January 6--a Coptic Christmas

A tall young cedar sways in the wind outside our fifth floor window

     like the skirts of  Muslim women walking in the streets below.

Sand swirls in strong gusts from the chilly west, finding every crevice not secured.

Only foreigners wanting a walk would venture out today,

     Or workers building brick pillars around the nearby park,

     Or black-clad policemen blaring announcements from a motorcade

      demanding respect for the Coptic Christians meeting to celebrate their Christmas today.

After dark, young and old fill Cathedral seats and back halls,

     on this most celebrated day of the year.

Young women sport new dark or light winter clothes, high heels, and short skirts, 

     with dyed or natural hair in the latest style,

contrasting with the "abunas'' long black robes  and slow chants of centuries old tradition.

When midnight comes and most have gone home to their family feasts,

     we drive with Father Rewis and his wife to the ferry trolling a short trip to Port Fuad.

There, we join with other fathers and their wives, and a host of Sisters in gray and brown habits

     to break the fast with the orphans, the elderly, and the disabled in a great white hall
     brightened with balloons of every color.
Tables for more than 175 are set with ceramic bowls, plates, glasses,
     and silverware on plain white tablecloths.
We, the foreigners, want to sit among the crowd to participate
     and observe in our own quiet way.

But that is not to be.

Egyptian hospitality style, we are ushered right up to the long table in front,
Everyone waits, then all stand as the revered Bishop Tadros walks down the aisle to our table
     where David sits beside this host of the feast, the Bishop of Port Said, who learned
     his excellent English from seven years of engineering study in Los Angeles.

And I, not knowing protocal, sit mute beside an Egyptian gentleman on my left,
while Sister Monica serves up bowls of hot orzo in rich chicken broth, and offers us
      plates of hot breaded chicken, baked chicken,stewed chicken, rice with chicken,
      crepes with chickpeas and other veggies, pieces of mutton, a salad plate with fresh lettuce,                   peppers, carrots, and tomatoes, individual bowls of fresh yogurt made by the sisters
      who work there in the home for the orphans and the disabled,

Finally, my neighbor asks me in good English where we are from.
And I find out he owns his own airline company and has his family in Switzerland,
     but spends four winter months in Port Fuad for his health. Hmmm...
Why have I waited so long to have a decent conversation in English?

After the feasting, Bishop Tadros makes his way to the back, near the door.
All rise and excited children are herded into lines,
     while the adults follow more slowly.
The young receive 5 or 10 Egyptian pounds, and all, including the foreigners,
     receive a small bag of chocolates, the Christmas gift of tradition.

While the food is good, and the people are gracious, I will always remember
     how one disabled girl, fallen to the floor, is lifted by the hands of women around her,
     How one particular sweet-faced sister not only lifts, but kisses and caresses
     all the troubles away.

As unto the least.  As unto the Lord...