merry christmas at l'arche ottawa

Merry Christmas: Christmas Eve Homily at L'Arche Ottawa

Something we are all thinking and feeling this year, but not saying out loud, is how hard this past year has been for all of us mostly because of that blasted Covid-19 virus. It has turned everything upside-down and inside-out: it has brought suffering and sometimes death to those we love, it has thoroughly disrupted our routines and securities, and it has caused us to be creative and unusually patient amid the agonizing stress, anxiety, and confusion. And while I join you all in praying, wishing, hoping, social distancing, masking, and hand-washing that this dark time of disease will be over soon, I am also aware that in ways that are mysterious and far greater than my understanding the contagion is showing me just how much we are like the vulnerable Christ Child Jesus born this night in the city of David as our Savior.

What I mean by this is that God came into the world for us as a baby – a small, helpless child born into a cold night to humble parents who were trying to make sense of life in a nation occupied by a sometimes cruel and always demanding invading army – and this wasn’t an accident. For this infant to thrive, it was essential that someone held and caressed him, loved and clothed him, changed his messy diapers, sang to him, fed and nurtured him, too because he couldn’t do it himself. I’m not being sentimental or coy here: the smallness of the one we call Messiah was not an accident – and tells us two surprising truths about the blessings and responsibilities of Christmas:

First, the Christ Child makes clear that God is found in what is small, what is

weak, what is hidden. Fr. Henri Nouwen, who spent his last years in community at L’Arche Daybreak in Toronto used to say that most of us look for the Lord in big, impressive, and loud happenings that document the Creator’s power. We expect God to show up in “spectacles, power plays, significant and extraordinary events” that will change the course of history. We, ourselves, are often taken-in by wealth, prestige, and sparkling things that glitter and shine. We can be so easily distracted. Perhaps that is why the Lord chose to come to us as a small child of Palestin-ian peasants in an insignificant stable surrounded by animals and shepherds. The way of God’s kingdom is humble, simple, small, and so very vulnerable. The first surprise about Christmas is that the holy shows up for us in the most unlikely little places – and if we refuse to look for God in what is small, Fr. Nouwen suggests, we will likely give-in to despair.

The second surprise about the Christ Child’s birth is that each of us has a small, tender, afraid, wounded, and little place within our hearts, souls and memories that needs the same comfort and caring as the baby Jesus. We don’t like to 

confess this: we’d rather look strong, significant and in control. But that vulnerable infant part of us still cries out to be loved, still aches to be held, still yearns to be cherished and comforted in a harsh and frightening world. During this blasted pandemic I rediscovered how afraid and confusing life can be – and how much I need God’s comforting presence as well as the love and encouragement of others I trust to be safe and kind, too. During these covid days, I am keenly aware of the Christ Child within me.

One of mysteries of suffering is that it reveals some of the ways we must change; some of the ways we are still small, broken, and tender; and some of the ways we can share God’s love with other who are hurting and anxious. Our dark days are not dissimilar to the night into which Jesus was born once – and continues to be born among us still in small, childlike acts of love and trust. For me, and for our community, this is where I believe God’s good news is being revealed this Christmas. And for that I say: Thanks be to God!