Baroque silver relief of the Nativity of Christ, Cathedral of Our Lady, Antwerp, Belgium
Even at Mass, we have certain expectations about how things should be. We expect the church interior to look a certain way. We expect to sing certain songs. But, of course, the problem with expectations is that they are not always met. Maybe we don’t get the gift we really wanted; maybe our favorite Christmas dish is in the oven too long and is inedible; maybe the church choir doesn’t sing our favorite Christmas hymn. When we set ourselves up expecting something, and it doesn’t happen the way we want, we’re left with disappointment.
Sometimes, however, unmet expectations can help us in a very important way. One of the most fascinating books of the Bible, in my opinion, is the Letter to the Hebrews, from which our second reading comes today. Who wrote the letter is unknown – some say it was St. Paul while others say it was someone much closer to Jesus, maybe even a relative of his. Whoever it was, it’s clear from the letter that the author originally did not believe in Jesus; he did not accept him as the Jewish Messiah. He had a very clear expectation of what the Savior would be like, and to that expectation, Jesus was a disappointment.
And yet, in the midst of this unmet expectation, something unexpected happens – the author comes to a new realization. As he writes, “in times past, God spoke in partial and various ways to our ancestors through the prophets; in these last days, he has spoken to us through the Son…” The author writing to the Hebrews realizes that the Messiah he had expected was never the one God wished to send – instead, God had always desired to send his own very Son to fully reveal his love. The disappointment of the writer’s expectation gave way to a profound awe in the power of God’s action.
We hear something similar in the Gospel reading. Now, you would be forgiven if – on Christmas morning – you had expected to hear a Gospel story about the angel encouraging Joseph to keep Mary in his home and not be afraid to welcome Jesus with her, or about the angel announcing the birth of the newborn king to the shepherds, or about the shepherds making haste to see the Christ child in the manger in Bethlehem. All of these would seem very appropriate for Christmas morning.
Instead, we get this beautiful if strange text from the Gospel of John, which isn’t about a baby at all but about the Word of God becoming flesh. John was likely an old man when he composed this text, perhaps nearly 100 years old, and by this time, after his life of preaching and writing and prayer, he wasn’t focused on shepherds and angels and manger scenes. What was far more important to him was what it all meant – that “the Word of God became flesh and made his dwelling among us; and from his fullness we have all received, grace in place of grace, because while the law was given through Moses, grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” John’s desire for his listeners is to understand who Jesus really is – not just the Savior, not just the Messiah, but God himself become man.
This is one of those truths of our faith that we repeat so often that it perhaps loses its power to affect us. But underneath all of the exteriors of the Christmas season – the celebrations and the merry-making – and even underneath our church observances and stories of long ago, at the heart of what we celebrate is something which utterly defeats the imagination, something which only God himself could have thought or have done: namely, that the Logos, the Word, who is with God and who is God, through whom all things have been created, became himself one with his creation. The Son of God – infinite in power and eternal in being – “worked,” in the words of the Second Vatican Council, “with human hands, thought with a human mind, acted with a human will, and with a human heart he loved.” It’s so essential to let ourselves be struck dumb by this fact: that God himself, the true God, Creator of all things, entered our human reality – to share it, to show us how to live it well, and ultimately to redeem it and raise it to eternal dwelling with himself.
Several years ago now I had the opportunity to visit the Basilica of the Nativity, the church in Bethlehem that is built over the spot where tradition holds that Jesus was born. I remember being very excited to see this particular church – it was virtually the last stop on a journey through the Holy Land, ten days of amazing pilgrimage and prayer. My understanding of my faith has never been the same since that trip. But I remember being very disappointed by the trip to Bethlehem. Unlike most of the previous sights we had seen, in Galilee and in Jerusalem, the city of Bethlehem is in Palestinian-controlled territory, in the West Bank. We had to pass through two armed check points to get into the town, which itself was dingy and dusty, much poorer than what we had seen while in Israel. The basilica itself was in a state of disrepair, and the spot where the birth of Jesus occurred – the Grotto of the Nativity – was marked by only a simple piece of glass, covering the rock below. We spent a few moments in prayer, and then passed on, and before too long, were making our way back across the border.
That was an experience where my expectation was not at all met – but with time, I realized that I had experienced something far greater than what I had expected. Because when you get down to it – when you take away all the trappings and traditions of Christmas – all the gifts, all the songs, all the meals (one of my favorite parts), when you take away all the expectations and heightened anticipation – what do you have left? Just that cold stone floor, with the simple piece of glass covering the rock below. And yet, there it is – it is real. It really happened. If you comprehend as I did what that simple spot means – then it is enough, it is more than enough – it is everything and more. “And the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us, and we saw his glory, the glory as of the Father’s only Son, full of grace and truth.”
My friends, expectations can be disappointed but they can also be surpassed, exceeded, transcended. God always desires to do that for us – just as he did for the author to the Hebrews and for St. John, just as he did for me in contemplating the bareness of that spot on the stone floor. Whatever this Christmas might bring for you – whether all of your exterior expectations go fulfilled or unfulfilled – remember that God himself has met, indeed surpassed our greatest interior desire. Let us be glad and rejoice, for Emmanuel, God-with-us, has come, and so it will always be.
Instead, we get this beautiful if strange text from the Gospel of John, which isn’t about a baby at all but about the Word of God becoming flesh. John was likely an old man when he composed this text, perhaps nearly 100 years old, and by this time, after his life of preaching and writing and prayer, he wasn’t focused on shepherds and angels and manger scenes. What was far more important to him was what it all meant – that “the Word of God became flesh and made his dwelling among us; and from his fullness we have all received, grace in place of grace, because while the law was given through Moses, grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” John’s desire for his listeners is to understand who Jesus really is – not just the Savior, not just the Messiah, but God himself become man.
This is one of those truths of our faith that we repeat so often that it perhaps loses its power to affect us. But underneath all of the exteriors of the Christmas season – the celebrations and the merry-making – and even underneath our church observances and stories of long ago, at the heart of what we celebrate is something which utterly defeats the imagination, something which only God himself could have thought or have done: namely, that the Logos, the Word, who is with God and who is God, through whom all things have been created, became himself one with his creation. The Son of God – infinite in power and eternal in being – “worked,” in the words of the Second Vatican Council, “with human hands, thought with a human mind, acted with a human will, and with a human heart he loved.” It’s so essential to let ourselves be struck dumb by this fact: that God himself, the true God, Creator of all things, entered our human reality – to share it, to show us how to live it well, and ultimately to redeem it and raise it to eternal dwelling with himself.
Several years ago now I had the opportunity to visit the Basilica of the Nativity, the church in Bethlehem that is built over the spot where tradition holds that Jesus was born. I remember being very excited to see this particular church – it was virtually the last stop on a journey through the Holy Land, ten days of amazing pilgrimage and prayer. My understanding of my faith has never been the same since that trip. But I remember being very disappointed by the trip to Bethlehem. Unlike most of the previous sights we had seen, in Galilee and in Jerusalem, the city of Bethlehem is in Palestinian-controlled territory, in the West Bank. We had to pass through two armed check points to get into the town, which itself was dingy and dusty, much poorer than what we had seen while in Israel. The basilica itself was in a state of disrepair, and the spot where the birth of Jesus occurred – the Grotto of the Nativity – was marked by only a simple piece of glass, covering the rock below. We spent a few moments in prayer, and then passed on, and before too long, were making our way back across the border.
"Here Jesus Christ was born of the Virgin Mary," Grotto of the Natvity, Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem.
That was an experience where my expectation was not at all met – but with time, I realized that I had experienced something far greater than what I had expected. Because when you get down to it – when you take away all the trappings and traditions of Christmas – all the gifts, all the songs, all the meals (one of my favorite parts), when you take away all the expectations and heightened anticipation – what do you have left? Just that cold stone floor, with the simple piece of glass covering the rock below. And yet, there it is – it is real. It really happened. If you comprehend as I did what that simple spot means – then it is enough, it is more than enough – it is everything and more. “And the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us, and we saw his glory, the glory as of the Father’s only Son, full of grace and truth.”
My friends, expectations can be disappointed but they can also be surpassed, exceeded, transcended. God always desires to do that for us – just as he did for the author to the Hebrews and for St. John, just as he did for me in contemplating the bareness of that spot on the stone floor. Whatever this Christmas might bring for you – whether all of your exterior expectations go fulfilled or unfulfilled – remember that God himself has met, indeed surpassed our greatest interior desire. Let us be glad and rejoice, for Emmanuel, God-with-us, has come, and so it will always be.
1 comment:
Well done, Father Andrew, well done.
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