoke up, with mixed feelings: “By God, another abandoned kid; it’s happening too often among the pregnant girls in the village and now in your little cave, of all places. Come then, we must bring this baby home and quickly inform the authorities.”

Sally ran with her parents along the path that led to the cave, and there was Molly, a nine-year-old child, smilingly holding a real live baby in her arms. “It’s a boy, Mom—and so cute!”

“OK then, let’s get this child back home and out of the chill.” Rachel Kenny took the child gently from her daughter, and because of her professional training in the general clinic many years before, and being the mother of two, she was able to fit the part admirably.

At home, Dad was pondering his decision as this was Christmas Eve and they were faced with caring for this unknown baby while all the family always celebrated midnight Mass together.

The twins suggested a solution. “Dad, Mom, never mind the police and other officials on this holy night. Look how cute he is, and so quiet, can we not take him to our parish Mass tonight…please?”

Mom threw a questioning gaze to her husband, Jerry.

“He could be the live Jesus baby in the church’s manger tonight. It could be a real Christmas,” Mom said, and Molly was doubly excited and cried out: “Oh how wonderful to give Mother Mary and Joseph a real live gift!”

Dad slowly nodded his approval, saying: “We will need to approach the parish priest in good time; he already has the liturgy planned.” Rachel added that Fr Paul was very kind, obliging and understanding. Maybe, just maybe!

With only a little persuasion Fr Paul allowed the substitution, and the foundling baby was elevated to play the silent role of the Christ child born to us that we may live forever.

The hour struck, the lights blazed, the choir raised their voices, the carols were heard again. “O come, all ye faithful, come let us adore him…”

The procession moved up the central aisle with Fr Paul carrying the abandoned baby in his arms, to place him in the church’s manger bed, followed by the blessing. What a childlike joy radiated from the hearts and faces of those twins. This to them was a real Christmas, angels were certainly present and so were the shepherds.

Molly knew of a shepherd lad on a neighbouring farm who suffered from partial blindness and used a white cane. Nine days after the feast he had no further need of his cane.

Many congregants spent time at the crib admiring the real live baby Christ; there was one adult woman wrapped in a broad black shawl who spent hours at the manger in tearful prayer, or so it seemed.

That midnight Mass of 1982 was never forgotten.

Eventually the social services found a foster home for the baby, who at his baptism was named Vincent, because this was the parish of St Vincent de Paul.

Vincent grew up in the parish community. He was an altar boy and involved in a few ministries until he felt the call to the celibate life within the Church.

Because Vincent was very bright, his bishop sent him to the Propaganda Fide College in the Vatican. There he was ordained priest at the age of 25.

How grateful he was to find Jerry and Rachel and Molly at his ordination; Sally, now married, stayed home with her own two children.

On returning to his diocese, Fr Vincent was assigned to his old parish. This was to him a great challenge, a new adventure, and he remained deeply grateful to the people who had brought him this far.

Like a true shepherd, Fr Vincent displayed a deep love for the repentant sinner, spent many hours in the confessional and was admired for his compassion towards all.

His first Christmas Eve in 2008 found him glued to the confessional for hours before the midnight Mass. The Christmas carols could be heard in the background as a woman, she looked to be in her early 40s, knelt behind the purple curtain.

Her voice quiet and tearful: “Father, please bless me, for I have sinned. It is 26 years since my last confession. I am so sorry…I have no right to be a mother…”