Brother Wes' Advent

A Brother Wes Story

Brother Wes scurried through the abbey’s kitchen, his fur bristling with energy. In his small paws, he clutched a checklist so tightly it was crumpled at the edges. "Advent is almost here, brothers!" he called over his shoulder as he darted past a line of novice rabbits peeling carrots for dinner. "Everything must be perfect!"

The Benedictine Weasel was known for his eagerness, but during Advent, his zeal reached new heights. To him, this was the most important season of the year—a time to prepare for the coming of Christ with joyful hearts and a beautifully decorated abbey.

The monastery hummed with activity. Brother Columba, the squirrel, was stringing garlands of holly in the cloister. Brother Juan Diego, the stout hedgehog, was stirring a giant pot of plum pudding. In the corner of the chapel, Abbot Ambrose, a wise old owl, was carefully assembling the Advent wreath, his feathers flecked with candle wax.

Brother Wes, however, was everywhere at once.

"Brother Columba, the garlands need to be higher! They’re drooping!" he barked.

"Brother Juan Diego, don’t let that pudding burn! Remember last year’s fiasco?"

"And Abbot Ambrose, we need more purple candles for the wreath!"

The brothers exchanged patient glances as Brother Wes darted from one task to the next. His heart was in the right place, but his rushing was causing chaos.

By midday, the problems began to pile up.

In his haste to adjust the garlands, Brother Wes accidentally knocked over a ladder, sending Brother Columba tumbling into a basket of apples. "I’m fine, truly," the squirrel assured him, rubbing his head, but Brother Wes was already racing to the kitchen.

There, he found Brother Juan Diego frantically waving a spoon. The pudding had boiled over, and the sticky mess was now bubbling on the stove. "I told you to stir it more!" Wes squeaked.

Juan Diego sighed. "You told me to stir it less last time!"

And in the chapel, Abbot Ambrose was trying to console Wes, who had discovered that the candles for the Advent wreath were put up while mismatched. Two were purple, one was pink, and one was blue.

"Advent isn’t about perfection, Brother Wes," the Abbot said gently, adjusting his scapular. "It’s about preparing our hearts for Christ’s coming."

"But it should at least look decent!" Wes exclaimed, throwing his paws in the air. "How will anyone focus on the true meaning of Advent if everything is a mess?"

That evening, as the brothers gathered for Vespers, Brother Wes sat in the back of the chapel, feeling defeated. The garlands were uneven, the pudding was scorched, and the Advent wreath was less than ideal.

He closed his eyes as the monks began to chant, their voices rising and falling like waves:

"O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel..."

The melody washed over Wes, calming his racing thoughts. He began to focus on the words—words of waiting, of longing, of hope.

Advent wasn’t about perfect decorations or flawless traditions. It was about anticipating the arrival of Christ, who would bring light into the world’s darkness. Wes realized that in his rush to make everything perfect, he had missed the point. Advent was about waiting, not hurrying; hoping, not striving for perfection.

The next morning, Brother Wes rose early. Instead of racing through his tasks, he took time to pray in the chapel, asking God for patience and wisdom. As the sun rose, casting golden light through the stained-glass windows, Brother Wes felt a renewed sense of purpose—not to perfect Advent, but to prepare his heart and help his brothers do the same.

He approached Brother Columba, who was balancing precariously on a stool, adjusting a garland. "Let me help you," Wes said, holding the stool steady. Together, they lifted the garlands, laughing as they adjusted the height.

In the kitchen, Wes apologized to Brother Juan Diego. "I was too quick to blame you for the pudding," he admitted. "Can I help clean up the kitchen and prepare?" The two worked side by side, working on the dessert and sharing stories of past Advents.

And in the chapel, Wes sat with Abbot Ambrose, carefully trimming the wicks of the candles. "You were right, Abbot," Wes said. "Advent isn’t about perfection. It’s about trusting that Christ will set all things to right—even if there are mismatched candles."

By the time the first Sunday of Advent arrived, the abbey was ready—not perfect, but ready. The garlands hung cheerfully, the pudding smelled delicious, and the Advent wreath, though a bit unconventional, would shine brightly with its candles.

As the brothers gathered for Mass, Wes felt a deep sense of peace. He had learned that the waiting of Advent wasn’t passive; it was active, filled with love, service, and trust in God’s timing.

After the service, the brothers gathered in the dining hall for a simple feast. Laughter echoed through the abbey as they shared the fruits of their labor. Brother Wes sat back, his heart full.

"Do you see, Brother Wes?" said Abbot Ambrose, nudging him gently. "Christ comes not because everything is perfect, but because He is perfect. And He comes to us even in the mess."

Wes nodded, a smile spreading across his face. The Advent season stretched before him, no longer a whirlwind of tasks, but a time of joyful waiting, trusting, and preparing for the one who would bring all things to completion.

From that day on, Brother Wes approached Advent with a renewed spirit. He still felt a zeal to give his best, but he no longer rushed or worried. Instead, he trusted in God’s presence and timing, finding peace in the waiting and joy in the journey.

And so, as the weeks of Advent unfolded, the Benedictine Weasel found himself truly ready—not just for Christmas, but for Christ.