The Divine Lamp

A Child is born to us, and a Son is given to us (Is 9:6)

Let us for a moment imagine a Gospel of human invention; let us suppose that the genius of carnal man had undertaken to describe the birth of our Incarnate God,- with what colors, think you, would he have painted the entry of the adorable child into the world? What pomp and splendor would he not display! What wealth and luxury would be lavished around his cradle! What a sumptuous palace of marble would be prepared to receive him! What splendor of gold and precious stones would not have shown in every part of it! How abundantly would royal purple and the most precious tissues of the loom, be furnished for his attire! What countless multitude of servants would emulate each other in the performance of their humble duties in his service! Now, at the sight of such a grand and gorgeous display, will you exclaim: “Oh, how resplendent, how sublime is this!” For my part, I would Exclaim: “How paltry and puerile is all this, when there is the question of God! Why should he collect around him all the frail appliances of our weakness, the frivolous ornaments with which we endeavor to clothe and decorate our misery, the deceitful goods which our avarice alone desires, the splendid trifles, the glittering toys with which our folly sports? Can he stand in need of them? What! Can anything of earth be necessary to a God? How can that be reconciled with his sovereign independence? He would then no longer be that God who is sufficient for himself. But it will be said: It is not for himself, but for us; it is to make a stronger impression upon our senses, to attract our hearts more securely towards him that such splendor is required. But where is his omnipotence in that supposition? Does he not possess supreme authority over our hearts, and is he not able to inspire us with reverence and love, without dazzling us by vain exterior?

Where is the man who, when left to the suggestions of his own mid, to imagine and describe the Son of God descending at length upon earth, after four thousand years of expectations and impatient desires, where is the man who could conceive the idea of his being born in a stable, laid upon straw between mean animals, a feeble, silent infant, exposed, almost naked, to the violence of a rigorous season? Where is the man who, if he described an angel appearing to announce such great tidings, instead of putting magnificent expressions in the mouth of the heavenly messenger, could think of making him say: “A savior, who is Christ the Lord, is born, and this is the sign whereby you shall recognize him: You shall find the infant wrapped in swaddling-clothes, and laid in a manger.” No, this sublime simplicity far transcends all human conception and language.

where could we find a certain proof of divine greatness, if we did not discover it in great and admirable effects produced by the most trifling of causes, the feeblest of means? Now, if this principle be true, look upon this child who weeps in a manger,-what object can be meaner, feebler, more impotent? But see what he effects in the world, both before, and after, his birth. All the saints, from Abel downwards, are sanctified through him alone; the prophets are inspired for no other purpose than to describe his person and to write his history by anticipation. The vocation of Abraham, the mission of Moses, the choice of the people of God, the laws and the religion that were given to that people, have their fulfillment and their end in the mystery of Bethlehem. Empires rise and fall for no other purpose than to prepare for this one event to which everything in the universe tends. Scarce has it been accomplished-scarce has the Son of Mary beheld the light, when the Magi hasten from the East to lay their treasures at his feet. His name alone has thrown Jerusalem into consternation; the assembled Synagogue deliberates upon the interpretation of the oracles which concern him; the impious Herod trembles upon his throne. All the power and all the perfidy of this cruel tyrant are insufficient to stifle in the cradle a feeble infant who has no protector upon earth. When only twelve years old, he astonishes the sages of Israel and the interpreters of the Law with his wisdom, by merely addressing to them a few simple questions in the temple. His replies, latter, confound the Pharisees, Scribes, and Doctors of the Law; He speaks as no man ever spoke before him. He commands nature to obey him; he reveals the hidden secrets of the heart; he cures disease; he even restores the dead to life. He makes all Judea the theater of his miracles, and fills it with reports of his name. When he dies, the sun refuses to give its light; the earth shakes to its very foundations, the universe seems ready to fall back again into its original nothingness;-he comes forth victorious from the grave, and, as he had foretold, the whole world assumes a new face. The God who was born in a stable, and died upon a gibbet, receives incense from the whole world…all these miracles have begun here at Bethlehem; they are the fruit of this manger, of these rags, of this abject and humiliating birth, whose mystery, dear brethren, we celebrate today. And must we not recognize the greatness of God in beholding such trifling means attended by such stupendous effects?

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