Finding Jesus in the Fray

They say that children grow up fast. In fact, when referring to some particular age or event in the life of a child, I often hear parents and grandparents say, “Don’t blink – you’ll miss it!” I’m sure it can be hard to treasure those precious moments because, in the moment, they are so fleeting.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus is twelve years old. Yesterday, we heard about his birth in Bethlehem and today he’s already practically a teenager. Talk about growing up fast! Of course, this jump in time has a purpose – to show us a particular moment in the Lord’s life that was important not only for him but for his family too, because today is the Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Looking at their family, centered around Jesus, we learn also something relevant for us – about how our families also should be centered on this Child who is God.

We might think the Gospels would relate to us some idyllic account of the Holy Family at home in Nazareth: perhaps Jesus helping Joseph in his carpenter shop, or assisting Mary in preparing the family meal. But today’s story is nothing of the sort. Indeed for anyone who has lost a child, or even just couldn’t find one a few moments, we can imagine the anxiety and heartache that must have filled Mary and Joseph as they searched for Jesus in a large, bustling city unfamiliar to them. Finally, after three whole days – imagine! – they find him in the Temple, conversing with the wisest and most learned of all Jewish scholars. And then he tells them something astonishing: that they should have known to look for him there, “in my Father’s house.”

Jan Steen, The Child Jesus in the Temple (c. 1660)

Why this story? What does it teach us about the Holy Family? You know, we remember this story when we pray the Rosary; it’s the Fifth Joyful Mystery, and we call it the Finding of Jesus in the Temple. Is that really an accurate way to describe it? It’s only a finding if Jesus is really lost. But the point he seems to be making to his Mother and his foster father is that he’s exactly where he is supposed to be. Even more than Jesus himself, what is really being discovered in the Gospel is a new and heightened awareness for who he truly is, and for what his Presence among us truly means. And that is why it is joyful too – despite the real anxiety and heartache that Mary and Joseph would have experienced, by the end of the story they would have rejoiced at being reminded, again, that their Son was truly the Son of the Father in heaven.

And that truth is what we recall and celebrate today ourselves. If Mary and Joseph may have needed a gentle reminder about the identity of the Son born to them, and what that identity *means*, then certainly we do all the more so. Christmas was literally only yesterday, but I bet if we’re honest with ourselves, it’s possible that we have already begun to mentally move on to the next thing – to get ready for the work week, or for the return to school and after-school activities, or for our New Year’s resolutions, or for whatever else is currently our priority. Perhaps our lives feel very disorganized right now, and we feel as if we've missed Jesus somehow, as if we want to find him but we don't know where to start. 

Here's the crucial question for where to begin: has our celebration of Jesus’s birth changed us in some way? Has the mystery of the Lord’s Incarnation moved us to new and deepened praise and thanksgiving? And, perhaps most importantly for today, are we inviting that mystery into our lives, into the lives of our family in a new way? Are we seeking to make our families focused on Jesus, just as the Holy Family was, living out our relationship with him not just individually but communally, in our homes, in the relationships of family life, practicing our faith and forming our families so that no matter what anxiety or heartache we may face, the joy of his Presence among us will never be dampened? 

Friends, if we can begin to ask those questions, and answer them, we will know where to find the Lord anew in the fray of our busy lives. I pray that the Lord will truly bless you and your families in this Christmas season. Its moments and memories may be fleeting, but we can hold on to its mystery and its grace, and with the Lord’s Presence in our hearts and in our homes, ask him to form us and our families to be like him – holy.

The Child Born in Our Hearts

I want to share with you a story.

Imagine that we are outside – not in the balmy 75 degrees or whatever we had today, but in the cold night air, not here on the Grand Prairie, in the 21st century, but in the hills of the Italian countryside in the 13th century. We are walking, following a religious man, a preacher who wants us to see something special, and we are hiking behind him on a mountain trail, heading up into the hills. Our way is lit with torches and candles, and we are bundled up to stay warm as we walk. Finally, we arrive at our destination: a niche in the side of the cliff that forms a cave of sorts. There we see that our preacher has prepared straw, where a few farm animals lie and graze. A crib made out of rough wood sits in the middle. As we approach the spot, this preacher begins to sing a song, reciting a story, one that is set in a manger like the one we see before us. It is the story of a child’s birth, and as he speaks, we can see that he is overcome with emotion, full of joy and peace, almost to the point of tears. So tenderly does he describe the child that we notice how he does not even dare to say his name, but calls him only “il Bambino di Betlemme” – “the Babe of Bethlehem.” As he preaches about the birth of this child, some of us even think perhaps that we can see him, a heavenly figure, weak and small and yet radiating a heavenly light.

That, more or less, is the account of how St. Francis of Assisi created the first Nativity scene in the mountain town of Greccio in Italy in December of 1223. He had journeyed to the Holy Land a few years before, and when he returned, he decided to recreate the spot in Bethlehem where Christ had been born. He prepared a manger, filled it with hay, and borrowed local animals from nearby farms. He had his spiritual brothers – the Friars Minor, whom we know better as Franciscans – to gather the people and lead them by song and candlelight to the scene. And for their part, the townspeople of Greccio went along and trekked up into the hills, not because they didn’t know what awaited them there, but because they wanted to experience what they already knew in a different way. In the outdoor Mass they had there, as they heard Francis the deacon chant with great reverence and love the Gospel account of the birth in Bethlehem, that story came alive for them, so much so that some even believed they saw the Child there in their midst.

Of course, the story that they heard is what we heard in our Gospel: the story of the birth of Jesus Christ, the One whom the angel called “Emmanuel, God-with-us.” We know that story well – and yet every year, we gather together to hear it anew, to let it come alive again, to reflect upon it and seek to understand its significance more deeply. What Francis wanted to show in the hills above Greccio, what our readings seek to describe, what we have come to celebrate in church this evening/morning is that that humble birth – poor really, by any measure – was nothing less than the coming of the living God into our world. In Jesus, God has taken to himself our reality and, in doing so, forever changed it. God has, in effect, wedded himself to us – with all of our warts, in all of our sinfulness, he has made his love visible in the Person of his Son in order to redeem our humanity and let it share in his divinity. He has done this, glory be to Him, through this little Child. This Babe of Bethlehem is Emmanuel, God-with-us, and he has come to reveal the depth of God’s love for us by going to the Cross for us, to put to death our sin and dysfunction once and for all, and forever reclaim us – as Isaiah says, changing us from “Forsaken” to “My Delight,” from “Desolate” to “Espoused”.

That is what the birth in Bethlehem meant. And what it still means – because at its heart, the birth of the Christ Child is more than a spectacle or a theological reality, it’s an invitation to ponder the love of God and to ask ourselves whether we have encountered it, and been changed by it, and shaped our lives around it. St. Francis told some of his friars that he worried the people of Greccio had forgotten the meaning of their Christian faith: some had become materialistic and focused on worldly pleasures; others had become cold and bitter because of the hardships they faced; others didn’t practice their faith and had stopped coming to weekly Mass to encounter the living God in the Eucharist; and others were good people who had just become stale in their prayer and loose in their morals and who needed a reminder of God’s love for them. And that’s what God wants for us too – to adore his Son’s birth not just with a brief prayer or remembrance, not just by sitting in a pew for an hour on Christmas Eve, but being opened anew to his love. He wants us to look inside ourselves, to look at our lives, and realize where we need to be *changed* by the love of God in Christ. His birth changed the world, but will we ourselves be changed by it?

Archbishop Fulton Sheen once said, “There are two births of Christ, one unto the world in Bethlehem; the other is in the soul when it is spiritually reborn.” God has done the first, all by himself, in the birth at Bethlehem. But for the second, he won’t act without you. The God who created the heavens and the earth, who entered our human reality to shatter the darkness of sin and death – he won’t enter your heart, unless you invite him there – unless you let Christ be born *within* you as truly as he was born in the manger. The humble child born in the stable is an invitation to love, and to be loved, by the God made Man. It is this inward coming that Jesus most fully desires – indeed, it is the reason for his coming altogether. If all Christmas is for us is another event on the calendar, a holiday to be marked and then to move past, then we will entirely miss its point, which is this: the Lord Jesus awaits us, even now, at the door of our hearts, asking if there is room enough for him to be born anew.

Gerard Seghers, Saint Clare and Saint Francis of Assisi in adoration before the Child Jesus (c. 1640)

My friends, some time tonight or tomorrow, take a moment away from your family and friends, and make a little interior journey of your own. Close your eyes, and imagine yourself not in Greccio, but at the real manger scene in Bethlehem two thousand years ago. See there, in a humble stable, the Holy Family, and in the crib, the Christ Child himself. You have come to see him, but he was born for you – to die for you, willingly and joyfully, in order to raise your humanity so that you can share in his divinity. He has done for this you; what will you do for him?

Draw close now and kneel down. He looks at you, the Lord of heaven and earth, made a humble Child. Feel his peace. Encounter his joy – a joy that only he can give, and that he desires to give you all year round. It is a joy like a flame, one which cannot be snuffed out, but which shines brightly in the dark, with warm and light. The Babe of Bethlehem is born for you. All he desires from you is Everything, and he will give you Everything in return.

Note: A prior version of this homily was preached a few years ago. The original can be found here.

Joy to Be Shared

One of the best parts of my week is on Thursday mornings, when I stand in the vestibule and greet our schoolchildren as they leave the sanctuary after our school Mass. I love it because often one or more of them are practically bursting to share something about what’s going on in their world — in their classroom, in their family, et cetera. There’s something joyful about seeing others filled with joy.

In the Gospel we just heard, Mary journeys to visit her cousin Elizabeth. She does so following the announcement of the angel Gabriel that she would become the Mother of God. It was news that had surprised and amazed her, but also must have filled her with great joy, a joy that she would have wanted to share as soon as possible. Mary goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth out of charity, wanting to help her older cousin with her pregnancy. But we can also imagine how much she would have desired to share with her the joy of her secret, what what the angel Gabriel had told her would soon happen for her.

Of course, the amazing thing in today’s story is that Mary doesn’t have to share it. Her joy, and the reason for her joy, was so evident that Elizabeth immediately knew the full story; as she says, the child in her womb, whom we know as John the Baptist, leapt for joy at the presence of Mary and her greeting. What Elizabeth understands is that Mary is not just full of joy, full of grace, but also filled with the very presence of God – the Lord Jesus whom she carried inside her. Mary is the first evangelist, the first bearer of the Good News, literally bringing the presence of God to those who were in need.

The Visitation, Anonymous (16th cent.)

In these final days of Advent, the Church gives us these two women as a model for how we are to be as well. We too must be like Elizabeth, who rejoiced at the Good News that a Savior was to be born for us, and who shared in the joy of that news even before his appearing. Often our world can feel very dark and gloomy, and the news that fills our headlines, and even the situations and realities of our own lives can leave us troubled and searching for reasons to hope. But the Good News is that there is a Savior present among us, and although we may not see him visibly, we can like Elizabeth discern his nearness with eyes of faith and through the power of grace. The darkness is not so dark when we perceive the Light.

Even more, we are also called to be like Mary. She had the unique privilege of bearing the Son of God in her very body. But we too can be – and indeed, are called to be – God-bearers, bringing the presence of Christ to all whom we encounter. By means of the sacraments, most especially the Eucharist, we receive sanctifying grace, which means not only Jesus, but the Father and the Holy Spirit as well – the Triune God – dwells in our souls. And this gift is not just for ourselves, not just to console us, and give us reason to hope, but also that we too can be evangelists, sharing the Good News of Him who was born for us, to save us. It is with that knowledge, with his Presence, that we go into the darkness and gloominess of the world, not to be overcome by it but to bear the light of Christ into it.

Friends, let’s each of us think this week about who we can share the Lord’s joy with. Who needs to hear from us the Good News? Into what situation or reality is the Lord calling us to be his missionary, his evangelist? May our joy always be so evident that others may discern in us the Presence of the very God who became Man, the Savior born of Mary.

Mary, Joseph, and God's Bigger Picture

We have gathered here today to praise God for the life of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and to ask for her intercession on this Solemnity of her Immaculate Conception. But I know our Blessed Mother won’t mind if I also talk today about her Spouse, St. Joseph. You may know that all this year we have been in the Year of St. Joseph – a time that Pope Francis has invited the whole Church to reflect upon and ask for the assistance of the Head of the Holy Family. That year concludes today, and since I don’t believe I have preached yet specifically about St. Joseph during this year, I thought “Better late than never”.

In today’s Gospel, Mary says yes to the message of the angel about what God wills for her life: to give birth to our Savior, Jesus Christ. In doing so, her life changed in a major way; so too, did that of St. Joseph. Mary didn’t ask Joseph’s permission to become the Mother of God; she accepted her life’s vocation on the spot, but her choice also affected that of St. Joseph. We know from the Gospel that Joseph was hesitant about Mary and Child into his home. Understandably so! Who was he to have the Mother of God, and her Son, the Incarnate Word, in his home? But God knew what he did not: that he was the right man for the job. And so, Joseph’s life too was radically changed from what he might have expected. Whatever Mary and Joseph might have intended for their own married life, they set those plans aside in order to accept the will of God.

Saint Joseph with the Child Jesus (c. 1840) by Vincent López Portaña

Of course, neither of them did these things by themselves, by their own powers. They did them only by God’s grace. Mary received that grace in a unique way, a belief we celebrate today: that at the moment of her conception God applied to her the redemptive merits of her Son’s passion, death, and resurrection. Joseph received that grace sometime after his own conception – when exactly, we don’t know – but he too came to understand and to accept what God was asking him to do, even if he didn’t fully understand how or why. God was at work in a far deeper way than Joseph realized.

Pope Francis puts it well, in his apostolic letter Patris Corde (“With a Father’s Heart”), for this Year of Joseph: “Even through Joseph’s fears, God’s will, his history and his plan were at work. Joseph, then, teaches us that faith in God includes believing that he can work even through our fears, our frailties and our weaknesses. He also teaches us that amid the tempests of life, we must never be afraid to let the Lord steer our course. At times, we want to be in complete control, yet God always sees the bigger picture.”

Friends, there’s a great truth at the center of our liturgy today: aligning our will with God’s will is always the best way. Think today about where God might be asking you to align your will to his. What seems scary or difficult, but nonetheless the right thing to do? What feels overwhelming, but something you know you need to accept? Ask for the grace of Christ – the same grace that sanctified Mary, the same grace that redeemed Joseph. And ask for their help, too: they can be wonderful intercessors in helping us to generously accept the Lord’s will – to say “Yes,” to his plan, as they did. For Mary, for Joseph, and for us, too – God always sees the bigger picture.