As I get older, it’s harder for me to remember the joy I felt on Christmas morning when I was a child. When my children were little some of that joy returned as I watched them get excited as they opened their gifts; and then the day came when it was obvious that giving them money would be more welcome than trying to pick out something for a young adult. Then the grandchildren came along and we got another vicarious taste of Christmas joy -- but they are now also at the age where money is preferred. So I guess I’ll have to wait for a great grandchild to see that joy once again.
But I remember one Christmas that wasn’t a very happy one. I had seen a model gas station in the toy store, and you could take your toy car and pretend to fill up the gas tank or check the tire pressure. But the really neat thing was that you could put the car in the garage and turn a crank and the car would be lifted up -- just like the lift in a real gas station. I’m sure I drove my parents crazy talking about all the wonderful things I could do if only I had that gas station. My sister Diane, on the other hand, wanted a cat. I think I was five and she was three at the time. Cats were easy to come by; there were a lot of them on my uncle’s farm and they were semi-tame. So on Christmas morning as we left the house for church, I noticed under the tree a wrapped present that looked a lot like a gas station, and there, in a little cage was a kitten with a bow around his neck. I don’t remember anything about the sermon for that particular Sunday. When we got home, it was time to unwrap the presents. The cat had beaten us to it. He had escaped from his cage, torn the wrapping paper off the gas station, and not being overly bright must have mistaken the gas station for a sandbox. My mother, seeing my distress, tried cleaning the gas station, but since it was made of relatively cheap cardboard, it ended up destroying much of its charm. So I was pretty despondent until I decided to try the lift mechanism on my toy car. That brightened my spirits for a while until the mechanism broke. My sister, after petting the cat a few times, turned her attention to her doll. I don’t remember what happened to the cat. I suspect that my parents told my sister that he’d be a lot happier with the cats on my uncle’s farm, and she understood the logic of that.
Does my story have anything to do with Christmas? As you know there are several gospels that are available for Christmas; most tell some of the story of Mary and Joseph and the shepherds. I read the selection designated for Christmas day, found in the Gospel of John. In the Tridentine rite, which was what I grew up hearing, this was read at the end of every Mass, after the people were dismissed and after the final blessing. Pope Paul V made the Tridentine rite mandatory in the Western church in 1570, and the Last Gospel was meant to connect what the congregation had just witnessed with creation and the mystery of the incarnation. With every Mass we believe the Word becomes flesh and dwells among us, and we have seen his glory when Father raises the body and blood of Christ at the time of consecration. But look at this beautiful gospel. In the very beginning the Word was God. Without him nothing came to be. He brought life, and this life was the light of humanity, shining in darkness. And to those who did accept him, he gave power to become children of God, born not by our choice but God’s.
There’s a national park in South Dakota called Jewel Cave. You can go down there with a guide, and the climax of the trip is when all the lights are turned off and you experience a complete absence of light. It’s quite impressive. After a minute or so, the guide turns on his flashlight and it’s just enough light to bounce around the crystals that make up the walls of the cave. That’s what I always imagine when I read this gospel. Jesus is light, but there is still darkness. While we are on this side of the grave, there will always be darkness, but for those who look for it, there will be enough light to make our way; and we can choose to go deeper into the darkness as well, instead of moving toward the light. And the best way to follow the light is to put yourself in his presence as often as you can; and his presence, we are guaranteed, is in the Eucharist at every Mass. John tells us that no one has ever seen God; but the only Son, who is at the Father’s side, who is at the manger 2000 years ago, who is on the cross on calvary, and who is here in the miracle of the Eucharist, has revealed him; he is the light that lights the darkness.
I remember that Christmas when I was five -- probably the darkest Christmas I’d ever experienced -- up until my grandparents came over delivering their presents. I got a scale model Ford Sedan that you could wind up and it would speed around the room. My day got a lot brighter. And I still have that toy after 75 years. A light always shines in darkness.
