In all my wanderings everywhere among the children of Israel,
did I ever utter a word to any one of the judges
whom I charged to tend my people Israel, to ask:
Why have you not built me a house of cedar?'
Since long before the birth of Jesus, and ever since his resurrection, we have tried to build splendid buildings as appropriate dwellings for the Lord God of Heaven and Earth. And we've always known how badly we fail. The glory of God would make the Hope Diamond look like a lump of coal.
God's word to Nathan in today's first reading reminds me of the manger in which Jesus lay.
On Christmas Day, as I celebrated the Mass of Dawn and proclaimed the Gospel, I felt an urgent question arise within me, "And then what happened?"
For reasons I do not know -- and I'm sure they're good -- the Vigil (or Midnight) Mass leaves us hanging with only the first part of Saint Luke's narrative. We're told that Mary brought forth her first born son and laid him in a manger because there was no room in the inn. And then we hear the angels tell the shepherds they should go look for the sign, that is a child lying in a manger. And then...?
If you come back in the morning to celebrate the Mass at Dawn, you'll hear that the shepherds immediately decided to "go to Bethlehem to see this thing that has taken place." Arriving there they "found Mary and Joseph, and the infant lying in the manger."
With the complete text, we've heard the word manger three times; and whenever we hear something three times in the Bible, that means we should sit up and take notice of it. It's really important.
Actually, we have noticed and millions of sermons have been preached about the inhospitality of the inn in Bethlehem -- an institution which should specialize in hospitality. ("We'll leave the light on for you!") My beef is with the editors of the lectionary who give us snatches of a story and draw our attention to something less important than the gist of the story.
The manger, like the Lord's crown of thorns, his borrowed tomb, and Jerusalem's temple, reveal the Lord's glory far better than a splendid cathedral, basilica, or temple ever could. In the scriptures, humble circumstances provide a foil for the brilliance that is God. Faith sees God more clearly in that apocalyptic (a word meaning revealing) darkness. The murder of John the Baptist and of Bethlehem's innocent boys complement the death of the Messiah; their darkness is overpowering brilliance.
When the centurion sees the light shining in deep darkness, he declares, "Truly this was the Son of God!"
David would build a temple to show the Lord's glory; we also build churches, cathedrals, and basilicas to provide the world with a glimpse of God's beauty, but his glory shines more brilliantly in our humble service to the least among us.
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I love to write. This blog helps me to meditate on the Word of God, and I hope to make some contribution to our contemplations of God's Mighty Works.
Ordinarily, I write these reflections two or three weeks in advance of their publication. I do not intend to comment on current events.
I understand many people prefer gender-neutral references to "God." I don't disagree with them but find that language impersonal, unappealing and tasteless. When I refer to "God" I think of the One whom Jesus called "Abba" and "Father", and I would not attempt to improve on Jesus' language.
You're welcome to add a thought or raise a question.