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In this our age of marvels of human accomplishment in technology and society almost daily transforming the details of life, comfort, and survival, there is one accomplishment that stands above all the others. It has no screen nor power cord, uses energy generated neither by fossil fuels nor by renewables, and does not involve space travel. No, the greatest human accomplishment is human life, that is, a new one: a baby.
Funny, you say, for a chaste celibate to say that, and you may be right. But laugh with me, not at me; I am amazed, astounded, and delighted at the reality that regularly and routinely and with very little fanfare, relatively speaking, experienced veterans and absolute rookies alike bring forth from their communion a brand new human person, whole and entire, never before seen even in part or portion. Wow.
Perhaps because of the universality of this amazing accomplishment, it does not receive the attention or amazement that it deserves. It may be also, I must acknowledge, because of the world-weariness that comes with sophistication, of which our age enjoys entirely more than is healthy; and the cynicism borne of so many novelties announced that fail to deliver anything truly new, much less good. Only God can create a person; but in the wisdom of God, he allows and requires that human beings help Him in this creation.
The great blessing of our parish is the recognition of the goodness of this essential human participation in the divine work of life. It starts with the news, a whisper in my ear at the church door that we have a little one on the way, or, alternatively, beaming and bouncing children announcing Mommy is having a BABY!
Outside our communion but close around us, such developments are widely held to be a penalty, a punishment, or a problem. Accusatory glances and dark countermeasures are offered without circumspection or concern. Because of this, news of the miracle is withheld or reserved, becoming instead a cause of caution or even embarrassment.
This discouraging effect is doubly damaging since the awareness of this great new creation growing within does bring genuine concerns, real problems and quandaries, and that most basic of human questions, self-doubt: am I up to this? How to explore and share fears and dilemmas in the face of opprobrium? How to find help or encouragement where there is only destruction on offer? Genuine wonder and delight before the splendor of human life includes candor about the difficulties as well.
Last year at one of our parish events there was present a family with a new member, a child whose age was still measured in weeks, rather than months. To watch the excited reactions and responses among two groups of our parishioners was a wondrous thing: those most affected were the adolescent girls, and the experienced fathers, who took turns holding, bouncing, attending to and delighting in the little bundle of humanity. Mom was delighted to have her hands free for a moment, rightly confident that not an instant of neglect or indifference would come near the child.
This is what I see among our parishioners of every age. A genuine delight in the coming of a new human life into our world and our community, accompanied with genuine care for the needs of the people who are now and will ever be responsible for this demanding creation. These two aspect are not counterbalanced opposites, but rather the integrated whole of healthy understanding and engagement.
A unique and unrepeatable human person is a complicated organism, and needy, especially – though hardly exclusively – when fresh and new. The first man on the moon was once a helpless infant; the discoverers of penicillin and the polio vaccine both had to be nurtured and nursed. The hand that sculpted the Pietà and painted the Sistine Chapel was once a tiny clenched fist. The voice that enchanted multitudes at one time could only squall and burble. Every pair of eyes that ever searched for truth and beauty was once slow to open and focus. Every human life that ever crafted, produced, or offered anything good began as an infant who could only require and receive.
The marvel of every infant is the mystery of unknowable unicity, the beginning of something original in the truest sense: a life that will originate realities that endure through history and eternity. What better reason could there be for us to offer care, and love?
But love is not transactional, a down-payment toward eventual return. No, love is itself that most marvelous capacity in each human life, perfect when offered without hope of repayment. This, too, is a gift an infant gives.
This is how God comes. Shed of his power and majesty, confined by every human need, yet He offers us the very power that defines the Divine: He allows us, invites us, empowers us to love as God loves, both to delight and to care without any expectation of gain. He teaches us, as a new child teaches us, what we are capable of, what we are for, and what gives us genuine joy and satisfaction: to love without counting the cost.
It is so refreshing and so human to live among people who not only know this, but live this. It is not some imposition from without, some demand or duty placed by authority and checked by enforcement, but rather the revelation of our God who loves us and wants us to be happy. The old English carol Masters in this Hall gets the point across quite clearly:
This is Christ the Lord,
Masters be ye glad!
Christmas is come in,
And no folk should be sad.
No folk should be sad, indeed. The little ones are the greatest among us, because their need invites, even cajoles us to exercise our resemblance to God. Pray God turn the eyes of the “masters” around us, who fear the loss of autonomy a child brings, who fear the loss of their “mastery” an infant demands. Let them see what we know and enjoy, that our hope and our help comes to us as one who is helpless; by Him are we “holpen”, that is, helped.
Nowell! Nowell! Nowell!
Nowell, sing we clear!
Holpen are all folk on earth,
Born is God's son so dear:
Nowell! Nowell! Nowell!
Nowell, sing we loud!
God to-day hath poor folk raised
And cast a-down the proud.
I thank you for sharing your children, and your delight in them, with me and with one another. Together we thank God for sharing His child with us, and likening His delight in you and me to His delight in Him.
Marvel with me at new life, squawking and squalling in a bundle. It is the Lord! May the blessings He brings be in your homes and in your lives, and the joy of His Nativity unite you with loved ones far away. Blessed and merry Christmas.
