Homilies

HOMILY FOR THE MIDNIGHT MASS OF THE NATIVITY OF THE LORD – ST MARY’S CATHEDRAL, SYDNEY

25 Dec 2016


Homily for the Midnight Mass of the Nativity of the Lord
St Mary’s Cathedral, Sydney

What sound most moves us? A natural one such as a thunder-clap, rain on a tin roof, or a kookaburra’s laugh? Or a more human sound, such as the weeping of a well-played violin or of those who must listen to one being played badly? A siren racing a patient to hospital? Or the wedding march as newlyweds embark on a new life together? Hold onto your answer as we consider a rather more theological question…

Cur Deus homo? Why did God become man? It has puzzled Christians from the beginning. God could surely have joined us or saved us in some other way. He didn’t need to empty Himself of His divine qualities, assume a human nature, grow up as a child and die as a young man.

A millennium ago the philosopher-bishop St Anselm, drawing upon Scripture and the Fathers, answered as follows: human beings desperately needed to be reconciled; yet we could not bring this about because no merely human being could sufficiently atone for all we’ve done to separate ourselves from God and each other. But if we can’t do it for ourselves, it would be unjust for any other sort of being to atone on our behalf. The only solution: “God so loved the world He gave His only Son… who emptied Himself… assuming human form… even accepting death”.1 As God He could be and do so much more than we could to reconcile us, yet as man He could be and do those things as one of us.

This is a good explanation, but it seems to suggest God is a tough guy only appeased by sacrifices human or divine. And so the theologian-friar St Thomas Aquinas also drew upon Scripture and Tradition to explain that God assumed our nature so we could be sharers in His: “God became man so that we might become gods”.2 As one of us, He could inspire and teach and shape us, grace us with His Church and sacraments, lead us back with Him to heaven. God chose to orchestrate the drama of salvation through this mindboggling, unforgettable demonstration that He would rather join His creation than diminish it, rather save His creatures than let them destroy themselves.3


This, too, is a good explanation, but we risk being puffed up by such talk of us becoming godlike. Every answer has its limitations, but let me suggest one more I’ve been pondering this year past.

Many religions have rightly thought of God as big, bigger than anything. More powerful, infinitely so. Everywhere, in everything. Ancient, everlasting. Transcendent, holy, unlike anything. Knowing all this about God is helpful, but it inevitably puts Him at a distance. It makes God seem remote, abstract, even terrifying. It elicits awe and trepidation, sacrifice and worship, but never love.

Yet love is precisely what God wants from us. And so He comes as a little baby – that most vulnerable of beings. He wants us to meet Him in such littleness, such helplessness, that we couldn’t be scared of Him; indeed, we couldn’t resist grasping Him to our bosom.

As many of you know, this time last year I was struck with Guillain-Barré Syndrome and totally paralysed. I spent the following five months in hospital, gradually recovering the use of my nerves and muscles. It was a terrifying and painful experience, and I would not wish it on anyone, even if I can now say I learned a lot from it. One thing that struck me deeply, as I lay in the intensive care ward, was how this experience united me to the Christmas Babe: for I too had gone from being relatively able and powerful, to being so helpless I needed others to feed and clean me, speak and act for me.

That the all-powerful Creator would allow Himself to experience human life in all its vulnerability tells us in no uncertain terms of His tenderness towards us, His desire to be in our arms and hearts, and to hold us in His. He does not want always to be greeted with trepidation and from a distance. And here it is that Christianity has an insight into God found nowhere else: that God is love.

“The people that walked in darkness has seen a great light,” declares Isaiah tonight (Isa 9:1-7). Hannah Arendt, the great twentieth-century political philosopher, once said that the greatest challenge to darkness, despair, hopelessness is… a child’s birth. The sheer spontaneity of the child, the love and hope a newborn evokes in all those around, are so powerful that she thought “freedom is guaranteed by each new birth.”4

Christmas is a story of such a birth – indeed, it is the Story. The inauspicious circumstances could fool us into thinking it affected no-one. Yet we see it move the kings of the earth, the wisest of men, and the shepherds in the fields, the humblest. It touches ox and ass, comet and angels, the entire natural universe, visible and invisible. And the effects are extraordinary. It gave the great and the good, as well as the lowly and oppressed, such peace and joy, such reason to hope, and such freedom to act on that hope, that the dictator Herod felt deeply threatened and wiser men exhilarated (Is 9:1-7; Mt ch 1; Lk ch 2).

Are we threatened by people being loved into life and sustained in that life by a love so divine it frees them to give themselves in return and to dare to hope? Or do we find the sheer tenderness of God and what He did to be close to us thrilling?

God-become-baby is alongside each of us at our most vulnerable: when we are unborn, young, disabled or dying; when we are abused, unwanted or detained; when we are lonely or depressed, sick of body or spirit. The Word of God speaks for all the voiceless through a baby’s cry. To the powerless He lends His power. To the victims, His healing mercy. The newness, innocence, vulnerability, sheer littleness of the Christmas God says all this to us.

Sometimes the Herods of this world seem to have the upper hand: in the last few days alone, Mosul, Cairo, Aleppo and Berlin have experienced devastation wrought by terrorism, civil war or the ever-intensifying persecution of Christians and others. Such civil unrest and economic uncertainty have resulted in the biggest mass migration of peoples since the World War II. And the politics of even peaceful nations reflect widespread popular dissatisfaction.

In times of such uncertainty – which of course occur in every age – our right instinct is to return, year after year, to the crib to recall the promise of the newborn Prince of Peace. As we hear and sing His story, we are enabled to look evil in the eye and say ‘I will not bow.’ For what is the most affecting sound in the world? Survey after survey has found this: it is the cry of a newborn baby, an infant’s cooing laugh, or a child’s first words.5 Only the cry, laugh and words of the Christmas Babe can guarantee our freedom and promise joy to the world.

I pray that the infinite yet tiny God, the vulnerable yet all-powerful God, the ancient yet newborn God, will bring you and all your loved ones renewed hope and confidence this Christmas. Hold Him to your heart as He holds you to His. God bless you all!



Word of Thanks after the Midnight Mass of the Nativity of the Lord
St Mary’s Cathedral, Sydney

Thanks to all those who contributed to tonight’s beautiful celebration of the Lord’s Nativity, especially to our concelebrants
our deacons, and our regular cathedral clergy, Frs Brendan, Emmanuel and Pierluigi, led by our Dean, Fr Don Richardson. Our Master of Ceremonies, Fr Emanuel Seo, our sacristan Chris Backhouse, and their teams of acolytes, servers, extraordinary ministers, lectors, ushers, staff and volunteers, who ensure that our liturgical and devotional life are worthy and our cathedral welcoming. Our Director of Music, Thomas Wilson, and our wonderful choir and organists, lift our minds all year round to glorify God in the highest and at this time of year fill our hearts with Christmas cheer. Many others assist in the daily life of this great cathedral and I thank them all.

Some of you are regulars here; others less frequent; some visitors from overseas or other parishes. Please know that you are always welcome in this basilica and the other churches of Sydney. The God of infinite mercy who appears to us tonight as a giggling Baby wants to smile on you as often as you are able to join us for the Liturgy.

On behalf of all of us at St Mary’s Cathedral I wish you and your loved ones every blessing of this holy season of Christmas and of the New Year of Grace 2017.

Introduction to Midnight Mass of the Nativity of the Lord
St Mary’s Cathedral, Sydney

People of Sydney I bring you news of great joy, a joy to be shared by the whole people: today in the city of David a Saviour has been born to you: He is Christ the Lord (Lk 2:11).

Welcome to St Mary’s Cathedral for this midnight celebration of the Nativity of the Lord. I offer this Mass with you and for you, and for all your loved ones, that you may experience the glory of God in heaven and the goodwill of people here on earth.

That we might receive the Christ-child into the crib of our hearts this night, let us repent of our sins and ask Him to make us anew…

1 St Anselm of Canterbury, Cur Deus Homo? Jn 3:16; Phil 2:7-8.

2 St Thomas Aquinas, Opusc. 57, 1-4, following St. Athanasius, De Incarnatione 54:3, PG 25:192B; cited in the Catechism of the Catholic Church 460.

3 Cf. St Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiæ IIIa, 1 & 2.

4 Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism, p. 479; see also The Human Condition, p. 247. So, too, St Paul says, “our great God and saviour Christ Jesus gave Himself for us in order to set us free.” (Tit 2:11-14)

5 E.g. http://www.starkey.com/blog/2016/03/9-best-sounds-in-world