Christmas: Source of Unbroken Hope
A famous poem reminds us, in this trying year, that the Christmas mysteries promise the triumph of God's power over all adversity.
FR. HUGH BARBOUR, O. PRAEM. • 12/24/2020
Homily for Christmas Day, 2020 Henry Wadsworth Long...
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Homily for Christmas Day, 2020
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the most revered American poet of the nineteenth century, wrote a poem on Christmas Day of 1863. He had just lost his wife in death, and his son had gone off to the war without any warning and been horribly wounded. We are familiar with shorter versions of this song sung to a familiar tune by famous crooners and ensembles, but when we read the whole poem, we understand the spirit—melancholy, yet ultimately hopeful—with which he wrote it.
Our Savior came into the world precisely for times such as these in which we live. His infant face is the “light which shines in the darkness” which “the darkness cannot overcome.” Whatever the trials which we must endure, including anxiety, social upheaval, financial woes, ailments, and our own sinful weaknesses, we must be convinced as followers of this little Child, of his power, even now, to save and heal and lift up.
At this holy time let us give ourselves to earnest and heartfelt prayer for all who throughout the world are enduring troubles on a grand scale that they are unable to control or prevent. The prayers of Christians for the human race are joined to those of Christ, his holy mother, and all the saints and angels, and are very effective for the good of our souls and for the happiness and salvation of our neighbors.
Prayer is what brought the Savior to earth: the insistent cries of “Come!” that were poured out this Advent and in every age from the fall of our first parents until his appearing, and all the way to our own time when “we await the blessed hope and the coming of Our Savior Jesus Christ.”
It is all too easy to forget the sweet duty and the power of prayer when our minds are crowded with so many things from our lives and from the artificial voices of the many media of communication. Yet there is one means of communication that always reaches to the heart of things, even to the throne of God and the crib of the Infant Lord, and the hearts of all who in this transitory life are afflicted with any trouble, sorrow, need, sickness, or any adversity.
In our own powerlessness we are confronted with the powerlessness of the Child of Bethlehem. We discover that this powerlessness is only apparent, and that what is hidden beneath all the burdens of this life is in fact an infinite, gracious, and saving power. Let us take up this power and make it our own, and when we find our minds wandering, then let us right away lift our hearts and minds to Jesus who has come to save us, and trust in him as he trusted his eternal Father, and gave himself up to the care of Mary and Joseph.
This practice of prayer, should it become habitual, will be a real source of strength and blessing for all whom we love and all with whom we share this earth, expecting a “new heaven and a new earth” where justice dwells.
Consider the words of this homely poem, and see how it combines, as only a Christian prayer can, the melancholy of trying events with a firm and sure hope in the power of God, and then our hearts can know and our lips can speak a true “Merry Christmas.”
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”
