Homily: Light in the Darkness

Deacon Tony Cecil Homily: The Nativity of the Lord, Mass During the Day, 2018

Epiphany Catholic Church, Louisville, Kentucky

There was darkness.

It was a cold winter’s night, and an ordinary man and an ordinary woman from an insignificant town were traveling.

The woman was pregnant and riding on a donkey—the man was leading her, and they looked for a place to stay, as it was time for her to have her child.

And there was darkness.

But this darkness—it wasn’t just from the sun falling below the horizon giving way to the moon and the stars.

It was deeper.

It was familiar.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…and what came to be through Him was light—the light of the human race.

And in the beginning, God formed man and woman after his own image.

And in the beginning, with a bite of forbidden fruit, they lost it all.

And in the beginning, they were thrown out of the garden, away from the light.

And so, in the beginning, there was darkness.

And the darkness stayed.

And we know the darkness well—we’ve heard its story.

First it was a disobedient bite of fruit.

Then it was jealousy.

And anger.

And killing.

And greed.

And war.

And deceit.

And lust.

And suffering.

And loss.

And pain.

And…all that we call human history.

And the darkness stayed, because we were separated from the light.

But it’s more than just a story.

We know the darkness well—because we have lived it.

It’s our jealousy.

Our anger.

Our grudges.

Our pain.

Our losses.

Our worries.

Our anxieties.

Our fears.

It’s everything that separates us more and more from the light—the light that our first ancestors lost in the beginning.

The man and his pregnant wife looked for a place to stay.

They went to an inn, but it was full.

They went to another—no luck.

Eventually, they found one. There was no room, but the owner’s heart was moved with sympathy for the couple.

He let them use his stable.

And so in they went.

In they went into a cave enveloped in darkness with a dim oil lamp as their only guide.

The floor was covered in straw.

The owner’s animals ate their food out of the trough nearby.

This was not where they imagined their journey would take them.

Then, it was time.

And in the darkness, the woman in labor gave birth—she gave birth to a boy—her first-born son.

And then—and then—THERE WAS LIGHT!

There was overwhelming light.

There was glorious light.

There was light brighter than the sun—brighter than anything they had ever seen.

There was light that caused the heavens to shake with joy.

There was light that caused the angels to sing.

There was light that moved shepherds in nearby fields to come and see the glory laid in a manger, wrapped in pieces of scrap cloth.

There was light that joined with the light of a star, guiding wise men to bring gifts to this boy.

And like the darkness, this light was familiar.

It was familiar, because it was there in the beginning.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…and what came to be through Him was LIGHT.

This was the light we had lost.

This was the light that the darkness had blinded us from.

This boy—He was the light—He was the Word that was there at the beginning—this boy was no ordinary child—this boy was GOD.

And everything changed.

And nothing was ever the same.

And the light shone in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

And just as we know the darkness, we know the light.

We know the light, because it, too, is something we have experienced, it is something we have lived.

It is the overwhelming peace that fills our hearts in times of trouble.

It is the moments of inexpressible joy that calms our anxieties and shatters our worries.

It is the smile of a stranger on the worst of our days.

It is the wisdom that helps us turn loose of our grudges and our anger.

It is the saving water of baptism washing over our head.

It is the outstretched hand of a priest absolving our sins.

It is the man and the woman making vows to one another before Him and His Church.

It is the man laying on the cathedral floor giving up his life for his Lord.

It is the bread and the wine that we offer—the bread and the wine that we share—the bread and wine that truly becomes the Body, the Blood, the Soul, and the Divinity of our Lord—our Savior—our Newborn King—our LIGHT.

And when we receive Him—we truly become what we receive—we truly are what we eat—we become the light—and just as a single flame spread among hundreds of candles, the light does not diminish but only grows stronger.

And we receive Him, and we become the light, and go out into homes and families and world, and yes, even a Church that can be at times overcome by darkness.

The darkness of anger, of greed, of corruption, of racism and classism and whatever “-ism” the world wants to throw our way.

But we go out with confidence—because we have been told and we have seen and we believe that the darkness will not overcome the light.

Just like John—we will testify to the light, the true light which enlightens everyone.

We will truly become children of God and we will truly receive grace in place of grace.

Brothers and sisters,

Today is a day of great rejoicing—but today presents us with an invitation—a challenge.

We would be lying to ourselves if we ignored the darkness that indeed exists in our homes, in our world, and even in our Church.

It is true that we cannot ignore that for many, the call to rejoice on this day in these times is difficult.

But—we’d be cheating ourselves if we ignored the reality that today brings.

And that reality is this: today, we celebrate the birth of our Savior—Jesus Christ—the King of Kings—the Lord who we profess in the Creed as Light from Light.

The invitation, the challenge that today brings is to let the Light that is Jesus Christ, our newborn King, into our lives more deeply and more profoundly than we ever have before;

To let his light drown out the darkness of our lives and our world;

To realize that when we come forward to receive Him, we receive the awesome gift of his light dwelling within us, and the awesome responsibility of sharing that light with others.

And so, let us truly rejoice in the birth of our Savior, our King—the light that drives out the darkness—the light that will never diminish, never fade, and never be extinguished, and so gives us hope.

And let us spend our lives sharing that light so that one day, just as the Mother, the Father, the Angels, the Shepherds, and the Wise Men whose story we know so well, we, like them, may spend our eternity seeing face to face that light—the Lord—our newborn King and Savior.

Note: For the celebration of Christmas, different readings may be used at each of the Masses. The readings for this homily were taken from the Mass of Christmas Day, which can be viewed by clicking here.

#homily #christmas