Welcome to PINS OF LIGHT!

Note:  This homily was delivered last 23 December at the Simbang Gabi Mass in the Gesu,  Ateneo de Manila University.

Just one more day to go before the day we celebrate the birth of our Lord!

But not so fast! The past couple of evenings, we have been invited first to think about another birth—the birth of our Lord’s cousin, John the Baptist. Amidst all the excitement and rejoicing in that household that day, one person was strangely silent: the father of the newborn baby, Zechariah. In the gospel story today, he more than makes up for it by breaking his silence and breaking into song, giving us one of the loveliest songs in the New Testament.

Lately I’ve been thinking about Zechariah. I have a suspicion that this silent character has something to say to us—a message that God wants us to hear loud and clear as we rush about in our last-minute preparations for Christmas.

Many of us already know his story. For many years Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth had prayed for a son—but to their growing dismay, their prayers were unanswered. In fact, when the angel Gabriel visited Mary at the Annunciation, he referred to Elizabeth as she “who is called barren,” hinting at the suffering that this old couple must have borne all those years. You see, for the Jews, being barren was a sure sign of God’s curse, and surely Zechariah and Elizabeth had to endure an endless series of embarrassing questions until people finally “got it” and stopped bringing it up in conversation.

Many of us know the feeling. We each have perhaps one area or aspect in our lives that doesn’t quite conform to people’s expectations—or our own: Maybe the pressure to perform or accomplish something in our studies, at work, or in sports; our own longing to belong; or our desire—or our parents’ desire or our spouse’s desire—for us to measure up in some way. Unfortunately, whatever it is, it’s not happening; and we just keep falling short. At first, well-meaning people express their concern by asking about it, unaware of the discomfort or pain their questions may cause. Then they begin to tiptoe around the topic, while others who are less kind cup their hand over their mouths and murmur behind our backs. The interrogations may have stopped, but the judgment remains there in people’s eyes—not to mention the pity.

I think this is how we ought to imagine Zechariah when the angel Gabriel appeared to him in the temple to announce the good news about Elizabeth’s long-awaited pregnancy. “Do not be afraid, Zechariah,“ the angel began, “for your prayer has been heard, and your wife will bear you a son.”

How many years Zechariah had longed to hear these words! So can we blame him if after the angel finishes his speech, Zechariah asks, “How will I know this?” If we read between the lines, I guess what he was thinking was: “Yeah, right! Now, how can I be sure?”

Well, the angel Gabriel must have read his mind. It’s too bad, I think, that the angel decided to strike him mute. Maybe he was having a particularly bad hair day, having a long list of chores and errands he had to run in preparation for this first Christmas.

I don’t know about you, but don’t you think Zechariah had a perfectly valid question? I mean, can we honestly blame the old man for asking the angel for some kind of proof? After all, I think Zechariah exemplifies the classic case of someone who has experienced the hazards of prolonged waiting. I mean, the guy is practically a victim of Advent!

Think about it: All his life, he and his wife waited—and were kept waiting—for years!

Unfortunately, something happens to us when we wait too long. Our hopes can be dashed only so much. Our hearts can be broken only so often. Our breath can be held only for so long. After a while, we get blue in the face. Worst of all, our hearts too can turn blue: We grow weary with waiting. We tire of hoping. And we eventually give up on praying for that one thing we’ve so long longed for.

Again we know the feeling, don’t we? We know what it feels like to be let down by life too often. We can only take so much! After a while, after getting beaten down too much, after watching our dreams not take flight too often, we end up getting disillusioned. We grow skeptical. We become jaded. We give up, we stop believing, and we stop hoping. We lose the capacity to imagine that what’s impossible can actually happen. But isn’t that what Christmas is all about when we think about it? The impossible happening. The unexpected unfolding. The unimaginable exploding in the very manger of our jaded, dream-weary world.

What was it again that the angel said to Mary? “Nothing is impossible with God.” We have to be willing to believe in the impossible. We have to be capable of stretching our imagination. And we have to be willing to hold our breath for as long as we can in anticipation of the surprises God has in store for us.

We can't blame him, but the problem with Zechariah was that after waiting too long and being let down too often, he simply stopped believing in the impossible. He got sick of trying to stretch his imagination and eventually just refused to be surprised. I think Zechariah was the original guy who stopped believing in Santa Claus—so that when Santa finally slipped down their old chimney in the guise of an angel, all Zechariah could manage was raise a question and an eyebrow.

Whoever said we shouldn’t replace Christ with Santa Claus is of course right in criticizing the commercialization of Christmas. Santa Claus should never take the place of our Lord at the center of Christmas. But tonight I’d like to propose that we still need to believe in Santa. I’d like to suggest that this jolly character deserves his place right there in the belen along with the Holy Family and the angels, huddled with the shepherds and the wise men, and surrounded by the ox and donkey.

Over a hundred years ago, in 1897, an 8-year old girl named Virginia wrote the editor of the New York Sun a letter that led to an editorial that became the most reprinted editorial to run in any newspaper in the English language.

The letter said:

“Dear editor, I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, ‘If you see it in The Sun, it is so’. Please tell me the truth: Is there a Santa Claus?” Signed, Virginia, O’Hanlon.

Here’s a portion of the editor’s response—as timely today as it was over a hundred years ago:

“Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except what they see.

“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.”

And so, here’s what I think is God’s message to us through the story and character of Zechariah, addressed especially to the Zechariah's in us: “Yes, there is a Santa Claus!” Not the literal old jolly bearded man in a red suit, of course, but all the good things that he stands for: Joy, generosity, goodness, even magic…

If we can’t bring ourselves to believe in what Santa stands for, how can we even begin to believe in this wonderful mystery of the Infinite God Himself climbing down our chimneys to become a baby in a manger, to be one of us and one like us?

For me, our old friend Zechariah is the unsung hero of Advent. He is the poster boy of waiting because in the end God made sure that despite all those years of disappointments, he could once again hold his breath for the impossible.

This evening, just a night away from Christmas day, the day we’ve all been waiting for, the Lord invites us to gather our faded dreams, to resuscitate our tired imagination, and hold all the hopes and dreams of this world in our jaded hearts—and retrieve our faith in miracles: Let us remember what it means to dream. Let us believe once again in the impossible. And let us wait and hold our breath for Him Who, after all those centuries, will no longer keep us waiting.

Tonight we tell ourselves as in a prayer: “Yes, Virginia, and yes, Zechariah, there is a Santa Claus!” If we can’t believe in Santa, how can we believe in that surprise of surprises and that miracle of miracles we call Christmas?

Lord, tonight we thank you for the gift of Christmas.

Note: This homily was delivered during the Christmas Midnight Mass in Xavier School last 24 December 2009.

Over 500 years before the very first Christmas, between 620 to 560 BC, there lived in Ancient Greece a famous storyteller. His name was Aesop, and he wrote children's stories that were called fables. These fables always had a valuable lesson to teach not only children but even adults. I’m sure you’ve heard of some of them—like “The Tortoise and the Hare,” “The North Wind and the Sun,” and “The Boy Who Cried Wolf.”

Anyway, I think one of his lesser-known fables is actually quite relevant on Christmas eve. The fable is called “The Dog in the Manger.” And here is how it goes:

“Once a dog found a cowshed while looking for food. The cows happened to be away for work, so the dog climbed on to a pile of hay in the manger hoping to find something to eat. Being hungry, it began to chew on the hay, but as we know, dogs don’t eat hay, so he hated the taste and decided not to eat. Instead he laid on the manger and fell asleep.

“In the evening the cows returned to their cowshed, tired and hungry from a whole day’s work. But when they approached the manger, they found the dog lying on top of the hay.

“One of the cows politely said to the dog, “Would you please get off our manger? We’re quite hungry and it’s time to eat our dinner.”

“But the dog snarled at them and refused to budge.

“The cows shook their heads. ‘What a selfish dog!’ they mooed in chorus. ‘Dogs don’t eat hay, so why don’t you let us cows enjoy our dinner?’

“But the dog just ignored their pleas and stayed atop the hay, guarding the manger jealously as if it was filled with meat and bones instead of hay.

“At this point, the farmer walked in and saw what was happening. He promptly picked up his rifle and drove the dog away. The wisest of the cows shook its head sadly and uttered the moral lesson of the story.”

Okay, what do you think is the moral lesson of the fable?

A. Never leave your food lying around unattended, as someone else may grab it from you.

B. We should be adventurous and be willing to try out new dishes.

C. We should let other people enjoy the things that we cannot enjoy.

D. None of the Above. AND what does this story have to do with Christmas anyway?!!

If you chose A, B, or especially D, sorry, but your answer is wrong. The correct answer is, of course, C: We should let other people enjoy the things that we cannot ourselves enjoy.” Unlike the dog! Even if the dog couldn’t eat hay, he selfishly kept the cows from enjoying it. So he kind of deserved the beating he got from the farmer!

The term “dog in the manger” has actually become a label for selfish people who would rather that no one enjoys something because he or she cannot enjoy it. The comic strip Peanuts has a story about this: Lucy gets a baseball card of Charlie Brown’s favorite player, and she refuses to give it to him. After he finally walks away from her depressed, Lucy decides she doesn’t really like the card that much and throws it away instead of giving it to Charlie. Lucy is an example of someone who is being a “dog in the manger” because instead of giving away what she doesn't like so that Charlie Brown can have it, she prefers to discard it.

Now let’s turn to those who answered “D” and are wondering what this fable’s got to do with Christmas.

The Christmas story is about a different kind of manger. When the angels appeared to the shepherds that first Christmas night and announced the good news of the Savior’s birth, the sign they gave the shepherds was “a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” How different this Christmas manger is from Aesop’s manger! And how exactly opposite is the meaning of the child in the manger to the dog in the manger!

Think about it:

The dog in the manger is about being proud even if we don’t have a right to do that the way the dog in the fable didn’t have any right over the hay. The child in the manger, on the other hand, is about being humble. God Who is Infinite Power decides to humble Himself and become a helpless baby in a manger found in some cold and smelly stable.

The dog in the manger is about being selfish and keeping things all to ourselves—even the things we don’t really need or want. The child in the manger is about sharing what we have with others and giving of ourselves. This is what Christmas is all about: God becoming human so that He can share His life and happiness with us. And as we know, He wants to give Himself to us, and in the Eucharist He offers Himself as our food—literally! That’s why the Lord Jesus in the manger is so significant because He wants us to feed on Him as the Bread of Life!

Remember that Aesop's story was created 500 years before Christ was born.  So it's almost as if God decided to rewrite Aesop's fable about the dog in the manger with the life story of His Only Son.  This Christmas, maybe one way of preparing ourselves for our Lord’s birthday is to ask ourselves this question: “What is in my manger?”

Do I have a watchdog in my manger jealously guarding and watching over what I have and own? In other words, when I examine myself and my life, do I tend to be selfish and proud? Do I tend to be resentful when others are happy? Is life for me a race, a battle, that only I should be able to win?

Or have I put myself in my manger just as the Lord did that very first Christmas? In other words, do I offer myself to others and share all that I have with others instead of keeping others away from what I have? Am I trying to imitate the God of Christmas, who had absolutely no qualms about humbling Himself and sharing Himself and giving himself away for the good of others?

If we have not yet put ourselves in the manger, perhaps we can do just that tonight because I think that’s going to be the best gift that we can ever give to our Lord Jesus on His birthday. After all, it is only when we humbly and selflessly offer ourselves to others, it is only when we put our selves and our lives in the manger and are willing to give ourselves away, will we ever find the Child Jesus Himself there.

May all of us have a blessed Christmas!