‘Only where He was homeless are you and I at home.’ So goes one of the lines of GK Chesterton’s famous Christmas poem.
Born into a world full of troubles; born into a family getting ready to do a moonlight flit; so came Christ into our world. The harsh realities of his birth were no different to those experienced by the vast majority of human beings over the centuries. It was deliberately so. Not simply so that he could experience human life in all it joys and sorrows and so bring it to redemption; that was hardly necessary for God. No, he was born into our world in poverty and in persecution so that we could more easily identify with him. As Chesterton said, ‘Only where He was homeless are you and I at home.’
And we are homeless; we are without a roof over our heads. Not a material roof, certainly none of us here this evening has that problem. But in some way we are homeless, without a home, without a dwelling place. This is what is recognised here in this parish. This community of believers has come together because of a deep realisation on the part of its members that there is no lasting home for us here on earth; that our true dwelling place lies in heaven.
One would think that here in the Catholic Church one would find certainty, stability and changelessness. And in one sense it is so. In any Church ancient traditions are carefully preserved; great efforts are made to provide stability; change is only reluctantly accepted. But in another sense it is not so at all. Here in the Church there is also a deep awareness of the transitory nature of human life. Here there is a concrete realisation of human frailty. Here is a clear understanding that each member is deeply dependent on the others.
The world is changing. On the threshold of the new Millennium we observe a great increase in the rapidity of change, a great desire for everything to be modern and new. But the danger is that it the change is too fast and modernity too superficial. The impression becomes more important than the substance. And the spin-doctors have become the main determinants of our political and social agenda.
We have seen in this last decade of our outgoing 20th century the triumph of capitalism over communism, after a struggle lasting over seventy-five years. But the danger now is that capitalism, left untrammelled, will turn everything into a commodity and the poor will be trampled underfoot.
We have also seen the increased struggle by ethnic
groups to assert their national identity and the fragmentation of nation
states. Bosnia, Kosovo and Chechinia are some recent examples.
All these things, all these threats and uncertainties unite us with the Christ Child. The very circumstances of his birth draw us close to him. The vulnerability of the child whose life would be under threat within a few days. Our knowledge of the eventual outcome of his life —at the same time both tragic and victorious. The realisation that all the power of God is focused on this tiny infant, and that also within us is a spark of that same Godliness. These things inexorably draw us towards him.
The years hurtle by and the faith waxes and wanes. In one century it is strong, in another weak. In one country there is powerful witness to Christ, in another we see the debilitating effects of indifference. But whether Christianity is strong or weak this feast of Christmas attracts the whole world, Christian and non-Christian alike. The infant, the lowly manger, his vulnerability, his destiny —it is compelling.
We certainly approach Christ at Christmas in a way that is unique from the rest of the year. The blood and gore of Good Friday and the strange mystery of the empty tomb on Easter Sunday are more difficult for us to deal with. But at Christmas we easily identify with the infant Jesus in his cradle and in his vulnerability, and we feel at one with him. Moreover we feel that he is at one with us.
This parish community gathered here tonight in the dark, in the middle of winter to commemorate in solemn liturgy the mystery of the incarnation is a living witness to the power of this tiny child to conquer our hearts and lives.
This tiny child makes us aware of our own vulnerability. This tiny child makes us aware that all is transitory. In the midst of a great feeding-frenzy of materialism that is the modern-day Christmas this tiny child helps us to realise that material things don’t matter and that it is the real values of the Gospel that count –faith, love, hope, trust, reconciliation and all the rest.
He who was born in a stable, and who was so soon to become a refugee helps us to realise the profound importance of a properly ordered family life. He helps us to get our priorities and values straight. He helps us to value all life and to realise that all that lives and breathes has life only from God.
Chesterton was right: ‘Only where he
was homeless are you and I at home.’ And he was right because it is only where
Christ is that we truly can be at home.