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The Southern Cross, Page 8 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!