Homily for 25 Dec 2015

25 Dec 2015

The Solemnity of Christmas

“Tonight I want to tell you the story of an empty stocking.  Once upon a midnight clear, there was a child’s cry, a blazing star hung over a stable, and wise men came with birthday gifts.  We haven’t forgotten that night down the centuries.  We celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees, with the sound of bells, and with gifts.  But especially with gifts.  You give me a book, I give you a tie.  Aunt Martha has always wanted an orange squeezer and Uncle Henry can do with a new pipe.

“For we forget nobody, adult or child.  All the stockings are filled, all that is, except one.  And we have even forgotten to hang it up.  The stocking for the child born in a manger.  It’s his birthday we’re celebrating.  Don’t let us ever forget that.  Let us ask ourselves what He would wish for most.  And then, let each put in his share, loving kindness, warm hearts, and a stretched out hand of tolerance.  All the shining gifts that make peace on earth.”

Now, this was a little sermon given at the end of a Christmas movie in 1947, “The Bishop’s Wife.”  The US and Europe were still recovering from World War II.  The Cold War was just beginning; people were suspicious of the Russians and Communists.  And everybody was trying to get used to a new situation in the world: the new reality of hostility, the possibility of nuclear war, and of questioning who your friends and allies were.  It was into that world that this little sermon about an empty stocking was given.

Of course, we can relate.  My goodness! it seems like every day we hear about some terrorist group oppressing this group of people, or killing that group of people.  Even here in the United States.  The images of 9-11 are still fresh for those old enough to remember.  Or we might think of the depths to which political corruption has sunk, or the de-Christianization of our culture.  We’re in the midst of a new reality; the reality of hostility and of questioning who our friends and allies are. 

And it’s into that world—into our world today—that Christmas comes, again.  Wherever there are tough times, we can expect Jesus to be there.  After all, he was born in the cold of midnight, out in a cave because there was no room in the inn.  His little body was wrapped so tightly he could hardly move, and he was laid in the manger—in the rough made trough where the animals were feeding from.  It wasn’t a pleasant place, there in the stable.  It was crude and even cruel.  But that’s where Christ was born.

That little child brought peace to an otherwise harsh place.  Of course, that’s our hope: that Jesus the Son of God will bring peace; peace, joy and love where there is none.  That is our Christmas wish—that a Word of Hope and Light will come and bring us peace.  But, of course, that Word is given to us—maybe not under the glowing lights of the Christmas tree; but certainly under the glimmering stars of Heaven.

He is born to us—Peace is offered to us—not just one day a year but throughout the whole 365.  And he comes to us in such mild and gentle ways as to almost seem weak and ineffective—not unlike a helpless infant.

He comes to us in the cool waters of baptism.  His peace washes over our skin, and he unties us from whatever ropes of sin and despair there are that keep us down.

He comes to us in holy oil, that softens and penetrates the skin.  And the sweet perfume in the oil soaks down deep into our soul.

He comes to us in the laying on of hands, when one person touches another in a gesture of prayer, companionship, and healing.  It is a warm touch, a gentle touch.

He comes to us, too, in spoken words: words of blessing, words of encouragement, the inspired words of Scripture, words of peace and truth.

He is born to us is so many ways, not the least of which is here on his Altar.  The Son of God born to the Virgin Mary all those centuries ago, is the very same Son of God born to us here.  The rough and crude manger has become the Altar.  The song of the angels has become the hymn we know as the “Gloria.”  And the shepherds and the animals who come for rest and food . . . well, they’re us.

Right here at Mass is the real “living Nativity scene.”  And at the center is Jesus, the Word of Peace and Love and Hope in the flesh—given to us as food to fill the “stockings” of our heart and mind.  Given to bring peace on earth.

As we celebrate this Christmas Day, and we’re enjoying the company of family and friends, all the food and treats, and getting our fill of what brings us happiness, let’s remember to hang up our stockings and let Christ fill them with what brings us--and the whole world--peace.