A wooden manger and a vulnerable baby

Intermountain Catholic

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Bishop John C. Wester of the Diocese of Salt Lake City speaks in his Christmas homily of the poverty and vulnerability into which Jesus was born. In our own vulnerability, he said, we can be more careful of the feelings of others. IC photo by Barbara Lee

Editor’s note: Bishop John C. Wester of the Diocese of Salt Lake City presented the following homily at the Midnight Mass Dec. 25, 2007, in the Cathedral of the Madeleine, and at the 10 a.m. Mass later that day.

It is for me a tremendous honor and privilege and joy to be joining you tonight for this Midnight Mass of Christmas. It is a great privilege to be able to gather a God’s holy people to celebrate this beautiful night. I would be less than honest with you however if I didn’t say there is another part of me that wonders why I am still up. I should have been in bed two-and-a-half hours ago.

Why does the church gather us in the dead of the night like this? This is a very symbolic time – midnight. It is in the middle of the night that Jesus first came to us. The symbolism of it is that Jesus pierced the darkness as the light, and we believe, as in keeping with Paul’s letter to Titus this evening, that Christ’s second coming in glory will be at midnight, at this time, this symbolic hour, when the light overcomes the darkness. We’ve already passed the shortest day of the year. We’re already now seeing the light overcoming the darkness, and that theme of light sparkles throughout our celebration of Christmas. We look toward the dawn – Christ as the daystar. We look toward the stars at night, those bright points of light.

We talk in Isaiah, in that first reading about those fires on the battlefield, as the victors survey the battlefield and see the light of hope that one day perhaps war will cease to exist.

We see Christmas candles and Christmas tree lights and house lights, and all kinds of light. This light helps you and me to see more clearly the reality of Christmas – to see more clearly the face of the newborn savior – a baby, an innocent, vulnerable baby born in a manger in poverty and humility.

And so while we join the angels and the shepherds in acknowledging the glory of Christ, we also see Luke’s important and inescapable theme of humility and vulnerability.

It reminds me of a priest – I read about this years ago – who after a long Christmas week; the midnight Mass, the morning Masses, all that was going on, he went to his sister’s home for Christmas dinner. He was exhausted, he was tired, and he just found a sofa and plopped down. He no sooner sat down than his little niece came up to him. She was about three or four years old.

She said, "Uncle Michael, I’ve got something to show you."

With a tired sigh, he said, "All right," and he got up. She took him by the hand and led him to a gorgeous porcelain manger scene on the dining room table.

And Father Mike said, "Oh, this is wonderful. My niece really gets the real meaning of Christmas." And he said, "Sally, what is this?"

Sally said, with a big, bright smile, "Mommy says it’s fragile."

Uncle Mike smiled and said, "Yes Sally, it is fragile."

We are fragile. We are vulnerable. We talk about poor shepherds, shepherds who were looked down upon, who were considered in the same caste as sinners and thieves and murderers because they did not proscribe to the proper Temple laws.

We talk about people of good will, not our good will, but God’s good will. We are the people of God who is a God of good will. We talk about the vulnerable, dependent baby. We talk about the manger. And when we look at the wood of the manger, we can’t help but think of the wood of the cross; the humility of Christ, born in simplicity and bound to die in the ignominy of the cross.

We think of Isaiah, who spoke of the vulnerability of the broken reed, hanging on by a mere thread, or a smoldering wick whose existence could be snuffed out with the slightest breeze.

Jesus came as vulnerable because he came as one of us. We are vulnerable. Our health is vulnerable. Our egos are vulnerable. Change throws us for a loop. We’re often betrayed, miss opportunities, our expectations dashed. We are poor because vulnerability is the hallmark of poverty.

But it is to the poor that Christ came at midnight, so that our very poverty would be a door to the strength that is God’s alone. Jesus reminds us of the words of his precursor, John the Baptist, "I must decrease, so he must increase." And in a beautiful, wonderful way, it is in this vulnerability, this poverty, this dependency that we become strong. Because it is when we identify with the Baby Jesus and all that that means and all that the vulnerability means – it is then that we can be built up in God’s grace. And we can enter into a relationship with God – it is then that we can perceive the subtle presence of God, whispering to us as in 2Kings. It is then that we can take the time out of what could be a busy schedule because of our all-importance, and realize nothing is more important than spending time with God, my creator.

It is in my vulnerability that I can begin to be more careful of the feelings of others instead of my own desires and wishes.

It is said that the inevitable outcome of all human relationships is partial misunderstanding. But when that misunderstanding happens, am I vulnerable enough to consider that maybe I own some or much of the blame?

It’s when I’m vulnerable and poor that my relationships can begin to thrive, because I realize how they build me up and they fulfill me, and I approach them with a whole different heart and mind.

How blessed we are to gather tonight as the local church, to come to this place where our true vulnerability can be revealed, to gather around this altar and this ambo to humbly come into the presence of God and each other, and to receive and give peace.

The manger has a second meaning. That is that it is a place of nourishment. It’s a place where people come to be fed. We come to this manger to be fed by the Eucharist again and again, and to profess our vulnerability, our fragility, our need for Christ, and one another. And it is in Eucharist, in word and sacrament, that we are built up so that we can support each other in our vulnerability – and then go forth from this church, this cathedral, this manger, to do what Christ did, to bring peace to people, healing to people, love and compassion to people.

The titles of Christ always point to what Christ does for others. He is the glory of God, giving glory to the Father. He is the prince of peace giving peace to the people. Christ came for others, so we must do the same.

So, perhaps when we get home tonight or tomorrow, or someday in the near future, we might have a moment even here in the cathedral to meditate quietly in front of the manger scene, the crèche and to remind ourselves of the importance of vulnerability.

And to remind ourselves how this manger can change relationships and deepen them and renew them.

Don’t worry about coming too close to the manger. The real manger isn’t fragile at all. And if we live up to our relationships with God and each other with vulnerability, they are not fragile either. Christ is at the heart of all our relationships.

At midnight, when the light overtakes the darkness, we recognize once again why we were created – to love God and to love each other with our whole heart and our whole soul and our whole mind. And so to that same God be the glory and the power and the honor, the one who was, who is, and who will be, the alpha and the omega, for ages unending. Amen.