A Priceless Christmas Gift
Dec. 25, 2009, Christmas Day
Isaiah 52:7-10 Hebrews 1:1-6 John 1:1-5, 9-14
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to John
Glory to you, Lord.
Dec. 25, 2009, Christmas Day
Isaiah 52:7-10 Hebrews 1:1-6 John 1:1-5, 9-14
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to John
Glory to you, Lord.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came to be through Him, and without Him nothing came to be. What came to be through Him was life, and this life was the light of the human race. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world came to be through Him, but the world did not know Him. He came to what was his own, but his own people did not accept Him. But to those who did accept Him He gave power to become children of God, to those who believe in his name, who were born not by natural generation nor by human choice nor by a man’s decision but of God. And the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us, and we saw his glory, the glory as of the Father’s only Son, full of grace and truth.
The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.
----------------
Introduction
The three Masses of Christmas
Introduction
The three Masses of Christmas
Christmas is the only day which has three different Masses assigned it: Mass at Midnight, Mass at Dawn and Mass during the Day. Each has its own scripture readings. The Mass at midnight, which originated in the fifth century, was celebrated in the Basilica of St. Mary Major in Rome, where the relics of the crib were brought in the seventh century. The midnight tradition seems to be an interpretation of a passage from the Book of Wisdom: “While all things were in quiet silence and the night was in the midst of her course, thy Almighty Word, O Lord, came down from thy royal throne in heaven.” (Wisdom 18:14-15) Because the gospel for the midnight Mass has a heavenly multitude of angels praising God and singing “Glory to God in the highest,” it’s also called the Mass of the Angels. (Lk 2:1-14)
The Mass during the day is the oldest of the three. It originated in Rome in the early fourth century and was celebrated at St. Peter Basilica. It seems to mark the very origins of the celebration of the Feast of Christmas. Because the gospel for the Mass during the day is St. John’s prologue about the Word which was in the beginning and which became flesh, it’s also called the Mass of the Divine Word. (Jn 1:1-18)
The Mass during the day is the oldest of the three. It originated in Rome in the early fourth century and was celebrated at St. Peter Basilica. It seems to mark the very origins of the celebration of the Feast of Christmas. Because the gospel for the Mass during the day is St. John’s prologue about the Word which was in the beginning and which became flesh, it’s also called the Mass of the Divine Word. (Jn 1:1-18)
The Mass at dawn was the last of the three to appear. It was celebrated first in the sixth century when a Byzantine governor of Rome requested that a Mass in honor of St. Anastasia (martyred on December 25) be celebrated on that day. That Mass was then 'fitted in' at dawn. When Rome ceased to be part of the Byzantine Empire, the tradition of Mass at dawn remained, but its text was altered into a second Mass of the Nativity.[1] Because the gospel for the Mass at dawn has an angel announcing the birth of the Savior to shepherds, it’s also called the Mass of the Shepherds. (Lk2:15-20)
The gospel readings for both the Mass of the Angels and the Mass of the Shepherds both tell simple but picturesque stories which delight the child in us. Not so with the gospel reading for the Mass of the Divine Word. That oldest of the three Masses of Christmas proclaims that “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. And the Word became flesh.” (Jn 1:1, 14) Those words mean little to a child but a lot to a theologian.
The heresy of `verbalism’
In the course of a good half-century as priest and preacher of the Word, I have unearthed a very personal nugget in John’s prologue. The nugget is this: because the Word has become flesh, the Word now is no longer a word (or a bunch of words)! The Word now is an Infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.
In my book that nugget lays an axe to `verbalism’[2] – that’s the tendency we have to place too much stock in words. Verbalism is living and dying by words. Worse yet, it is making others, as well, live and die by words. In the fifteenth century, verbalism did in poor St. Joan of Arc: the Inquisitors burned her at the stake for not having the right words to their theological questions.
In these past fifty-plus years, verbalism has often done me in, and that explains why I feel the way I do about words. For one example among very many others, I recall, the lady who played the organ and directed the choir in a parish where I was assisting. One Sunday after Mass, she issued an ultimatum to me: “If you do not recite the words of consecration over the bread and wine exactly as they are to be found in the altar missal I shall resign my job and quit the parish!” That, indeed, was not an empty threat, for the parish really appreciated her expertise as organist and music director. Her verbalism was subsequently reinforced by the pastor himself who firmly instructed me by phone that from now on I was to “say the words of consecration exactly as they’re found in the altar missal.”
Verbalism, I dare to say, is also filling Sunday liturgy with three scripture readings and with the recitation of a responsorial psalm, a Gloria, a Credo, an Agnus Dei and an Our Father, to the detriment of periodic silence so beloved by Quakers – a silence inviting us to hear God’s voice speaking within us. Worse of all, verbalism is rambling on in a sermon which either doesn’t say much at all or which pretends to have God down pat.
Verbalism is also the doctrinaire approach to the controversial issues of life, such as abortion, celibacy, divorce, priesthood, sexuality, homosexuality, etc. At the end of the day, the profound solutions to these critical issues lay not so much in the words of our mouth but more in the deep recesses of our hearts.
In my book, verbalism is as much a heresy as Nestorianism[3] or Monophysitism,[4] for it denies our bottom line: because the Word has become flesh, the Word now is no longer a word; the Word now is an Infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.
In my book that nugget lays an axe to `verbalism’[2] – that’s the tendency we have to place too much stock in words. Verbalism is living and dying by words. Worse yet, it is making others, as well, live and die by words. In the fifteenth century, verbalism did in poor St. Joan of Arc: the Inquisitors burned her at the stake for not having the right words to their theological questions.
In these past fifty-plus years, verbalism has often done me in, and that explains why I feel the way I do about words. For one example among very many others, I recall, the lady who played the organ and directed the choir in a parish where I was assisting. One Sunday after Mass, she issued an ultimatum to me: “If you do not recite the words of consecration over the bread and wine exactly as they are to be found in the altar missal I shall resign my job and quit the parish!” That, indeed, was not an empty threat, for the parish really appreciated her expertise as organist and music director. Her verbalism was subsequently reinforced by the pastor himself who firmly instructed me by phone that from now on I was to “say the words of consecration exactly as they’re found in the altar missal.”
Verbalism, I dare to say, is also filling Sunday liturgy with three scripture readings and with the recitation of a responsorial psalm, a Gloria, a Credo, an Agnus Dei and an Our Father, to the detriment of periodic silence so beloved by Quakers – a silence inviting us to hear God’s voice speaking within us. Worse of all, verbalism is rambling on in a sermon which either doesn’t say much at all or which pretends to have God down pat.
Verbalism is also the doctrinaire approach to the controversial issues of life, such as abortion, celibacy, divorce, priesthood, sexuality, homosexuality, etc. At the end of the day, the profound solutions to these critical issues lay not so much in the words of our mouth but more in the deep recesses of our hearts.
In my book, verbalism is as much a heresy as Nestorianism[3] or Monophysitism,[4] for it denies our bottom line: because the Word has become flesh, the Word now is no longer a word; the Word now is an Infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.
The urge to tell stories
Christmas isn’t the time to be `mouthing words,’ but it is, indeed, the season to be telling stories. In fact, there’s something about Christmas that doesn’t like words but does, indeed, love stories (which are really words made flesh). When there are a lot of shepherds and sheep, oxen and ass, stable and straw, kings and coffers, and whole choirs of angels hovering over a babe and singing Gloria in excelsis Deo, then there is a lot of flesh and blood, and then, indeed, there is a lot of story.
At this time of the rolling year especially, there's an irresistible urge to tell stories. Beginning with December 17 (when the Novena of Christmas begins) the gospel readings at Mass tell one story after the other, to delight the child in us. And not only the Mass readings but also the media has an irresistible urge to tell stories. TV and newspapers these days are on the alert for a heart-warming Christmas story to relieve the bad news of the fast-departing old year. When editors find such a story, they anoint the front page of their newspaper with it.
A Christmas story – Part 1
Exactly one-quarter of a century ago this year, one such heart-warming Christmas story graced the front page of the Milwaukee Journal for Saturday, December 8, 1984. It’s a story we tell and retell in order to keep inspiring and incentivizing ourselves especially at this time of the rolling year. The story happened on December 6, the feast of jolly old St. Nick, famous for his gift-giving. It begins as all good stories begin: Once upon a time there was a bus driver whom everyone likes and calls Kojac. He's going west on Wisconsin Ave. It's about 3:30 in the afternoon and it's only l0 degrees above zero. A woman enters, and she’s tattered and torn, and she’s pregnant! And what’s more -- she has no shoes on her feet! It’s 10 degrees above zero, and mind you, she has no shoes on her feet! School's out, and the bus is full of high-school kids, and they're all making fun of her.
When the bus pulls up to 124th and Bluemound Road, a kid steps up to the front and is ready to get off. He's about fourteen years old -- that typical age when kids supposedly have no brains in their heads and are utterly selfish. "And then I saw the darnest thing I had ever seen in my life,” said the bus driver. "The darnest thing! This kid had his shoes in his hands, and his feet were bare! And he says to this woman in front of all his peers who are laughing at her, `Here, M’am, you need them more than I do!' “I cried," said the big strapping bus driver. "I cried, and so did the woman!" Well, the barefoot boy steps off the bus into the winter cold, and Kojac wipes away the tears and off he drives his bus.
When the bus pulls up to 124th and Bluemound Road, a kid steps up to the front and is ready to get off. He's about fourteen years old -- that typical age when kids supposedly have no brains in their heads and are utterly selfish. "And then I saw the darnest thing I had ever seen in my life,” said the bus driver. "The darnest thing! This kid had his shoes in his hands, and his feet were bare! And he says to this woman in front of all his peers who are laughing at her, `Here, M’am, you need them more than I do!' “I cried," said the big strapping bus driver. "I cried, and so did the woman!" Well, the barefoot boy steps off the bus into the winter cold, and Kojac wipes away the tears and off he drives his bus.
Part 2
The story doesn’t die there but comes to life again the next morning. The bus driver is on his route as usual and arrives at 124th and Bluemound Road where the lad (Francis Daly is his name) got off the day before. There, lo and behold, stands an angel of the Lord! There stands the boy again! Kojac dashes out, pulls him over to his bus and captures the story with his camera. For stories (flesh and blood that they are) are not only to be heard by the ear but also to be gazed upon by the eye. After the snapshot, big Kojac gets back into his bus, pulls out a long green handkerchief, blows his nose, wipes away the tears and says, "That's Francis. He got me again!"
The next day, Saturday, December 8, the snapshot and story of big Kojac and little Francis was splashed over the front page of the Milwaukee Journal. The following morning, Sunday, December 9, the story went forth by UPI to the entire nation to be read and seen by all. Even President Reagan read the story and sent the boy a letter of thanks. By Sunday thousands of others were joyfully weeping with Kojac over a cup of coffee and the Sunday newspaper.
The next day, Saturday, December 8, the snapshot and story of big Kojac and little Francis was splashed over the front page of the Milwaukee Journal. The following morning, Sunday, December 9, the story went forth by UPI to the entire nation to be read and seen by all. Even President Reagan read the story and sent the boy a letter of thanks. By Sunday thousands of others were joyfully weeping with Kojac over a cup of coffee and the Sunday newspaper.
A friend writes me,
I know the parents of that barefoot boy. He was a student at Marquette High School and his father was (is) a topnotch trial lawyer at Q&B. I called the father after reading the story in the Milwaukee Journal. I found out that it was his kid. I told the father that if his son ever ran for any office of any kind, I’d vote for him. When the then principal of Marquette High was asked to comment, he simply remarked that the boy’s parents had done a wonderful job of raising such a kid.
I also heard that the boy’s mother was really ticked off when the kid showed up shoeless that evening. The kid had pestered his parents for the sneakers, and they had cost a good $70 or so. Her immediate reaction was anger when he came home without the costly sneakers. But at the end of the day, both his mom and dad were so proud they nearly burst!
Francis was certainly a hero because of his compassion and unselfishness, but he was also a hero because of his courage. In a bus full of peers making fun of the barefoot woman and demanding blue-jean conformity from him, he, indeed, acted courageously as he took off his shoes and gave them to one in need. His courage was so remarkable that on the 8th anniversary of the story, the Milwaukee Journal in its Sunday edition for December 20, 1992, called attention to the fact that the story of `Big Kojac and Little Francis’ was included in a recently published book entitled Courageous Kids. The story continues to live on, as all good stories do.
Conclusion
A priceless Christmas gift
What do we want for our kids at Christmas? This: that, like little Francis, they would become `left-handed thinkers[5]’who have the courage to step out of blue-jean-conformity. What do we want for ourselves at Christmas? We want to raise sons and daughters like barefoot Francis of Milwaukee who would have thrilled the heart of barefoot Francis of Assisi. We want to raise sons and daughters who will make our hearts burst with pride. (That’s a big job these days.)
What should we be doing at Christmas? Like the news media (despite all its commercialization of the season) we should be shopping around for a good Christmas story and then anoint ourselves with it. Again, what should we be doing at Christmas? Besides giving gifts to each other, we should be telling each other heart-warming stories like that of `Big Kojak and Little Francis.’ On the feast of jolly old St. Nick, he turned his $70 tennis shoes into a priceless gift for a forlorn and barefoot lady, and his story, a quarter of a century later, now lives on to inspire and incentivize us and to help soften all the bad news of fast-departing 2009.
What should we be doing at Christmas? Like the news media (despite all its commercialization of the season) we should be shopping around for a good Christmas story and then anoint ourselves with it. Again, what should we be doing at Christmas? Besides giving gifts to each other, we should be telling each other heart-warming stories like that of `Big Kojak and Little Francis.’ On the feast of jolly old St. Nick, he turned his $70 tennis shoes into a priceless gift for a forlorn and barefoot lady, and his story, a quarter of a century later, now lives on to inspire and incentivize us and to help soften all the bad news of fast-departing 2009.
[1] Prayers commemorating St Anastasia remain a part of the Mass at Dawn even in the 1962 Missal.
[2] If the word is not in the dictionary, it should be!
[3] Nestorianism -- a heresy which affirms two persons in Jesus, one human and one divine.
[4] Monophysitism -- a heresy which denies there are two natures in Jesus – one human and one divine.
[5] `Blessed are the poor’, says Jesus; that’s left-handed thinking.
