The prophet foretold, "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness, on them light has shined."

     As I was reading recently about the Civil War, I ran across a very interesting account. During the dark winter of 1864, at Petersburg, Virginia, the Confederate army of Robert E. Lee faced the Union divisions of General Ulysses S. Grant. The war was now three and a half years old and the glorious beginning and the expectation, on both sides, of a short, successful campaign, had long since given way to the muck and mud of trench warfare. Late one evening, one of Lee's generals, Major General George Pickett, received word that his wife had given birth to a beautiful baby boy. Up and down the line the Southerners began building huge bonfires in celebration of the event. These fires, of course, were noticed in the Northern camps and soon a nervous General Grant sent out a patrol to see what was happening. The scouts returned with the message that Pickett had had a son and these were celebratory fires. Because Grant and Pickett had been together at West Point and knew one another well, to honor the occasion Grant, too, ordered that bonfires should be built along the Northern lines. And what a peculiar night that was! For miles on both sides of the lines fires burned. No shots fired. No yelling back and forth. No fighting. Only light, celebrating the birth of a child. And yet, as we well know, it didn't last. Soon the fires burned out and once again the darkness took over. The darkness of night, the darkness of war, the darkness of conflict and turmoil, bloodshed and violence, the sometimes darkness of the human heart.

     During the Civil War, as at so many other times in history, the people of the world walked in darkness. The Israelites, themselves, for example, frequently walked in darkness, and especially so at the time of the exile-when all seemed bleak and hopeless, and the Jews wondered if Israel would ever be restored, her people returned to faith, and a rightful king enthroned in Jerusalem. And today, there is a certain darkness that has fallen over the world-that manifests itself as terrorism, at home and abroad; a war in Afghanistan and Iraq that has our service men and women deployed to foreign lands; and what seems increasing violence here in our own city-with murders having reached an all time high! And we might say, oh, it's always been this way-and surely, it has-but that doesn't change the fact that the darkness, out there, can also weigh heavily in here-not just in this sacred space, the church, but even more, in the sacred space of the heart. For who doesn't, at times, struggle with a certain inner darkness? Who doesn't, at times, come to Christmas, and wish things were different; wish life were brighter, wish a great light would shine upon us, raising our spirits, and lifting our mood, and giving us, unbridled hope and joy, rather than a shadow of darkness, lurking in the corners of our being. Even Charlie Brown, in the classic, "Charlie Brown's Christmas", says to Lucy, the would-be psychiatrist, "I know I should be happy at Christmas, but instead, I feel empty." Oh, it's not that we're all irrevocably and helplessly depressed-its not that we're all, each and every one of us mired in a swamp of despair-some of us, maybe-but not all of us. It's just, when you become an adult-and yes, sometimes when you're a teenager, the sentimentality and glitter of Christmas fades, and the roaring, exciting bonfire can burn down, and we are left, with a certain darkness. The decorating and card-writing take their toll; the shopping is no longer fun (if ever it was); okay, admit it, the extended family can become tedious; and the busyness can keep us away from church, or at least, away from those things which might have helped us experience Christmas a bit more brightly. So that, on Christmas Eve, we can end up--melancholy? A little down? Without much sparkle? Wishing the whole thing was just--over? We all know, there are those who are always bubbly, and enthusiastic and experience Christmas magic every year, just the same, just as strong, no matter what. And the rest of us don't mean to be "humbugs"-but, in the bleak midwinter, as the Christmas carol describes it, "in the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone." And our hearts can get that way, can't they. Yes, even at Christmas. Especially, for some of us, at Christmas. So, for us, where is the great light? Where is the bonfire that won't burn out? Where is the light, as St. John will proclaim to us tomorrow, in the Gospel for Christmas Day-the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it? As we are the people who sometimes walk in darkness-as we are those who do, at times, live in a land of deep darkness-where is the light?

     In good Christmas fashion, we follow the star-to the Light. And though the star gives off its own light, the star at the nativity was not THE Light. For the star leads us, through the darkness-where? To the stable in Bethlehem, and the light of the glory of God that is to be found, in the face, and the person, of a baby, lying in a manger. For a child has been born for us, a son is given to us-and he is named, Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. For to you, is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And I know, our human response is to dismiss this baby-to see the babe in the manger as just another Christmas story, just another figure under the tree, lifeless, plastic, unable to change life, or bring light. Which would be true enough, if Jesus, born in Bethlehem, was only, today, a memory, remembered in ceramic, or carved wood, or artificial resin. Like the baby born in 1864, and celebrated outside Petersburg, Virginia; and like all the other babies born long ago in the distant past, had Jesus been born, lived a normal human life, and then died an ordinary human death, then truly, his light would have been extinguished long ago as well-offering only whatever light we could muster up, in the fond remembrances of our mind's eye. But Jesus was not just born in Bethlehem-he was re-born, from the cross and the tomb, so that the Savior who was born for us, the Son who was given to us, is not lost to us, but was resurrected to new life, resurrected to be, the Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. And had Jesus not been reborn, then indeed, his light would have died out long ago, and we would be left to our darkness. But instead, the Word became flesh, to dwell among us, and that Word become flesh, dwells among us still-a living Lord, who lives, to bring Light to our world, and light to our lives.a living Lord whose Light the darkness has not overcome, not through violence or shame or humiliation or, yes, even death. Our Lord-our Light lives, and is the true light, which enlightens everyone-because His life, is the light of all people. Because His life, is our Light-the Light of His resurrected presence with us, in spite of our darkness, in spite of our fear and anxiety, in spite of our dour moods and melancholy spirits-His life, brings light to us, as He comes to us, whether we are ready or not-and he comes to, as the prophet says, increase our joy, to cause us to rejoice before him, and exult! Yet, how is He present for us? Where is He God-with-us, tonight? Show us the Living Light, right now, right here, as we sit in darkness!

     You may know that St. Francis was the first to dictate that an ox and an ass should be placed in his living nativity in the cave in Greccio, in what became the first nativity scene. From then on, even though an ox and ass are not mentioned in Scripture as being present in the stable at Bethlehem, we can't imagine a nativity without them! Pope Benedict, in a little book titled, "The Blessing of Christmas", writes, from then on, the ox and ass have had their place in every crib scene-but where do they actually come from? When we investigate this question, we discover an important factor.the ox and ass are not simply products of the pious imagination: the Church's faith in the unity of the Old and New Testaments has given them their role as an accompaniment of the Christmas event. We read in Isaiah, 'the ox knows its owner, and the ass its master's crib; but Israel does not know, my people does not understand (Isaiah 1:3). The Fathers of the Church," writes Benedict, "saw in these words a prophecy that pointed ahead to the new people of God, the Church, consisting of both Jews and Gentiles. Before God, all men, Jews and Gentiles, were like the ox and ass, without reason or knowledge. But the child in the crib has opened their eyes, so that they now recognize the presence of their master."

     And where, pray tell, do the ox and ass recognize the presence of their master? At the crib. And what is a crib? It is a feed trough. And what does the name "Bethlehem" mean? "House of Bread." So, where do we, ox and ass, each and every one of us, receive our Lord's presence, today, tonight? At the crib-in the manger-at the feed trough, where Jesus, again, becomes the Word made flesh, Emmanuel, God with us, to give us Himself, that we might feast on His presence-that we might feast on the Bread of Life, His incarnate Body and Blood, and have His light and life, in us. Benedict points out, "it is striking to note that in medieval paintings of Christmas, how often the artists give the two animals almost human faces and how they stand before the mystery of the child and bow down in awareness and reverence. But after all, this was only logical, since the two animals were the prophetic symbols of the Church-us, since we are but oxen and asses, vis-a'-vis the Eternal God, oxen and asses whose eyes are opened on Christmas night, so that we can see and recognize our Lord in the crib."

     Tonight, we will have our eyes opened, and see the Light-we will receive the very presence of our Lord, when we eat at the feed trough that is our Lord's Holy Supper. And it is that presence, His presence, that will bring Light to our darkened world, and to our darkened hearts. And that light, will bring, not sentimentality, not a happy façade, not a fake happiness-but true joy, and exaltation, and hope-that will carry us on, and carry us through, even the valley of the shadow of death. For God, is with us! Jesus is our Emmanuel! He is, truly, the Light which came into the world, and the darkness has not, will not, cannot, overcome that Light, which is, the Light of His Life!

     In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.