HOMILY of Pope Francis at the Christmas Eve mass that he celebrated in St. Peter’s Basilica (slightly edited to fit space):
In plain and clear words, Luke brings us (Lk 2:7) to the heart of that holy night: Mary gave birth — she gave us Jesus, the Light of the world — a simple story that plunges us into the event that changes our history forever. Everything, that night, became a source of hope.
By decree of the Emperor, Mary and Joseph were forced to set out. They had to leave their people, their home, their land, and undertake a journey to be registered in the census. This was no comfortable or easy trip for a young couple about to have a child; they had to leave their land.
At heart, they were full of hope and expectation because of the child about to be born, yet they were weighed down by the uncertainties and dangers that attend those who have to leave their homes.
Then they found themselves facing perhaps the most difficult thing of all. They arrived in Bethlehem and saw that it was not expecting them. There was no place for them.
And there, where everything was a challenge, Mary gave us Emmanuel. The Son of God had to be born in a stable because his own had no room for him. “He came to what was his own and his own people did not accept him.” (Jn 1:11).
Amid the gloom of a city that had no room or place for the stranger from afar, amid the darkness of a bustling city which seemed to want to build itself up by turning its back on others… it was precisely there that the revolutionary spark of God’s love was kindled.
In Bethlehem, a small chink opens up for those who have lost their land, their country, their dreams; even for those overcome by the asphyxia produced by a life of isolation.
There are many footsteps hidden in the journey of Joseph and Mary. We see the tracks of entire families forced to set out in our own day. We see the tracks of millions of persons who do not choose to go away, but, driven from their land, leave behind their dear ones.
In many cases, this departure is filled with hope, hope for the future, yet for others, this departure has only one name — survival. They have to survive the Herods of today, who, to impose their power and increase their wealth, see no problem in shedding innocent blood.
Mary and Joseph, for whom there was no room, are the first to embrace the One who comes to give all of us our document of citizenship, the One who in his poverty and humility proclaims and shows that true power and authentic freedom are manifested in honoring and assisting the weak.
That night, the One who had no place to be born is proclaimed to those who had no space at the table or in the streets of the city. The shepherds are the first to hear this Good News. They were men and women forced to live on the edges of society (“laylayan”?—fdp). Their skin, their clothing, smell, way of speaking, origin… everything about them generated mistrust. They were persons to be kept at a distance, to be feared.
They were considered pagans among the believers, sinners among the just, foreigners among the citizens. Yet to them the angel says: “Do not be afraid; for see – I am bringing you good news of great joy for the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord” (Lk 2:10-11).
This is the joy that we tonight are called to share, to celebrate and to proclaim. The joy with which God, in his infinite mercy, has embraced us pagans, sinners and foreigners, and demands that we do the same.
The faith we proclaim tonight makes us see God present in all those situations where we think he is absent. He is present in the unwelcomed visitor, often unrecognizable, who walks through our cities and our neighborhoods, who travels on our buses and knocks on our doors.
This same faith impels us to make space for a new social imagination, and not to be afraid of experiencing new forms of relationship, in which none have to feel that there is no room for them on this earth.
Christmas is a time for turning the power of fear into the power of charity, into power for a new imagination of charity. The charity that does not grow accustomed to injustice, as if it were something natural, but that has the courage, amid tensions and conflicts, to make itself a “house of bread,” a land of hospitality.
That is what Saint John Paul II told us: “Do not be afraid! Open wide the doors for Christ.”
In the Child of Bethlehem, God comes to meet us and make us active sharers in the life around us. He offers himself to us so that we can take him into our arms, lift him and embrace him. So that in him we will not be afraid to take into our arms, raise up and embrace the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, the imprisoned (cf. Mt 25:35-36).
In this Child, God invites us to be messengers of hope. He invites us to become sentinels for all those bowed down by the despair born of encountering so many closed doors. In this child, God makes us agents of his hospitality.
Moved by the joy of the gift, little Child of Bethlehem, we ask that your crying shake us from our indifference and open our eyes to those who are suffering. May your tenderness awaken our sensitivity and make us see you in all those who arrive in our cities, in our histories, in our lives.