A shorter than usual homily for the Mass in the Night on Christmas Eve, on Luke 2:1-16. It seeks to be more incarnational and more sensory a theme that will carry through many of my Christmas Homilies, I think.
In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child.
While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an Angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the Angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see — I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Christ, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”
And suddenly there was with the Angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours!”
When the Angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. ―Luke 2:1-16
Tonight, the world is quiet, yet bursting with unseen wonder. A young woman leans close to a newborn, a man watches with awe, and in a stable, God bends low to touch our earth.
The census grinds on, streets overflow, inns are full. And yet, here, in the humblest of places, love arrives. Not in splendour. Not in fanfare. But in straw, in breath, in the warmth of a tiny body, in the smell of hay and animals. God’s love is incarnational: it enters the messy, ordinary, real world we live in — right here, right now.
Mary and Joseph are ordinary. They are tired. They are vulnerable. And still, God trusts them. The Saviour of the universe is cradled in their hands. Love does not demand grandeur. Love demands presence. Love bends down. Love enters.
The shepherds are startled by light, by song, by angels in the sky.
“Do not be afraid. I bring good news of great joy for all people.”
The lowly, the overlooked, the dusty — they are the first to hear. Love does not favour power. Love chooses humility. Love bursts into ordinary nights with extraordinary light.
Can you smell it? The hay? The animals? The crisp night air? Can you hear it? The soft cry of a baby? The chorus of angels lifting praise to heaven? Can you feel it? The warmth of hope, brushing cold and fear aside? This is how love enters: with our senses wide open, with our hearts awake.
And God continues to be born. In laughter, in hands offered to help, in forgiveness, in quiet courage. The manger is everywhere God chooses to dwell: in our living rooms, in our classrooms, in hospital halls, in streets full of strangers. Wherever love bends down, Emmanuel is there.
So let me ask it this way: What if your life is the manger? What if your relationships, your doubts, your hopes, your unfinished stories are the place where Christ is being laid tonight?
What manger have you brought with you? Is it a manger of darkness? Tonight it is filled with the Light of Life. Is it a manger of confusion or self-doubt? Tonight it is filled with the Wonderful Counsellor.Is it a manger of weakness or impossibility? Tonight it is filled with the Mighty God. Is it a manger of loneliness or abandonment? Tonight it is filled with the One who says, “I am with you always.” Is it a manger of chaos and conflict? Tonight it is filled with the Prince of Peace.Is it a manger of guilt and regret? Tonight it is filled with the Merciful One. Is it a manger of fear and lostness? Tonight it is filled with the Good Shepherd. Is it a manger of grief or loss? Tonight it is filled with the Giver of Life.
A manger, after all, is a feeding trough. It’s the place where life is sustained. Christmas tells us that God chooses to meet us not after everything is fixed, but right in the middle of things as they are. This is where divine life and human life intersect.
Can a birth really change everything? Ask any parent. Ask anyone whose world was re-created by the arrival of someone they love. Birth always changes the future. Whatever the manger of your humanity holds tonight, tonight it is filled with divinity.
The shepherds went with haste. They saw, they touched, they rejoiced. And so we go, too — not only to witness, but to participate. To cradle the weary. To rejoice with the glad. To share the love that bends low, that enters our world, that will not be contained.
Tonight, the Word became flesh. Tonight, love entered our world. Let us receive it with all our senses, let it take root in our hearts, let it move through our hands, our words, our lives. Let us be shepherds of joy, messengers of peace, carriers of incarnate love.
Love bends down. Love enters. Love remains.
Merry Christmas.
About Fr. Graham Hill C.Ss.R.
Redemptorist priest living and working in Toronto, Ontario. Who proudly practices eccentric activities with strings under tension — from musical instruments to recurve bows.
