December 24, 2023
Christmas Vigil Mass
Sometimes our plans are ruined. Things don’t go as we expected. What was that first Christmas like for this young couple? This is a meditation from the Italian mystic Maria Valtorta.
This is a computer-generated transcription that has been included to make the homily searchable. It has not been verified by the author.
“In those days, a decree went out from Caesar Augustus, that the whole world should be enrolled.” A lot of times, Christmas is a frustrating time, because we had plans and things don’t work out the way we had planned. That happens a lot of times, not just, of course, at Christmas, but in life. And that’s what happened to Mary and Joseph, at this most critical time, because of this decree from Caesar Augustus. All their plans that they had prepared in Nazareth for the birth of their child, all that was, was knocked over. It’s like, seems like the worst possible time for this to happen. And so they had to make this scramble, as Mary’s so close to giving birth, to go down to Bethlehem on this very cold, difficult time to travel. And so it’s also an invitation for us to accept, to entrust ourselves to the Lord even when things seem chaotic, when to let go of our plans. Remembering what Scripture says that God makes all things work for the good for those who love Him. And so tonight is an opportunity to bring to Jesus our life with all the problems we have, all the things that aren’t the way we had hoped it would be. And bring all that to Him. And tonight to let our Lord Himself act, at this Christmas of 2023. What was that night, what was that moment like? I mean, we have now two millennia of many depictions of that moment. But there’s never been another moment comparable to that. So what was it like? What was it actually like? I want to share with you all a beautiful meditation from a mystic called Maria Valtorta, which we often talk about her and her book, “The Gospel as It Was Revealed to Me.” And so it’s a little I think, the last time I read this was eight years ago, and so I thought it’d be good to read this passage. Again, it’s a little bit long, so feel free to close your eyes. And if you fall asleep, that’s okay. It’s a good way to fall asleep. So the stresses that night was very, very cold, bitterly cold. And so by the time they get to, there was no they couldn’t find any other lodge until the Shepherd has pointed out to them. This, this ruins, kind of ruins over a stable that was made over a little cave, a little grotto. And so it’s already very dark, and they were very exhausted when they finally get there, among the ruins of an old building, there is a hole beyond which there is a grotto with a rustic roof supported by course tree trunks. Joseph goes in and is greeted by a bellow. Come in Mary. It’s empty, there is only an ox. Joseph thought it’s better than nothing. Mary dismounts from her donkey and goes in. Joseph has hung the little lamp on a nail on one of the supporting trunks. They see the vault covered with cobwebs, the soil, stamped, ramshackle earth with holes, rubbish excrement. The soil is strewn with straw. Mary goes near the ox she is cold. She puts her hand on its neck to feel its warmth. The ox bellows but does not stir. It seems to understand. And when Joseph has to push it aside to take a large quantity of hay from the manger and make a bed for Mary, the ox remains calm and quiet. The Ox makes room also for the little donkey, and tired and hungry as it is, starts eating at once. Mary is sitting on the stall. She is tired. She watches and smiles. The hay is now ready. Mary sits down more comfortably on the soft hay with her back leaning against one of the tree trunks. Joseph hangs his mantle as a curtain on the hole that serves as a door. It is just a makeshift protection. He then offers some bread and cheese to the Virgin and he gives her some water out of a flask. Sleep now, he says, I will sit up and watch that the fire does not go out. Mary lies down obediently Joseph covers her with his own mantel, with a blanket that she had around her feet earlier. But you Joseph, you will be cold. No Mary, I’ll be near the fire. Try and rest now, things will be better tomorrow. Mary closes her eyes without insisting. Joseph is sitting facing the fire. His back is turned towards Mary. But he turns around now and again to look at her, and then sees she is lying quietly, as if she were sleeping. There is only the dim light of the fire, at times bright, at times, very faint. And then some time passes. The little fire is those in together with Joseph, its guardian. Mary lifts her head slowly from where she is resting and looks around. She sees that Joseph head is bowed over his chest, as if you were meditating, and she thinks that his good intention to remain awake has been overcome by tiredness. She smiles lovingly and making less noise like a butterfly alighting on a rose, she sits up and then goes on her knees. She prays with a blissful smile on her face. She prays with her arm stretched out almost in the shape of a cross with the palms of her hands facing up and forward, and she never seems to tire in that position. She then prostrates herself with her face on the hay, and an even more ardent prayer, a long prayer. Joseph stirs. He notices that the fire is almost out and the stable almost dark. He throws on some sticks because the cold is really biting. the cold of a serene winter night that comes into the ruins from everywhere. Poor Joseph must be frozen sitting as he is near the door, if we can call a door where Joseph’s mantal serves as a curtain. He warms his hands near the fire. Then he takes his sandals off and warms his feet. When the fire is blazing gayly in its latest study, he turns around, but he does not see anything in a darker corner. He gets up and slowly moves towards Mary, where Mary is. Are you not sleeping Mary? He asked. He asked her three times until she turns around and replies. I’m praying. Is there anything you need? No, Joseph. Well try and sleep a little, at least try and rest. I will try but I don’t get tired praying. God be with you, Mary. And with you, Joseph. Mary resumes her position. Joseph, to avoid falling asleep, goes on his knees near the fire and prays. He prays with his hands pressed against his face. He removes them now and again to feed the fire. And then he resumed his ardent prayer. Apart from the noise of the crackling sticks, and the noise made now and again by the donkey stamping the tubes underground, no other sound is heard. A thin array of moonlight creeps in through a crack in the vault. And it seems like a blade of unearthly silver, looking for Mary. It stretches in length as the moon climbs higher in the sky. And that last reaches her. It is now on her head where it forms a halo of pure light. Mary lifts her head as if she had a celestial call. And she gets up and goes onto her knees again. How beautiful it is here now. She raises her head and her face shines in the white moonlight, and she becomes transfigured by a supernatural smile. What does she see? What does she hear? What does she feel? She’s the only one who can tell what she saw, heard and felt and the refulgent hour of her maternity. I can only see that the light around her is increasing more and more. It seems to come down from heaven to arise from the poor things around her. Above all, it seems to originate from herself. Her deep blue dress now seems of a pale blue, and her hands and face are becoming clear blue, as if they were placed under the glare of a huge pale sapphire. This hue is spreading more and more on the things around her. It covers them, purifies them and brightens everything. The light is given off more and more intensity for Mary’s body. It absorbs the moonlight. She seems to be drawn into herself all the light that can descend from Heaven. She is now the depositary of the light. She has to give this light to the world. And this blissful, uncontainable, immeasurable, eternal, divine light, which is about to be given, is heralded by a dawn, a Morningstar, a course of atoms of light that increase continuously like a tide and rise more and more like incense and descend like a large stream and stretch out like veils the vault full of crevices of cobwebs of protruding rubble. The dark smoky repellent vault now seems like the ceiling of a royal hall. Each Boulder is a block of silver, each crack an Opal, an opal flash. Each cobweb a most precious canopy, interwoven with silver and diamonds. A huge green lizard hibernating between two stones seems like an emerald jewel, forgotten there by a queen. And a bunch of hibernating bats is like a precious object chandelier. And the light increases more and more. It is now unbearable to the eye, and the Virgin disappears in so much light, as if she had been absorbed by an incandescent curtain. And the mother emerges. Yes, when the light becomes endurable, once again to my eyes. I see Mary with the newborn son in her arms. A little baby rosie and plump, bustling with his little hands as big as rosebuds and kicking with his tiny feet. And he’s crying with a thin trembling voice, just like a newborn little lamb, opening his little mouth that resembles a wild strawberry and joining a tiny tongue that trembles against the rosy roof of his mouth. And he moves his little head, a little round head that his mother holds in the hollow of her hand while she looks at her baby and adores him, weeping and smiling at the same time. And she bends down to kiss him, not on his innocent head, but on the center of his chest, where underneath there’s a little heart beating for us. One day there will be the wound and his mother is doctoring that wound in advance with her Immaculate kiss. The ox, woken up by the dazzling light gets up with a great noise of hooves and bellows. The donkey turns its head round and brays. Also Joseph who almost enraptured was praying so ardently as to be isolated what was around him, now rouses and sees the strange light filter through the fingers of his hands, pressed against his face, he removes his hands, lifts his head and turns around. The arc standing as it is, hides Mary, but she calls, Joseph come. Joseph rushes, and when he sees, he stops struck by reference, and he is about to fall on his knees where he is, but Mary insists, come Joseph. And she leans on the hay with her left hand, holding the child close to her heart with her right one. She gets up and moves toward Joseph, who was walking, embarrassed, because of a conflict in him between his desire to go and his fear of being irreverent. They meet at the foot of the straw bed, and they look at each other weeping blissfully. Come, let us offer Jesus to the Father, says Mary. While Joseph kneels down, she stands up between two trunks supporting the vault, she lifts up her creature in her arms, and says, “Here I am. On his behalf, Oh God, I speak these words to you. Here I am, to do your will. And I Mary and my spouse, Joseph within. Here are your servants, oh, Lord, by your will always be done by us. And every hour, and every event for your glory and your love.” Then Joseph bends down and prays Then Mary bends down and says here Joseph, take him and offers him the child. What I me Oh, no, I’m not worthy. Joseph is utterly dumbfounded at the idea of having to touch God. But Mary is smiling. You are well worthy. No one is more worthy than you are. And that is why the most High chose you. Take him Joseph and hold him while I look for the linen. Joseph blushing almost purple, stretches his arms and takes the baby who is screaming because of the cold and when he has them in his arms. He no longer persist in the intention of holding him far from himself out of respect, but he presses him to his heart and burst into tears exclaiming, oh, Lord, my God. So I’ll stop there. There’s, there’s more, but I’ll stop there. Just remember a passage of St. Faustina at one Christmas, Midnight Mass, who wrote that during the offertory I saw Jesus on the altar, and comparably beautiful. The whole time, the infant, kept looking at everyone stretching out his little hands. And so Jesus was giving her a vision, to remind us of the truth of our faith that in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, he truly becomes present on the altar, to be with us, God with us. And so, with St. Joseph and our Blessed Mother, with the shepherds of Bethlehem with all the great choirs of angels, let us also let Jesus act in our life tonight. You can ask him to come to you tonight. And whether we feel anything or not is not important. We can make an act of faith that He is here, and He loves us. And that’s what communion is to each person personally. Because that’s a sign that God’s love for you is a personal love until He comes personally to you in Holy Communion. He often comes like He did that first Christmas very gently, very quietly. And so we ask our Blessed Mother and St. Joseph to help give us the faith, to receive Him tonight and to pray, Come, Lord Jesus. Amen.
KEYWORDS / PHRASES:
Luke 2:1-14