We all have memories of Christmas’ past. I’ll never forget the visit of an elderly priest to my parish during the Christmas season, over thirty years ago. After some refreshments at the rectory, he asked to visit the church to see our creche, our manger scene. As he knelt before the crib, I noticed how his eyes were transfixed for a long time on the infant Jesus. Suddenly he rose and recited by memory, a very long poem addressed to the Infant Jesus. The pastor and I looked at each other in amazement. It seemed a rather curious thing to do, and yet, how beautiful was his spontaneous act of devotion—To gaze into the manger scene and speak to the Lord.
Prompted by the example of this senior priest, I thought my homily could be precisely this “speaking to the Infant in the manger” whom we honor and celebrate today:
Dear Jesus, Every Christmas is your birthday celebration, but how often we take over the party and leave you in the corner of a vague memory, allowing the scene of your birth to become just another Christmas decoration among many. This Christmas, let me take you from the corner and out of the shadows, so that in the light we can understand the true meaning of your birth.
Eternal God, in your tremendous love, you came down from the great height of your divinity to the mire of our humanity. A cattle staff became the dwelling of the infinite. You who separated light from darkness and created the earth and skies, came down to earth, concealing your divinity in the littleness of our humanity.
Your eyes, O Jesus, are the eyes of God. Your hunger is the hunger of God for each of us. The hands that reach out to your Blessed Mother, reach out also to me. Those hands would bless and heal, they would be pierced by nails on Calvary to save us.
In the manger, you could not speak, but your voice would proclaim the words of truth and life. Laid in a manger from which animals were fed, you feed me with your very Body and Blood.
You willingly surrendered, you freely descended to this condition so that I could more easily approach you. You are not a distant, detached, and unconcerned God, but a God who understands my weaknesses, my struggles, my foibles and yet loves me, forgives me, and offers me always a new beginning every time I fall. This is why, like the shepherds, I must come to the manger of Bethlehem.
There is a tradition that holds that if you take a piece of straw from the manger and place it in your wallet, your wallet will never be empty throughout the new year. But if this is the only reason I approach the manger, I miss the whole point of the mystery we are called to celebrate.
O Infant Jesus, today is your birthday, let me not take over your party. Let me celebrate always the true meaning of your coming among us.
