Homily

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” (Is 9:2).With these words, the prophet Isaiah tells of what happened tonight, a night different from all the others. Tonight, we are gathered here in this place around a newborn. About tonight, Luke’s Gospel writes, “In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.” We can apply these words to our lives. We, too, indeed are looking over “our flocks,” over “our things,” whether these things are consoling or difficult, simple or complex, happy or sorrowful. Without a doubt, each one of us, in the secret of our hearts, has some kind of problem, anxiety, question, perhaps a prayer. Tonight, an angel also appears before us, as had angels appeared to the shepherds. The angel appears to all of us and says, “Do not be afraid; for see -- I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” Gathered together in this holy liturgy, we hear this voice. For some, this voice resounds loudly, for others less so, and for still others it sinks into distant memory. What matters tonight is that all of us left our houses to come here, and the angel of Christmas appeared to all.
But our journey does not end with our coming to church. We need to continue along our journey. Christmas is not just around the corner, or within reach as the decorations and lights of our cities would like to have us believe. The Gospel speaks of Mary and Joseph’s journey as an uphill climb: “Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem.” This means that Christmas cannot be taken for granted; what happens tonight cannot be taken for granted. Actually, we run the risk of being misled. We need to step outside of our houses - perhaps even at night, as Nicodemus did. We must have a heart that is attentive, vigilant, and ready to listen to the word of the angel. We need to “go up” to Bethlehem; we need to “go up” to the manger. The angel repeats to us what was said to the shepherds, “You will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And we came here to see the Lord. Yes! We want to see Jesus. He is a child wrapped in swaddling clothes. He is small and defenceless. And yet he is our saviour. Truly this seems impossible to us. How can a baby be our Saviour?
This is why we cannot take Christmas for granted; Christmas is not granted especially for us who are used to praising what is strong and crediting what is powerful. How is it possible to believe that that small child – born in a stable, no less - will save the world? How is it possible to believe in him in front of the grave problems in the world? That it is impossible seems all the more evident when we think about how it will all end for that child. In the icon of the Nativity, the tradition of the Eastern Church shows the mystery of Jesus’ birth and death is united: the crib is a small tomb, the swaddling clothes are like the funeral shroud, and the mountain is Calvary. And yet, here is our salvation: in this fragile, weak and defenceless child. The mystery of Christmas comes to tell us that we are not condemned to think that we have to be strong and powerful according to this world in order to reach salvation. But this sounds strange to our ears. Because of our mentality in this world, we cannot recognize the Gospel signs of salvation. Just as much happened in Bethlehem, a festive and distracted city. But there is more. By building the scene of the nativity, we remember how Jesus was born and we are moved. We do well to be moved; but already in that scene, there is the cruel reality of a city that does not know how to welcome two young strangers and their son who is to be born. The inhabitants do not know how to offer them a place to stay; there is no room, and Jesus must be born outside, in a manger. It is a very ancient story, but one that is still very current.
Tonight, it is right that we are moved - and not just by the cold indifference of Bethlehem that is also our own; rather, we need to be moved by God’s great love. He came even though we did not recognize him, as John writes in his prologue, “He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.” He did not even go away after we slammed the door in his face. This is why it is right that we are moved; this is why it is right that we come to see this infant. Truly he is great; truly he is different. We, too, feel the same yearning of Saint Francis of Assisi when, a long time ago, at Christmas, 1223, he said, “I want to see Jesus.” He invented a living nativity scene. Tradition holds that Francis held in his arms a newborn descended from heaven. The child’s fragility touched Francis’ heart and all the villagers who were present, just as the first shepherds were touched in Bethlehem. Perhaps rough and dehumanised by their work, they recognized in that child the Lord’s love drawing near them. Had Jesus been born in a palace, they would not have met him. The child is now before our eyes so that we, too, may be moved and, like the shepherds and Saint Francis, embrace him and hold him close to our hearts so that he may remain with us always.