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Faith Ali'v®!
Thursday, December 14, 2000
®he paradox of (Christmas
All contents copyright ©2000 by CNS
By Lawrence S. Cunningham
Catholic News Service
t^/ecently in class my students
and I read St. Athanasius’ wonderful
little treatise on the incarnation.
Written in the fourth century, it is
considered a classic of Catholic theol
ogy.
What is striking about Atha
nasius’ approach is that he begins
with the story of creation and only
then moves to the incarnation. There
is, of course, sound thinking behind
this strategy. For the world comes
into being through the power of God’s
Word, according to the opening chap
ter of the Book of Genesis. And St.
John, in his Gospel’s Prologue, says
that God’s Word became incarnate in
the person of Jesus Christ:
“And the Word became flesh and
dwelt among us” (Jn 1:14).
In other words, for St. John the
incarnation was “re-creation.” John’s
Prologue is a profound theological
meditation on Christ’s significance as
Word of God incarnate.
One cannot help but think of
that link between creation and in
carnation as a kind of key for un
derstanding the power of the
Christmas liturgy. Even now I
look back at the many times that,
as a child and adolescent, I at
tended midnight Mass with my
family. The late hour, the crisp
of St. Francis, tells us that Francis
preached at that Mass about the
“Poor King.” That title catches it ex
actly: Christ is ruler, but he rules in
the poverty of his birth.
There is a temptation to sentimen
talize the little child of Bethlehem in
popular art and in the carols we sing.
But the same Isaiah who saw the
Icon makers of the Christian East... depict the Nativity
scene not as happening in a stable... but in front of an open
cave. By such a location they speak both of the birth of Christ
and the empty tomb when Jesus, 33 years later, will he raised
into new life as resurrected Lord/’
new surplices we altar servers
wore, the evergreens’ pungent
smell, the lovely red of the flowers
and the beauty of the creche scene
combined into a feeling of mystery,
awe and, above all, beauty and
hope.
Midnight Mass just seemed
right. But why should that be?
■ ■ ■
Why is it that for an average
person Christmas seems more
vivid even than Easter, which is
the most solemn of the church’s
liturgical feasts?
Part of the answer must be in
the fact that Christmas celebrates
a child’s birth. Who has not looked
at a new baby without thinking of
the renewal of humanity, the
promise of the future and the sheer
innocence of someone who has not
yet experienced the evils of the
world?
At the birth of Jesus we instinc
tively think of new hope and new
promise. That sense of hope, how
ever, grows more profound when we
say, in faith, that this is Emmanuel
(God with us).
At the heart of Christmas, then, is
a profound paradox: The helpless
child in the manger is also the one
through whom the world was made
and who shows us God’s face.
When St. Francis celebrated
Christmas in a stable in 1223 (the
origin of the custom of the creche), he
wanted to experience both the abso
lute poverty of Christ and his hidden
divinity. St. Bonaventure, in his life
coming of Emmanuel is the prophet
who speaks of the “Suffering Ser
vant.” That paradox is also part of the
story.
Icon makers of the Christian East
capture this fuller story brilliantly.
They depict the Nativity scene not as
happening in a stable, as is common
in Western art, but in front of an open
cave. By such a location they speak
both of the birth of Christ and the
empty tomb when Jesus, 33 years
later, will be raised into new life as
resurrected Lord.
The Mary who gave birth at
Bethlehem and who would stand at
the foot of the cross is the same Mary
who will be with the apostles at the
birth of the church (Acts 1:14).
There is, then, a powerful symme
try about the Word of God through
whom creation comes to be, through
whom re-creation is brought about
and who remains with us in the
church, which springs from the Word
of God. When we think of Christmas
we need to hold all these profound
mysteries in place.
In a small quatrain that St. John
of the Cross wrote as a Christmas
refrain, he caught the awe-full mys
tery of the Word become flesh in these
powerful lines:
“The Virgin, heavy
“With the Word of God,
“Comes down the road.
“If only you give her shelter!”
(Cunningham teaches theology at
the University of Notre Dame.)
FOODFORTHOUGHT
Christmas is important; it holds the key to human history, Pope John Paul II said in a message titled “The Mystery of the Incarnation” (1998).
That would mean that Jesus’ birth directs our attention not only to the past but to the future. It makes an important claim about the larger meaning of
Christmas. And here’s my question (a challenge, perhaps):
For us, what keeps such statements from ringing hollow — from amounting to little more than grand-sounding words? Do we know what we really mean
in saying that “the whole of human history ... stands in reference” to Jesus, to use the pope’s words?
It could provide for a lifetime of reflection and meditation for us. Maybe it should. Who is Jesus as a person, and how does his personhood shape the future
— not just any kind of future, after all?
We focus intensely at this time of year on events of the distant past. But Christmas also invigorates us, enabling us to face the future with hope.
Here’s how the pope put it:
“The birth of Jesus at Bethlehem is not an event which can be consigned to the past. The whole of human history in fact stands in reference to him: Our
own time and the future of the world are illumined by his presence.”
In no way is “the journey of believers toward the third millennium ... weighed down by the weariness which the burden of 2,000 years of history could bring
with it, ” the pope said. “Rather, Christians feel invigorated in the knowledge that they bring to the world the true light, Christ. ”
David Gibson
43 Editor, Faith Alive!