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SOLEMNITY OF THE NATIVITY OF THE LORD
PAPAL MASS
HOMILY OF HIS HOLINESS POPE FRANCIS
Vatican Basilica
Monday, 24 December 2018
Monday, 24 December 2018
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Joseph with Mary his spouse, went up “to the city of David called Bethlehem” (Lk 2:4). Tonight, we too, go to Bethlehem, there to discover the mystery of Christmas.
Bethlehem: the name means house of bread. In this
“house”, the Lord today wants to encounter all mankind. He knows that we
need food to live. Yet he also knows that the nourishments of this
world do not satisfy the heart. In Scripture, the original sin of
humanity is associated precisely with taking food: our first parents
“took of the fruit and ate”, says the Book of Genesis (cf. 3:6). They
took and ate. Mankind became greedy and voracious. In our day, for many
people, life’s meaning is found in possessing, in having an excess of
material objects. An insatiable greed marks all human history, even
today, when, paradoxically, a few dine luxuriantly while all too many go
without the daily bread needed to survive.
Bethlehem is the turning point that alters the course of history. There God, in the house of bread, is born in a manger.
It is as if he wanted to say: “Here I am, as your food”. He does not
take, but gives us to eat; he does not give us a mere thing, but his
very self. In Bethlehem, we discover that God does not take life, but
gives it. To us, who from birth are used to taking and eating, Jesus
begins to say: “Take and eat. This is my body” (Mt 26:26). The
tiny body of the Child of Bethlehem speaks to us of a new way to live
our lives: not by devouring and hoarding, but by sharing and giving. God
makes himself small so that he can be our food. By feeding on him, the
bread of life, we can be reborn in love, and break the spiral of
grasping and greed. From the “house of bread”, Jesus brings us back
home, so that we can become God’s family, brothers and sisters to our
neighbours. Standing before the manger, we understand that the food of
life is not material riches but love, not gluttony but charity, not
ostentation but simplicity.
The Lord knows that we need to be fed daily. That is why he offered
himself to us every day of his life: from the manger in Bethlehem to the
Upper Room in Jerusalem. Today too, on the altar, he becomes bread
broken for us; he knocks at our door, to enter and eat with us (cf. Rev 3:20).
At Christmas, we on earth receive Jesus, the bread from heaven. It is a
bread that never grows stale, but enables us even now to have a
foretaste of eternal life.
In Bethlehem, we discover that the life of God can enter into our
hearts and dwell there. If we welcome that gift, history changes,
starting with each of us. For once Jesus dwells in our heart, the centre
of life is no longer my ravenous and selfish ego, but the One who is
born and lives for love. Tonight, as we hear the summons to go up to
Bethlehem, the house of bread, let us ask ourselves: What is the bread
of my life, what is it that I cannot do without? Is it the Lord, or
something else? Then, as we enter the stable, sensing in the tender
poverty of the newborn Child a new fragrance of life, the odour of
simplicity, let us ask ourselves: Do I really need all these material
objects and complicated recipes for living? Can I manage without all
these unnecessary extras and live a life of greater simplicity? In
Bethlehem, beside where Jesus lay, we see people who themselves had made
a journey: Mary, Joseph and the shepherds. Jesus is bread for the
journey. He does not like long, drawn-out meals, but bids us rise
quickly from table in order to serve, like bread broken for others. Let
us ask ourselves: At Christmas do I break my bread with those who have
none?
After Bethlehem as the house of bread, let us reflect on Bethlehem as the city of David.
There the young David was a shepherd, and as such was chosen by God to
be the shepherd and leader of his people. At Christmas, in the city of
David, it was the shepherds who welcomed Jesus into the world. On that
night, the Gospel tells us, “they were filled with fear” (Lk 2:9), but the angel said to them “Be not be afraid” (v. 10). How many times do we hear this phrase in the Gospels: “Be not afraid”?
It seems that God is constantly repeating it as he seeks us out.
Because we, from the beginning, because of our sin, have been afraid of
God; after sinning, Adam says: “I was afraid and so I hid” (Gen 3:10).
Bethlehem is the remedy for this fear, because despite man’s repeated
“no”, God constantly says “yes”. He will always be God-with-us. And lest
his presence inspire fear, he makes himself a tender Child. Be not afraid:
these words were not spoken to saints but to shepherds, simple people
who in those days were certainly not known for their refined manners and
piety. The Son of David was born among shepherds in order to tell us
that never again will anyone be alone and abandoned; we have a Shepherd
who conquers our every fear and loves us all, without exception.
The shepherds of Bethlehem also tell us how to go forth to meet the
Lord. They were keeping watch by night: they were not sleeping, but
doing what Jesus often asks all of us to do, namely, be watchful (cf. Mt 25:13; Mk 13:35; Lk 21:36). They remain alert and attentive in the darkness; and God’s light then “shone around them” (Lk 2:9). This is also the case for us. Our life can be marked by waiting,
which amid the gloom of our problems hopes in the Lord and yearns for
his coming; then we will receive his life. Or our life can be marked by wanting,
where all that matters are our own strengths and abilities; our heart
then remains barred to God’s light. The Lord loves to be awaited, and we
cannot await him lying on a couch, sleeping. So the shepherds
immediately set out: we are told that they “went with haste” (v. 16).
They do not just stand there like those who think they have already
arrived and need do nothing more. Instead they set out; they leave their
flocks unguarded; they take a risk for God. And after seeing Jesus,
although they were not men of fine words, they go off to proclaim his
birth, so that “all who heard were amazed at what the shepherds told
them” (v. 18).
To keep watch, to set out, to risk, to recount the beauty: all these are acts of love.
The Good Shepherd, who at Christmas comes to give his life to the
sheep, will later, at Easter, ask Peter and, through him all of us, the
ultimate question: “Do you love me?” (Jn 21:15). The future of
the flock will depend on how that question is answered. Tonight we too
are asked to respond to Jesus with the words: “I love you”. The answer
given by each is essential for the whole flock.
“Let us go now to Bethlehem” (Lk 2:15). With these words, the
shepherds set out. We too, Lord, want to go up to Bethlehem. Today too,
the road is uphill: the heights of our selfishness need to be
surmounted, and we must not lose our footing or slide into worldliness
and consumerism.
I want to come to Bethlehem, Lord, because there you await me. I want to realize that you, lying in a manger, are the bread of my life.
I need the tender fragrance of your love so that I, in turn, can be
bread broken for the world. Take me upon your shoulders, Good Shepherd;
loved by you, I will be able to love my brothers and sisters and to take
them by the hand. Then it will be Christmas, when I can say to you:
“Lord you know everything; you know that I love you” (cf. Jn 21:17).
