Homily

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” (Is 9:2). The words of the prophet Isaiah announce what happened tonight. It is a night different from others as it sees us all gathered around a new-born Baby. The Gospel of Luke describes the events of that night as follows: “In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night.” We could apply these words to our life. As we are busy caring for “our flocks”, “our things” either consoling or harsh, simple or complicated, glad or painful, certainly each of us has in the secret of his or her heart maybe a problem, a distress, a question, maybe a prayer. Tonight, as it happened to the shepherds an angel appears also to us; the angel comes 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.” We have heard this voice; for some it resounds stronger, for others less and for others it sounds from far memories.
Our heart needs to walk more. Christmas is not just around the corner; it is not as easy to reach as the ornaments and lights of the streets of our cities would have us believe. Talking about the journey of Mary and Joseph, the Gospel describes it as an uphill climb, “Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, up to the city of David called Bethlehem” This is to say that Christmas is not to be taken for granted and that it is not obvious to understand what happens tonight. Indeed, there is the risk of being led astray. We need to leave our homes, even at night, as did Nicodemus. But it is even more necessary to have a heart alert, vigilant and ready to hear the words of the angel. Yes, we also have to “go up” toward Bethlehem, to “go up” towards the cave. The angel of Christmas repeats to us what was said to the shepherds: “You will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” Yes! We want to see Jesus; he is a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes. He is little and helpless. Yet, he is our Saviour. Really, it seems impossible. How can a child be the Saviour?
This is why Christmas is not obvious. It is not obvious especially for us who are used to exalt strength and to give credit only to power. How is it possible to believe that a little baby, even born in a stable, is the one who saves the world? How is it possible to believe this in the face of the grave problems in the world? Impossibility seems even more obvious when you think about how that child will end. In the icon of the Nativity the tradition of the Eastern Church presents the mystery of Jesus' birth combined with that of his death; in fact the cradle is like a small sarcophagus, the swaddling clothes are the wrappings of the tomb and the mountain is Calvary. Yet here is our salvation: in this fragile, weak and helpless child. The mystery of Christmas tells us that to be saved we are not condemned to be strong and powerful according to the world. Sure it sounds strange to our ears because our mentality does not recognize the Gospel signs of salvation. This is what happened in Bethlehem, a distracted and festive city; but not only there. We remember what happened with the crèche and we are moved. And we do well, but in that scene there is the harsh reality of a city that does not know how to welcome two young foreigners and their son about to be born. People are not able to find them a place; everything is busy and Jesus has to be born out in a barn. It is an old story and yet it is still so present.
But it is right to be moved. Certainly not by the cold indifference of Bethlehem and ourselves; it is right to be moved by the great love of God. He came even though we did not recognize Him, as John writes in the prologue of his Gospel: “He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.” And Jesus did not even leave when we did not open the door. But it is right to be moved and healthy to come and see this child. He is really great; he is really different. Then we also feel the yearning desire of Francis of Assisi when long ago in Christmas of 1223 he said, “I want to see Jesus.” And he invented the living nativity scene. Tradition says that Francis held in his arms a little baby boy descended from heaven. The fragility of that child touched Francis' heart and moved all the peasants who had come together. This is how the first shepherds of Bethlehem were touched in their hearts. They, perhaps primitive and brutalized by work, recognized in the child the love of the Lord who had come close to them. If Jesus had been born in a palace they would not have met him. The Child is now in front of our eyes so that we may be moved too; and, like the shepherds, like Francis of Assisi, we can embrace him, hold him tight to our hearts, so that he may remain with us always.