Scientists may be able to clone a human being. They haven't yet been able to clone a candle. I offer as evidence the many electric sanctuary lamps that keep replacing the traditional oil and candle lamps in Catholic churches.
Isn't it ironic that, as "the children of the world" turn in increasing numbers to candles this Christmas, more and more of the so-called "children of light" are going electric?
In the aftermath of the death of Princess Diana the English people lit candles in great numbers. At Advent, during which falls the longest night of the year, Christians light candles. On the face of it, this seems a pretty feeble effort against the dark.
At a desperate hour in the history of his people, God's response to the thousands of years of longing for a political liberator took the form of an infant in a manger.
On the face of it, this was another pretty feeble effort.
The utter vulnerability of God-made-infant in Bethlehem may prove as impossible for the mind to grasp as the Resurrection, for it says something about the limits of human knowledge.
To know something is to grasp it, to take hold of it, to control it, to limit it.
The mystery of Christmas, "the loving-kindness of the heart of our God", cannot be grasped by the human mind.
It is something, rather somebody, "who visits us like the dawn from on high". We have traces in our language of this way of understanding when we speak of something "dawning" on us.
Knowing something is a human activity; something "dawning" on us speaks of gift, of something not within our grasp. The wonder of Christmas cannot be known or grasped; we can only allow it to "dawn" on us.
It may be more of a "Godincident" than a coincident that the first Mass on Christmas morning is called "the Dawn Mass".
It is the child in Patrick Kavanagh's A Christmas Childhood who, with "a prayer like a white rose pinned/on the Virgin Mary's blouse", is able to take in "the wonder of a Christmas townland/The winking glitter of a frosty dawn". This may be the best-known of Kavanagh's poems on the Christmas theme, but it is not the most insightful.
Several years ago, the poet's brother, Dr Peter Kavanagh, commended me for choosing the poem Advent rather than the better-known A Christmas Childhood for my Christmas card.
In seven lines Kavanagh goes right to the heart of what we need if Christmas is to "dawn" on us, namely, "the luxury of a child's soul", a child's way of being visited by Christmas "like the dawn from on high". Our ordinary way of knowing is utterly inadequate. We must allow ourselves to be changed - this is Advent penance.
Penance means first and foremost allowing ourselves to be changed.
We have tested and tasted too much, lover . . .
Through a chink too wide comes in no wonder.
But here in the Advent-darkened room
Where the dry bread and the sugarless tea
Of penance will charm back the luxury
Of a child's soul, we'll return to Doom
The knowledge we stole but could not use.
In another of his poems, Having Confessed, Kavanagh describes this "knowledge we stole but could not use" as daring "to view his soul from the outside." He feels he should go on his knees and ask forgiveness for approaching God and the things of God with such arrogance. His task is not to grasp but to be grasped, to wonder and wait because time
Has its own work to do. We must not anticipate
Or awaken for a moment. God cannot catch us
Unless we stay in the unconscious room
Of our hearts . . . God must be allowed to surprise us.
We have sinned, sinned like Lucifer
By this anticipation. Let us lie down again
Deep in anonymous humility and God
May find us worthy material for His hand.
In the mad but wonderfully human, last-minute scramble to buy Christmas presents we should not forget that Christmas itself is the greatest present. Those who grieve over the "commercialisation" of Christmas might be consoled by the story of a church in the north of Holland where all who entered would bow in the direction of a blank wall before settling down in the pews. No one knew why. It had been done for generations and no questions were asked.
One day it was decided to clean and repaint the wall. While doing this, they discovered underneath a painting of Christ crucified. Nobody remembered the painting. There was no mention of it in the parish records. It must have been put there hundreds of years before. People finally knew why they bowed to the wall.
The sign had been there but its meaning had been forgotten. Likewise those on shopping sprees may not have time to reflect on what they're doing but, as they buy their Christmas presents, they are bowing in reverence to a God who gives himself to them as the ultimate present.
Christmas should be simple enough to be understood by a child. A pastor in Florida, tired of complicated sermons, and wishing to "keep it simple", hired a PR company to supply him with some "Christmas messages from God" written in basic English. Here they are:
Tell the Kids I Love Them.
You and I Need to Talk after Christmas.
Will the Road You're On Get You To My Place?
Big Bang Thoery? Theory? You've Got To Be Kidding.
Have You Read My # Best Seller? There Will Be A Test.
Keep Using My Name In Vain And I'll Make Rush Hour Even Longer.
Loved the Wedding, Invite Me To The Marriage.
That `Love Thy Neighbour' Thing, I Meant It.
I Love You . . . I Love You . . . I Love You.
My Way is the Highway.
A blessed Christmas!
Dr Brendan Comiskey is Bishop of Ferns
