Once upon a time there was a shepherd by the name of William Alphonsus. When he was a child, everyone called him “Foncie” because there were already enough men in the family with one or more versions of the same moniker—be it William, Bill, Willy, Will, Liam—and even his middle name, Alphonsus, was a bit formal for a no-frills kind of guy like himself.
Once upon a time there was a shepherd by the name of William Alphonsus. When he was a child, everyone called him “Foncie” because there were already enough men in the family with one or more versions of the same moniker—be it William, Bill, Willy, Will, Liam—and even his middle name, Alphonsus, was a bit formal for a no-frills kind of guy like himself.
Foncie grew up in the hills of Glenties, a hamlet in Donegal, Ireland, and did not only what was expected of him but also what he dearly loved to do—he was a shepherd. With his loyal dog ever at his side, Foncie was singularly devoted to his mission. Using a black thorn walking stick to navigate the uncertain terrain, he only needed a firm hand and a strong voice to herd even the most reluctant of runaway little lambs, patiently rounding them up from the crooks and valleys of his family’s land.
The Irish farmer had plenty more tasks to help his widowed mother, but the one in which he excelled was as master of the woolly four-legged animals that grazed in his midst. He was a simple man—needing nothing more than family, the farm and his faith in God.
Chances are the lifelong bachelor never strayed much beyond the church in the Glen and the pub down the road where friends gathered in the evenings to swap stories and share a brew or two. Probably only a handful of folks were there a couple of years ago when Foncie was put to rest in the cold ground of the graveyard just a stone’s throw from the lean-to where the sheep were corralled each night by the steadfast shepherd.
When you think of it, we are all shepherds of one kind or another. Whether it’s a teacher or a cop, a parish priest or a bus driver, a store manager or a parent, a coach or a crossing guard—we are called to help each other over often rocky roads and across the sometimes treacherous streets of life.
Thank you for reaching out to the lamb who was bewildered over how to make this a joyful Christmas because he or she was lost in a field of financial upheaval or physical infirmities. The Gift of Christmas is about shepherds tending their flock—and you did.
Have a beautiful Christmas from all of us at the Catholic Explorer.