Each year on this feast we get to look at Christmas through two sets of
eyes: the eyes of the shepherds who were the newborn Christ’s first
visitors, and the eyes of Mary, his mother.
The shepherds tend to get
short shrift in the telling of the Christmas story. They pale by
comparison with the Magi, those mysterious figures from out of the East,
regally robed and laden with exotic gifts. The only gifts the shepherds
bring are the simple gifts of awe and wonder, the homage of their
hearts. But wouldn’t we do well to follow their lead and bring those
same gifts to the newborn Savior? Gold, frankincense and myrrh might be
precious, but wonder, awe, and adoration are priceless!
And what did they see, those
shepherds? They saw Mary and Joseph - people very much like
themselves: humble people, poor people, unimportant people with neither
power nor influence. But they saw more, of course: they saw the
glow of divinity in the infant lying in the manger. Why else would they
have felt compelled, after they had left the scene, to go about “making
known what they had heard and seen”? Why else would they have returned
to the task of tending their flocks “glorifying and praising God?”
We would do well to look at
the manger scene through the eyes of the shepherds, but in order to see
what they saw, I think we first need to shed some of our self-importance
and allow ourselves to become small and insignificant like they were,
simple and poor in spirit. For only the eyes of the poor in spirit can
see divinity hiding in such humble humanity.
And, my friends, the second set of eyes through which we get to look at
the great Christmas mystery are the eyes of Mary, the mother of Jesus
and our mother. It is Mary who “kept all these things, pondering them in
her heart.” And as the child grew in wisdom, age, and grace, and when he
came to embrace his holy mission and to pay the price for doing so, her
pondering must have turned into puzzlement and into pain.
How wise the Church is to
hold Mary before us today! She has so much to tell us about her Son –
she who bore him in her womb “with love beyond all telling”; she who
gave birth to the author of life amid the squalor of a stable; she who
welcomed simple shepherds as his first visitors; she who looked upon the
child knowing that he was not only her son but also God’s Son in a way
no other child would ever be; she who would one day stand at the foot of
his cross and receive his broken body into her arms, the same arms that
once cradled his tiny, newborn body. It is no wonder Luke tells us
that Mary “kept all these things, pondering them in her heart.”
There was more than enough here to ponder for a lifetime.
It’s the same for you and me,
my friends. However long we live, we will never run out of things to
ponder in the Christmas story, the Christ story, never run out of things
to learn – about God, about ourselves, about what is important and what
is not, about life, about love.
My friends in Christ, I think
it’s safe to say that for good reason, we are happy to put this past
year in our rearview mirror. The cruel, unjust war in Ukraine is reason
enough for wanting to do that; and so is the horrific, ongoing war in
Gaza. But we can also find reasons closer to home for wanting to turn
the corner into a new year. We need a new start, don’t’ we? - a
recommitment to justice, a revival of faith, a rebirth of hope, a
rekindling of love. And where better to fan those things into flame than
in this community of faith and love, and in the Eucharist.
And who better to help fan those
flames than Mary, the Mother of God and our mother? She who accompanied
her Son from the cradle to the cross is our model, out intercessor, and
our friend. As we enter this New Year, may Mary’s complete openness to
God and God’s mysterious designs light the way for us. She is the Queen
of Peace and Mother of the Church. She is also our companion and guide
as we journey into a New Year that will undoubtedly bring us to new
places along our journey of faith and offer us untold opportunities to
grow in wisdom, grace, and understanding. May it be so!
Father Michael G. Ryan
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