On Christmas Eve this year, in the midst of driving all over Pennsylvania visiting my niece and nephew, my family, my wife's family, etc, I did at last find of a moment of quiet peace in a very familiar place. My wife and I attended Mass at Our Lady of Czestochowa National Shrine in Doylestown, PA, which itself is a hidden treasure amongst America's Catholic places, not so much for its physical beauty, but for its authentically Polish character. The Shrine has a replica of the original Jasna Gora chapel in Czestochowa, Poland, a place where I once visited, then a somewhat oblivious college student, but nevertheless a place that certainly left a spiritual imprint in me. One familiar with the history of the Polish people in the past century cannot help but feel that subtle sadness that is in the Polish soul, and at the Shrine in Doylestown PA, the Pauline Fathers and Polish pilgrims sometimes have that sad look in their eye.
But on Christmas there is great joy, for they still worship, and they still proclaim the truth that is Christmas: God has become a baby.
So here in the middle of a solemn Mass, thankful for an opportunity to pray in an otherwise busy Christmas season, I experienced a deeper glimpse of this Christmas truth. As my wife and I were singing "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel", I noticed beside us in the pew two small girls, no more than 6 and 9 years old. Both had their gaze transfixed, with eyes and mouths open, and the tiniest hint of a smile on each of their faces. They were looking in awe and joy at my wife's belly. In this our fifth month of pregnancy awaiting our first child, she is shining with the splendor of the truth that is Christmas. I couldn't help but think that these girls were putting it all together in their minds. For the story of Christmas is so tangibly mysterious. One can touch the mystery. It is as mysterious as the fact that I have watched my wife's belly grow silently for these past months, carrying a human being that will soon breathe the springtime air with us. But Christmas is tangible for the same reason. I joined the girls and looked down at her belly too, and just took in the mystery, with a smile and a tender awareness of my wife's beauty.
How familiar the Gospel story becomes! Mary becomes pregnant, Joseph travels with her, it's hard to find a place to sleep at night...this all sounds like my first year of marriage. But the deeper meaning behind it all, the deeper truth, the tangible mystery revealed to us is that this Mother is bringing God into the world. Her baby is divine. Whatever one thinks of Christianity, it certainly cannot be that it is dull, and it is certainly not like any other religion! God becomes a baby. This truth that I have been hearing since I was a child took on more tangibly mysterious meaning as I gazed on my wife's belly this Christmas.
The Gospel story once again hit home, literally, as it hits the family. The Gospel story suggests to us today that we have lost the true meaning of "home." Home has been traded for house. Jesus' birth in a stable, in a manger, shows definitively that "home" has nothing to do with walls, or square footage, or amenities, but everything to do with a mother, a father, and a baby. And as these two girls and I admired my wife's humble beauty, the story of Christmas became real, and it beckoned us to worship a humble God. And so we gave praise this Christmas for our own baby, but in a more profound and meaningful way, we gave praise for Mary's.
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