The Tribune

THERE is an allegory that serves as a prism for some of the light and meaning of the Incarnation and Christmas: “An old Hasidic rabbi asked his pupils how they could tell when the night had ended and day begun, for daybreak is the time for certain holy prayers. ‘Is it,’ proposed one student, ‘when you can see an animal in the distance and tell whether it is a sheep or a dog?’ ‘No,’ answered the rabbi.

“‘Is it when you can clearly see the lines on your own palm?’ ‘Is it when you can look at a tree in the distance and tell if it is a fig or a pear tree?’ ‘No,’ answered the rabbi each time.

“‘Then what is it?’ the pupils demanded. ‘It is when you can look on the face of any man or woman and see that they are your sister or brother. Until then it is still night.’”

For several days recently it rained heavily on a number of islands in the country. Storm clouds obscured the horizon. Driving was difficult. Already shorter days seemed even shorter. One is never certain how long storms will last.

It is difficult and at times impossible to see, to imagine, to wonder, in both senses, when surrounded by darkness.

The darkness that engulfs, depresses and paralyses the human soul often provokes a profound blindness that makes us incapable of seeing what is directly before our blinkered eyes, whether shuttered or partially opened.

The darkness of sin and self-absorption sometimes makes us callous and indifferent to spouses, partners, children and other family members. It shields us from seeing the poor and vulnerable. Like a calcified cataract, it blinds us from those whom society treats with contempt.

It helps us to justify our behaviours, compulsions, and patterns of sin crying out for conversion and redemption.

Individuals, communities, tribes and nations can be blinded by conceit, racism and benighted nationalism. The depth of blindness convulsing Sudan, the Middle East and other regions is staggering.

The pain and rage are so searing that it is difficult to have a conversation or to speak mindfully to others about the savagery of war and violence killing and maiming thousands, so often in the name of religion and God.

As the rabbi proclaimed: “It is when you can look on the face of any man or woman and see that they are your sister or brother. Until then it is still night.” Night can last for generations.

Because Christmas is a time of light, joy, celebration and fellowship, storms feel even heavier when juxtaposed to the season. It is difficult to celebrate when one loses a beloved mother or sister to cancer, or feels the sting of death of a friend of a lifetime, whose generosity knew few bounds.

How does one celebrate amidst the loss of a job or income that has made the year a slog of worry and fear? How does one celebrate amidst a difficult health diagnosis or the increasing fragilities and limits of an ageing body and mind? How does one celebrate absent a spouse who has passed away?

We all navigate the darkness with different lamps or aids. Yet there are some flickering lanterns we all share. These aids will not remove our pain and struggle. But they may help to ease our burdens, to give us greater perspective, to shine some beams or rays into the difficult and dark places.

There is a brief video on the Vatican News website that may also be viewed on YouTube of Pope Francis celebrating his 87th birthday on Sunday of this week. Despite the burden of declining health and the demands of his office, Francis joyously celebrated his birthday with a group of children.

It is uncertain from the video who was having more fun. What is striking is the diversity of faces and children at the birthday event. Francis is welcoming of all: the homeless, refuges, various ethnicities, rich and poor, disabled individuals.

The Pope, like many others, exemplifies that our darkness is often lifted when we extend generosity and a welcoming spirit to others. Generosity is one of the greatest balms for grieving or anxious or self-pitying souls.

As Pope Francis has shown in his ministry of love and care for the poor, for those in the LGBTQ+ community, and myriad others, the darkness of exclusion is dispelled when we treat each other as brothers and sisters.

As the rabbi proclaimed (and as Francis would undoubtedly confirm): “It is when you can look on the face of any man or woman and see that they are your sister or brother. Until then it is still night.”

We can be pathways of darkness or daybreak for others. God did not so love the world through the Incarnation of Jesus Christ for any single group of people. We are all chosen by God’s love. This includes our worst enemies, those to whom we bear grudges, and those who have betrayed us, often in the most vicious ways.

The Incarnation is not a Hallmark moment. It is the most radical expression of love that breaks through the most profound darkness and even the searing and darkest nights of our individual souls.

We cannot see our own face except through a mirror, and even then, sometimes only a mirror dimly. The first mirrors of a newborn are parents. In turn, they see themselves literally and figuratively in the face of a child.

When we gaze upon the faces of others, be they family, friend, stranger, or neighbour, we see ourselves and we see the face of the divine in whose image we are all wonderfully made. And through the person of Jesus Christ we embrace eternity and the faces of all humanity.

What blinds us and blocks our ability to truly see others? We live in all manner of bubbles, collectively and individually. Often, we live in our heads disconnected from others, suffering from spiritual or moral claustrophobia from which we achingly long to be free.

The Incarnation is God’s liberation of humanity. Through the life, witness and resurrection of Christ we are offered the paths of liberation and love.

The Incarnation is an invitation to fellowship and to generosity, incarnations of which may be expressed in myriad ways, such as simple acts of kindness. Kindness is the lifeblood of love. Recall the numerous acts of kindness received this year.

We might also recall when we could have been kinder through an act of love or an act of restraint. Often biting our tongue when we wanted to respond to an insensitive comment is best.

A friend recalls a grandmother figure he came to love during volunteer service in a Caribbean neighbour. Mrs Olive, his adopted septuagenarian grandmother, lived simply. Most of her needs were taken care of by her children.

She spent many days on her front porch conversing with family and friends, monitoring the daily grind and shenanigans of the neighbourhood. She had her struggles, her health challenges, her regrets, her disagreements with neighbours. But she tried to keep her world big, open, welcoming, inviting.

Every Sunday, Mrs Olive’s daughter brought her the national dish of the country: stew chicken, rice and peas and potato salad. Around lunch time she would shout across the street: “Come for your dinner!”

Under a net to keep away the flies, the friend’s portion of the meal was there Sunday after Sunday. Mrs Olive made him feel special. Yet, over time, he realized that her small acts of generosity permeated the poorer neighbourhood. There were many special people who dwelled in her kindness and generosity.

School children, neighbours, and others were recipients of her small acts of kindness. Such small acts multiplied constitute a revolution. Given the incivility, harshness and indifference that sometimes inhabits daily life, greater kindness is potentially revolutionary.

The donations that bubble up in a Salvation Army kettle at Christmas multiply the generosity of the religious group. The additional volunteers who work at Project Read Bahamas increase the number of children, youth and adults who may enjoy greater opportunity through literacy. The blood donations that increase at the Blood Bank help to save lives and to heal bodies.

A daily communicant, Mrs. Olive possessed extraordinary wealth: a love of neighbour conjoined to a spirit of abiding generosity that may liberate us all from the prison of constantly staring at our own face and problems, while failing to see the faces of others more fully.

“It is when you can look on the face of any man or woman and see that they are your sister or brother. Until then it is still night.”

With Charles Wesley, in Join All Ye Joyful Nations, we rejoice in the Light that penetrates the darkness, enabling us to see and to embrace the countenance of others.

“Join, all you joyful nations,

The acclaiming host of heaven!

This happy morn

A Child is born,

To us a Son is given:

The messenger and token

Of God’s eternal favour,

God has sent down

To us his Son,

A universal Saviour!

“The wonderful Messiah,

The joy of every nation,

Jesus His name, with God the same,

The Lord of all creation.

The counselor of sinners,

Mighty to deliver,

The Prince of Peace, whose love’s increase,

Shall reign in man forever.”

Blessed Christmas.