Abbot Columba McCann OSB.
Here we are, four years after the appearance of Covid 19, seven weeks after the re-election of Donald Trump, three weeks after the fall of the government of Syria, twenty-six days after the Irish elections. That’s how you might date our gathering, if you didn’t have the numbering system to say ‘the 24th of the 12th, 24’.
In the reign of Caesar Augustus, while Quirinius was governor of Syria, there was a census, not just for fun. You did it to get the size of a population, the extent of tax you could get off them, especially in order to pay your armies to rule over them. You can just hear the tramp of soldiers’ feet across the Roman colonies to ensure that Roman rule would be obeyed, and Roman strength displayed.
But Caesar Augustus and governor Quirinius didn’t realise that there was another army, usually invisible to the naked eye, that was far more powerful. One night it was seen by a group of shepherds in a far-off eastern province. They saw what the gospel literally calls an army of angels.
When we think of the great figures of history, perhaps we think of the Roman emperors, of Charlemagne, of Napoleon and of other great movers and shakers. But all the while, almost under cover, is another power which whispers gently into our world, and only rarely shines out brilliantly, as it did for the shepherds of Bethlehem, as it did on Mount Tabor when Jesus was transfigured, and later at an empty tomb in Jerusalem.
These shepherds were the kind of people you would not generally let into your kitchen, and if you did, you’d keep an eye on them. The kind of people that Jesus himself would later gather around himself. Maybe that’s one reason why they saw angels that night. Maybe it was also a smiling gesture from heaven recalling a little shepherd boy centuries earlier, a little nobody, almost overlooked, by the name of David, who became perhaps their greatest king. He could have been minding sheep even in the same fields way back then. And now the Son of David is born, the greatest shepherd of them all.
He is born to a couple who are really quite poor. We know that because, when it came to making an offering in the temple forty days after his birth, they couldn’t afford the normal offering and just offered a bird or two. That’s all they could afford. They were the kind of people that get pushed around on account of the great Caesar Augustus, and his census, like the people that are still getting pushed around in that part of the world today. Jesus was born to a couple who didn’t have enough money or pull to get proper lodging for the night, born instead among the animals.
And yet, when we look at world history, we know that something mighty happened that night, under the cover of darkness, under the cover of poverty, out at the edges, where people wouldn’t take a blind bit of notice of you. Under the radar, while nobody noticed, except for a few shepherds, divine love sneaked into our world and became flesh.
There is tremendous hope for us and our world in this. We look at the bewildering changes that are happening around us, wondering where it will all end, saying perhaps to ourselves, ‘Sure what can I do about it? I’m not one of the big movers and shakers!’ And that’s the point. It’s because I am not one of them that I am ideally suited for God’s work, the real work, much of which may remain unnoticed. Pope Francis said recently, ‘Small is not a handicap, it’s a resource.’
That’s how God works. As undramatic and life-giving as the dewfall. Dewfall happens so quietly overnight, so subtly that you don’t even realise it is happening, until suddenly you notice the ground is soaking wet with life-giving moisture.
Every time I turn my attention even a tiny amount towards God, the army of angels sings ‘Glory to God in the highest’, because Christ has a new point of entry into our world Every time I make the smallest move of generosity, of reaching out to another, of being fair and honest, of forgiving and helping, the angels sing, ‘Peace on earth to those favoured by God’ because Christ is coming to birth now in my flesh. . What about when we share the Eucharist together, as we will shortly? When we share the Eucharist, what do they sing? Maybe they are struck dumb with amazement at what is happening between heaven and earth. Maybe they are reduced to silence. So this night of the 24th of the 12th, ’24, and into 2025, let’s make sure the angels get no rest! Let’s give them lots to sing about. And moments to be amazed.