And the Word Became Flesh

 

To the church in Diaspora[1].

Christmas Day 2006 Mass at Midnight

Isaiah 9:1-6    Titus 2:11-14    Luke 2: 1-14

 

 

Introduction

The three Masses of Christmas

Christmas is the only day in the liturgical calendar which has three different Masses assigned. That dates back to the 7th century when the Popes started to celebrate Christmas Mass in various churches around Rome.  By the 19th century it was a well-established custom in the Western Church.  The gospel for the first Mass of Christmas has the “heavenly multitude of angels praising God and singing, `Glory to God in the highest, and peace to his people on earth’” (Lk 2:14). So the first Mass of Christmas was called the Mass of the Angels. The gospel for the second Mass has the shepherds saying to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this wonderful thing that has come to pass” (Lk 2:15).  The second Mass was called the Mass of the Shepherds.  The gospel for the third Mass has St. John saying, “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). That Mass was called the Mass of the Divine Word.  In the missalette the three are better known as Mass at Midnight, Mass at Dawn and Mass during the Day.

The first Mass of the Angels may be used not only at midnight but also at dawn and during the day. The gospel for this Mass is  fleshed out with shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night, with choirs of angels singing “Glory to God in the highest” and with an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes, laid in a manger and warmed by  the breath of beasts.

 

The heresy of verbalism

In the gospel for the third Mass of Christmas (Mass of the Divine Word) St. John writes, ”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).  So the Word of God isn’t a word or words anymore; it is now flesh and blood—a Person. On certain occasions down through the years that thought has always come to my minds as priest and preacher.

 

On one occasion a lady approached me one Sunday after Mass and asked, “How come you didn’t recite the words of consecration over the bread and wine as they are to be found in the big red altar missal?” Then she threatened saying,   If you don’t conform to the prescribed words, I am going to leave the parish.” My dear lady, the Word of God isn’t a word or words anymore. It is now flesh and blood—a Person. He’s lying in a manger.

 

On another occasion a lady from out of state unsuspectingly attended a 10 A. M. liturgy at Old St. Mary’s and angrily wrote back, “How come at the penitential rite you did not pronounce the words of absolution? How come the words of the Gloria were not sung, though it was a Sunday Mass? How come you arbitrarily shortened the words of the gospel, omitting verses 40 through 42? How come you entirely omitted the words of the prayer Pray brethren? How come the words of the preface were entirely of your own creation, as were also the very words of consecration over the bread and wine?” My dear lady, the Word of God isn’t a word or words anymore. It is now flesh and blood—a Person. He’s lying in a manger.

 

I label such complaints verbalism. That’s putting too much stock in words. Verbalism is living by words and dying by words, and what’s worse yet, it’s making other, as well, live and die by words. Verbalism burned St. Joan of Arc at the stake in France for not having the right answer to the Inquisitors’ questions. Verbalism (the demand that you say the right words) is as good a heresy as Nestorianism, Arianism, Monophysitism or Pelagianism, for it denies the Christian’s bottom line that the Word of God is not a word or words anymore but is now flesh and blood—a Person. He’s lying in a manger.

 

Christmas and words

There’s something about Christmas that doesn’t like words. At this time of the rolling year especially, we remind ourselves that when the fullness of time came and God wanted to say something very comprehensive and wonderful about himself, God did not say something; God did something. God did not beget a bible; God begot a baby! God did not deliver a sermon; God delivered a son-- Jesus.

 

Christians, too, like their Christmas God, should be leery about a doctrinaire approach to religion which puts too much stock in the right answers of catechisms or in the recitations of creeds or in the exact mouthing of prescribed liturgical prayers. Christians should be leery about the doctrinaire approach to the great controversial issues of life, like abortion, capital punishment, celibacy, ordination, homosexuality and human sexuality. The profound solutions to those great issues do not lie in the words of our mouths but in the deep recesses of our hearts. Christians should be leery about preachers who destroy the mystery of God by having God down pat with a steady flow of words.

 

Christmas and stories

There’s something about Christmas that doesn’t like words but does, indeed, likes stories. For what are stories but words made flesh and blood.  When there are a lot of shepherds and sheep, oxen and donkeys, stable and straw, kings and coffers, and whole choirs of angels hovering over a babe singing "Gloria in excelsis Deo," then there is a lot of flesh and blood--then there is a lot of story.

 

This time of the rolling year, there's a universal consent to speak not with words but with stories. The gospel readings at Mass these days, beginning with the Novena of Christmas starting on the 17th of December,  have been telling one story after the other. Once upon a time there was an old priest, Zachariah by name, offering incense before the altar of the Lord in the temple. Behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him and told him not to be afraid and promised that his barren wife Elizabeth was going to have a baby boy (Lk 1:5-25). Once upon a time there was a maiden at prayer and behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to her and told her not to be afraid. The Holy Spirit would overshadow her, and she would conceive a son and call him Jesus (Lk 1:26-38).

 

Once upon a time there was a man named Joseph, and he was puzzled about his espoused wife being with child.  Behold, an angel of the Lord appeared and told him not to be afraid to take Mary as his wife, for what is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit (Mt 1:18-25). Once upon a time a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that the whole world should be enrolled. While shepherds were keeping watch over their flocks by night, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to them saying, “Don’t be frightened. I bring you tidings of great joy. This day, in the city of David, a savior is born to you who is Christ the Lord. And this will be sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger” (Lk 2:1-14).

 

The Milwaukee story: act I

At this time of the rolling year, not only scripture but also the media has an irresistible urge to speak not with words but with stories. Every year it features classical favorites like Amahl and the Night Visitors, Miracle on 34th Street, and especially Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.  The evening news, too, searches for a story bearing tidings of good news to balance off all the bad news of the fast-departing old year--like the price of gas or the price of the war in Iraq.  When editors find a gem of a Christmas story, they anoint the front page of their newspaper with it.

 

Such a gem of a story graced the front page of the Milwaukee Journal for Saturday, December 8, 1984 (22 years ago). Many have heard the story before; good stories are meant to be told and retold to keep inspiring and energizing us over and over again. This story happened on the  6th of December, 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. Enters a woman, and she is tattered and torn, and she's pregnant, and she has no shoes on her feet! Mind you, 10 degrees outside and 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.

 

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 -- just that perfect 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!"

 

The Milwaukee story: act II

Well, the barefoot boy steps off the bus into the winter cold and Kojac wipes away the tears and off he drives his bus. But the story doesn’t die there. It comes to life again the next morning. The bus driver is on his route as usual, and he arrives at 124th and Bluemound Road where the lad (Francis is his name) got off the day before.  And lo and behold, an angel of the Lord appears! There stands the boy again!  Kojac dashes out, lays hold of the angel and pulls him over to his bus. There he 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 8th, the snapshot and story of big Kojac and little Francis anointed the front page of the Milwaukee Journal.  The following morning, Sunday, December 9th, 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, hundreds and hundreds of others were joyfully weeping with Kojac over their cup of coffee and the Sunday newspaper.

 

A practitioner of innocence

In The Francis Book published in 1982 to celebrate the 800th anniversary of the birth of St. Francis of Assisi, Colman McCarthy writes that Francis “was not a preacher of truth or an upholder of virtue. He was a practitioner of innocence.” He chatted with the birds of the air.  He talked things over with the ferocious wolf of Gubbio who was terrifying the local folk. He calmed the beast down.  He bent down and kissed lepers, and he did many other “flaky” things.

 

The barefoot Francis from Milwaukee was also a practitioner of innocence. A kid like that who is brave before his peers doesn’t really lose his innocence by lying with some girl whom he really loves and to whom he's really committed. He certainly loses his virginity but not necessarily his innocence. That he loses when his peers and the prevailing culture manage to convince him to grow up and to put away his “flaky” nonsense and stop talking to the birds and beasts.  He loses his innocence when his peers and the prevailing culture manage to convince him to keep his shoes on his feet and his feet solidly on firm ground, as he walks the cold icy paths of this hard cruel world about which he can’t do anything. When they convince him to act as they do, then, indeed, he loses his innocence.

 

 

 

 

Conclusion

The Christmas dismissal

Christmas isn’t for preaching truth. That simply puts us, followers of the Prince of Peace, at odds with Jews and Muslims and Buddhists and everyone else who has another truth other than the Christian truth.  Christmas isn’t even for upholding virtue. That simply has us looking down our long noses at others, or it endows us with political capital to solicit the right wing.

 

No. Christmas is for telling stories about big Kojac and little Francis. In so doing we make profession of the very heart of our faith that the Word of God isn’t a word or words anymore but is now flesh and blood—a Person. The Ite Missa est-- the dismissal of the Christmas Mass sends us forth like the barefoot boy from Milwaukee and the barefoot man from Assisi and like Mother Mary herself to give flesh and blood to the Word of God.[i]

 

 


[1] Diaspora is a Greek word meaning dispersion. It refers to a religious group who for one reason or other has left its homeland and has taken up residence as a minority in a foreign land.

 


[i] Dear Alex:

 

I forwarded your Christmas sermon about Francis and the shoes to my friend Art Harris, whom you met at my place the night we had you and Rembert over.  I am forwarding to you his surprising reply.  ("Q&B" means Quarles and Brady, where Art worked before he retired.)

 

Happy New Year,

Jim Rhodes

"Arthur B. Harris" <abh@wi.rr.com> wrote:

From Arthur B. Harris Tue Dec 26 19:25:44 2006
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I know the parents of that barefoot boy…he was a student at Marquette High School and his dad was (is) a hotshot trial lawyer at Q&B….and I called him up after reading the story in the paper and then finding out it was his kid. I told him that if his kid ever ran for any office of any kind, I’d vote for him…and then he told me that the then principal of Marquette High School had been asked for a comment and the principal had said that the boy’s parents had done a wonderful  job of raising him to do such a thing….and I also heard that his mother was really ticked off when the kid showed up shoeless…that the sneakers had been a big purchase of $70 or so, that the kid had pestered his parents for and her immediate reaction was anger when he came home shoeless…..then his mom and dad were so proud they nearly burst. What a story. What a sermon. Great stuff.