For many years, Fr. Germar and Bro. Andrew, both of blessed memory, would re-entact at our Christmas Eve table the same game. The question went out what song shall we sing? Bro. Andrew would always answer, “Wer Klopfet an!” (Who is knocking!?) Fr. Germar always sang the bass part of the Inn Keeper. The song depicts Joseph and Mary looking for a place to stay for the night, and the Inn keeper asking many questions, and finally turning them away.
Tonight, in the quiet of this holy night, the Church dares to proclaim something astonishing:
“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.”
Not armies.
Not policies.
Not power.
But, a little child brings the light.
Tonight, when the world is still, when fears grow louder and divisions seem deeper, God does not shout. God whispers. God comes not as a ruler demanding entry, but as a child needing welcome. The Gospel is familiar: Mary and Joseph arrive in Bethlehem, tired, displaced, and unwanted. “There was no room for them in the inn.” The Son of God is born not in safety, but on the margins, laid in a feeding trough. Before Jesus ever preaches a word, before He heals or teaches or forgives, His very birth makes a statement: God chooses to enter the world as the vulnerable one. And that choice matters, it matters especially now, today!
We live in a time of a lot of unease. Our societal climate is marked by fear anger, and hardened hearts. Few issues reveal this more clearly than immigration. Across our nation and our world, families flee violence, poverty, and desperation. They walk in darkness and are uncertain, exhausted, and afraid. Often, they are met with suspicion, rejection, or indifference. And here is where Christmas speaks, not with slogans, but with a child in a manger. Jesus knows what it is to be displaced. Within days of His birth, He becomes a refugee, fleeing violence, crossing borders, depending on the mercy of others to survive. The holy family is not sheltered by power or privilege. They are protected only by God’s quiet presence and the courage of those willing to help. Christmas does not tell us that every difficult question has an easy answer. But it does tell us something deeper and more demanding: The message is that when God comes to us as a stranger, our response reveals whether we have room for Him. The tragedy of Bethlehem is not that there was no inn. The tragedy is that there was no room. Doors closed. Hearts stayed busy. Fear won out over compassion. But there is good news! God did not, God does not, turn back. God enters anyway! Light shines even when doors are shut.
That is why the angels do not appear to kings or lawmakers, but to shepherds, ordinary people living on the margins. “Do not be afraid, for today a Savior is born for you.” Not for the powerful alone. Not for the comfortable alone. For you. For me. For ALL. The message of the Christmas angel is that God’s answer to a fearful world is not more power, but deeper love. Love begins small. Fragile. Easy to overlook. But once it’s welcomed, it changes everything.
Christmas does not ask us to solve every injustice. It asks us something more personal and more challenging: Will we make room? Will I make room?
Room in our hearts for compassion instead of fear.
Room in our conversations for dignity instead of contempt.
Room in our communities for mercy instead of exclusion.
Every time we make room for the vulnerable, the displaced, the stranger, we make room for Christ Himself. That is what makes Christmas truly hopeful. Darkness does not have the final word. Fear does not get the last say. n a world that often defines worth by wealth, status, or productivity, Christmas proclaims a different truth. The truth that EVERY human life is sacred because God chose to live as one of us.
So tonight, let us kneel, not before an idea, but before a child, a stranger. Let us allow this holy night to soften what has grown hard, to widen what has grown narrow, to remind us that God is still at work, not in noise and outrage, but in quiet acts of welcome and love.
The light that dawned in Bethlehem still shines. And it shines brightest wherever someone decides to make room. That is why we hold these candles tonight! We are children of the good news! We are children of the Light. Will we make room? May we allow the light to transform our hearts and make room.
Merry Christmas.
~ Fr. Adam Patras, OSB