Crossing the Potomac on the bridge the CSX railroad shares with Appalachian Trail hikers as well as less ambitious walkers like me, I saw them: the padlocks. Many alien objects cling to that old bridge, from the disintegrating wooden crosspieces that held the ancient telephone wires, to neon-colored stickers for musical groups and outdoor equipment. But most eye-catching are the padlocks on the fencing, brackets, and every fixture or protuberance that will hold them.
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| Padlocks on the CSX bridge over the Potomac. The couple you see here did not add to the padlocks. |
Years ago, while still living in Rome, I first saw this bizarre phenomenon: clusters of padlocks clinging to the ancient and elegant bridges there: the Ponte degli Angeli, the Ponte Sisto. In response to my baffled question, someone explained to me that there had been a movie, or maybe a television show, featuring a young couple desperately enamored of one another who visited Paris. While strolling the City of Lights, the moon-eyed twosome paused on one of the beautiful bridges there to pledge their undying affection. One of them whipped out a padlock and clicked it to the rail as a token of their enduring love. Millions of people saw that show, and bought padlocks; the bridges of the world now sag beneath the burden.
The padlock phenomenon reflects the universal human desire to make visible what is invisible, and to make permanent what is best, highest, and most beautiful in us. It does not necessarily take a padlock, because human genius can come up with an infinite variety of ways to try to do this. But because human genius is a reflection of the divine genius, God Himself is the one to ‘pull it off’, to make visible what is invisible, and make permanent the highest of which we are fleetingly capable, love.
That is why we come, to adore Him Who is the invisible God in human flesh, His own love; the eternal Word of the Father, spoken from before all eternity, which shall not pass away.
Christmas is very much about what we see, what finally we are able to see. Hidden but growing in His mother’s womb for nine months since His Incarnation, the enfleshment of God, now He appears at His Nativity, His birth, revealed before the marveling eyes of all who heed the host of angels. What is by nature invisible, God, makes Himself visible. Jesus is God’s ‘padlock.’
This is clearly laid out in the ancient text of the Preface of the Nativity, the prayer of the Mass after the Offering is completed, which follows the Lift up your hearts dialogue and precedes the Holy Holy Holy.
For in the mystery of the Word made flesh a new light of your glory has shone upon the eyes of our mind, so that, as we recognize in him God made visible, we may be caught up through him in love of things invisible.
At Christmas, we recognize in the infant whom we see, the invisible God we long to see. And in that last phrase of the preface, where we pray to be ‘caught up,’ the Latin verb is rapiamur, a very strong, dramatic expression that means snatched up; embraced and taken away. There is almost a violence to it. Through our adoration of this baby we can see, we want to be snatched up and carried away into love of the things of God, divine reality, eternal life, and love, which until now had been invisible.
God’s padlock is now visible, like the ones the couples write their names on and clasp to the bridge. Moreover, God’s padlock is what any amorous pair can only dream of accomplishing with their padlock, or their love: God’s padlock is permanent.
Cristina and Luigi, Marie and Pierre, Barbara and Joe want the padlock not only to be a sign of their love’s existence, but also to be a sign of its endurance. You need not be a cynic to recognize that the padlocks will outlast the love they represent in too many cases. Human love is fickle, and weak.
However, even when love perdures in faithfulness and forgiveness, and our happy couple live a married life of mutual respect and fidelity, that love will pass away when they do. Because not only can a padlock be destroyed and removed, the bridge itself one day will crumble into the water.
The love poem we know as The Song of Solomon is one book in the Old Testament that seems not to fit at all, until we realize it rhapsodizes and reveals the divine love that comes to snatch us up and carry us away. You will recognize this passage, often read at weddings: Set me as a seal on your heart, as a seal on your arm; For stern as death is love, relentless as the nether world is devotion; its flames are a blazing fire. Deep waters cannot quench love, nor floods sweep it away. (Song of Solomon 8:6-7)
That ‘floods cannot sweep it away” part appeals to young couple, but the only love that lasts, the love that the Song of Solomon describes, is the love Who comes in the manger. And because He is perfect love, consummated in His giving up His life and His body to death on the Cross, He is the bridge that does not wash away. His body, once tiny and helpless, later laid in the tomb, is raised; His body dwells now and forever in glory in the Divine Communion that is the Triune God, Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit.
The baby Jesus not only is God’s padlock, but He Himself also is the bridge; the bridge between God and Man, between heaven and earth, the bridge from death into life. Deep waters cannot quench love, nor floods sweep it away. He Himself is the ever-lasting Way, He is the Love Who bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails. (1 Corinthians 13:7)
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Our parish’s new Nativity set, which is the image of the Image of the invisible God. |
When I see those padlocks on a bridge, in West Virginia, or Paris, or Rome, I see people yearning to make love visible, and to make love last. What I want to show those people is what I hope you see this Christmas, that God has accomplished what they crave, has done precisely this: make love visible, and make love last. Look at the Child, whose image is in the manger, and whose flesh is on the altar. This is the sight come to snatch you up and carry you away to know and enjoy forever the invisible love of God.
Blessed Christmas to you, not only from me, but also from Father Santandreu and Father Novajosky, and from the good people whose days are spent here in the rectory to make you know God’s care. Peace be on your houses; in your families, peace; and in your hearts, Christ’s peace.
Monsignor Smith
