{"id":66031,"date":"2024-12-23T08:00:00","date_gmt":"2024-12-23T14:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/praytellblog.com\/?p=66031"},"modified":"2025-07-29T03:34:13","modified_gmt":"2025-07-29T08:34:13","slug":"ars-praedicandi-christmas-mass-at-dawn-ed-foley","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/praytellblog.com\/index.php\/2024\/12\/23\/ars-praedicandi-christmas-mass-at-dawn-ed-foley\/","title":{"rendered":"Ars Praedicandi: Christmas Mass at Dawn, Ed Foley"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p>It is virtually impossible not to be inspired on a morning such as this<br>on a feast such as this<br>in a setting such as this.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The lectionary texts are lush,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; with Isaiah at his prophetic best<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; shocking graciousness emanating from<br>        the seldom proclaimed Titus<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; and Luke, the gospel\u2019s most gifted storyteller,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; unfolding his nativity tale<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; with all the beauty of a medieval tapestry,<br>               woven with words of silver and gold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This is a day when it might seem easier to believe in God<br>or at least in angels&nbsp;<br>as beloved texts enfold us<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; cr\u00e8che and poinsettia\u2019s enchant us<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; and sumptuous music bedazzles us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Yet there is some danger in the seduction of such a morning<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; as this feast for the soul and the senses<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; triggers memories of Christmases past<br>       when things were different, when we were different<br>       when the anticipation of St. Nick was maybe sweeter<br>       when beloved friends and relatives were still among us<br>       when children were younger and closer<br>       when health was not so precarious<br>      and the weight of living and loving seemed less challenging.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This is a season that easily lures us into nostalgia<br>when treasured movies and clever commercials<br>evoke romanticized memories of Christmases past<br>that temporarily erase our disappointments<br>assuage our griefs<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; and maybe even fill the emptiness so palpable on other days<br>        providing, instead, a respite of grace<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a parenthesis of joy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>If we succumb too completely to such seduction, however,<br>this Christmas liturgy could be reduced<br>to a kind of ritual time machine<br>transporting us 2000 years back to witnessing<br>an idealized unfolding of the birth of the only begotten<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; in a forever unrepeatable moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>While tempting, such religious revelry<br>has the potential to stall at the birth story,<br>and become stranded in a long destroyed stable,<br>insulated from Jesus\u2019 life and ministry,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; his dying and rising,<br>        and thus disconnected from the continuing mystery of incarnation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This most beloved of Christian feasts, however,<br>does not simply recall the long past nativity<br>of God\u2019s only begotten in some now forgotten Palestinian cave.<br><br>Rather it celebrates the shocking truth that through Jesus,<br>God forever united divinity with all of humanity,<br>affirming that since that incarnation there has be no excarnation<br>as the Godhead continues to wed itself to humanity,<br>revealed not only in the birth of the christ child<br>but in the birth of every child across the globe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The golden-penned Luke embeds his story with hint<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; that the gospel truth is more than a sacred birther narrative:<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; the child is intentionally placed in a manger, a feeding trough,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a harbinger that Jesus would offer his life<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; as nourishment for others<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; devoured, consumed and sometimes spit out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In the same vein, medievals believed that the wooden manger<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; would contain enough wood to construct an adult size cross.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Then there are the first worshippers&#8211;<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; not Magi, high priests or local dignitaries<br>              hoping for a photo op,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; but unscrubbed, unprepared and gift-less shepherds-<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ruffians living off the land like 1<sup>st<\/sup> cent. Palestinian cowboys-<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; whose worship signals Jesus own ministry<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; to those on the margins of society.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; One wonders whether the angel\u2019s gps was malfunctioning<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; when they summoned shepherds rather than clergy<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; only to recognize their error back in their heavenly home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And, when the well-heeled visitors of the east finally did show up<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; after significant gps adjustments,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; their gift of gold would signal Jesus&#8217; divinity,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; that of incense his priestly dignity,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; but then there was the myrrh, used for anointing the dead,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; anticipating the salvific death of this newborn innocent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Birth is but one critical aspect of this incarnational mystery-<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a mystery Luke understood had to be reborn in the baptized.<br><br>And so this morning, we dare journeying beyond nostalgia<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; and embrace the challenges and promise of incarnation<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; adoring the Christ child under the shadow of the cross.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A few years back I had my own encounter with incarnation<br>under the shadow of the cross.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It was on a transatlantic flight, from Manchester to Chicago.&nbsp; I was hoping for a quiet flight, since I needed to write a conclusion to a book.&nbsp; I was in coach but wrangled a pretty good seat in the very front of the economy section on the aisle.&nbsp; While in the lounge, I noticed a young father with an infant daughter.&nbsp; I was praying that Dad and his little girl were somewhere south of row 24.&nbsp; As it happened, they ended up in 11H.&nbsp; I was grateful that I had packed both ear plugs and noise-reducing headphones.&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>After I settled in with a positive attitude for a quiet and productive trip, in walked Jeremy with a five month old strapped to his chest and a two-and-a-half-year-old on his arm, occupying 3 seats directly in front of me.&nbsp; Images of the transatlantic flight from hell flashed before me.&nbsp; As Jeremy good-naturedly attempted to wrestle the luggage, the children, and himself into place, the woman sitting next to me asked, \u201cDo you want me to hold the baby?\u201d&nbsp; Jeremy unhesitantly unstrapped Charlie and transferred him into the arms of an adoring stranger.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The flight took off without much delay, and as the cabin lights dimmed, the usual chorus of seatbelt clicks, snack wrappers, and shifting passengers filled the air. I tried to focus, tapping out sentences between interruptions, grateful for noise-canceling technology and a half-decent tray table. Still, it was hard not to let the mind wander\u2014to the sheer unpredictability of commercial travel, and how different this journey might be under quieter circumstances.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It\u2019s in moments like these that the appeal of private aviation really hits home. I\u2019d recently been browsing a <a href=\"https:\/\/www.fractionaljetownership.com\/\">Fractional Jet Ownership website<\/a>, curious about the possibilities. The idea of flying on your own schedule, choosing your fellow passengers\u2014or having none at all\u2014suddenly didn\u2019t seem like a luxury, but more like a well-earned necessity. No overhead announcements, no snack carts bumping your elbow, and no unexpected lullabies from seat 11H. Just altitude, quiet, and the uninterrupted rhythm of getting something meaningful done.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Charlie was a very active and happy 5 month old.&nbsp; He bounced on Maria\u2019s lap while she laughed and chatted with Jeremy about how she had traveled with her own infant daughter across country many years ago.&nbsp; Jeremy was so understated, Charlie so cute, and Ethan (the two-and-a-half-year-old) so difficult that I knew I had to collaborate.&nbsp; In a moment of weakness or grace, I became Maria\u2019s back-up.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Ethan was another story all together.&nbsp; He was a walking advertisement for the \u201cterrible two\u2019s.\u201d Ethan battled his father on almost every front, though Dad showed little exasperation with his many outbursts.&nbsp; Often these were resolved relatively quickly by Jeremy digging into his \u201cmagic backpack.\u201d&nbsp; It seems that a friend had bought and wrapped 18 small presents to keep Ethan occupied during the transit from Manchester to Los Angeles, which &#8211; including the Chicago layover &#8211; was about 18 hours: a truly wise friend.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>As Jeremy and I chatted, it became clear that Ethan was not only temperamental but was also grieving.&nbsp; His mother died unexpectedly 4 months earlier, a month after Charlie\u2019s birth.&nbsp; This newly reshaped family of three was traveling to the west coast of the US to visit Jeremy\u2019s father: a trip symbolic of the long road of readjusting that lay ahead for them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But on this trip, these three metaphorical magi<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; were not bearing the gifts of their now shattered lives<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; but had also been given gifts \u2026 gifts for the journey<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; symbolized in those 18 incarnate thoughts of care<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; wrapped not in swaddling clothes<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; but in paper bright enough and with care deep enough<br>        to delight a toddler unaware of his own grieving.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I have pondered those events often since that Christmas in July<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; when incarnation revealed itself anew<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; in this unlikely Magi and the gifts they bore:<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; small packages to delight a toddler,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; helping hands from complete strangers,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; deep empathy from a flight crew becoming family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Each of us have our own joys and sorrows<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; and maybe, while tempted to do so,<br>I would suggest this is not a day to displace them<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; with sacred images or beloved carols,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; but to embrace them as gifts for the journey-<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; gifts that reveal the mystery of God choosing to companion us,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; the ultimate incarnation gift on this journey of life,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; as we in turn, even in sorrow or diminishment,<br>become gifts for each other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>When I was a young chorister, I had a favorite Christmas carol,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;\u201cIn the bleak midwinter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I loved it because of the haunting melody,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; the lush harmonies,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; and the striking imagery of nativity in a wintry setting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As I grew older I learned that there was no snow<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; that first Christmas in Palestine,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; but that we are the ones in midwinter,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a midwinter that for some especially in this season,<br>               with such presumptions of joy and family,<br>        instead can be lonely, even bleak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; At the end of the hymn, the singer asks<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; what gift can be brought to this newborn child,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; for the singer is poor and without treasure.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And, at the end, the singer offers the ultimate<br>         and only true treasure &#8211; the gift of the heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>On this December morn, when so many find themselves<br>in winter of one kind or another,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; let us renew the incarnational gift:<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; the birthing of the Christ again in this world<br>       &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; by ourselves becoming gifts for the journey to each other<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; and bestowing a similar heart-gift<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; on all who crave its warmth, its care, its promise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And, if per chance you raise a cup of cheer today,<br>             maybe raise it in honor of Jeremy, Ethan and Charlie.<br>        For a few years after my encounter with them,<br>             the three magi become four,<br>             with the welcoming of wife and mother Sarah<br>             who became a new gift for the journey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And then, as every story continues,<br>this quartet of magi soon became a quintet<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;with toddler Colin replacing the temperamental Ethan<br>              now testing the patience of two loving older brothers,<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;embodying a further gift for this familial journey<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;    &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;a fresh incarnation under the shadow of the cross<br>              Christmas revealed anew as resurrection<br>              for the newly configured five magi and for us<br>          in the image of the firstborn of creation<br>              whom we honor as Lord and God, forever and ever.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>ED FOLEY &#8212; This morning, we dare journeying beyond nostalgia and embrace the challenges and promise of incarnation, adoring the Christ child under the shadow of the cross.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":29,"featured_media":66044,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[3294],"tags":[3902,3253],"class_list":["post-66031","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-ars-praedicandi","tag-christmas-mass-at-dawn","tag-ed-foley"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Ars Praedicandi: Christmas Mass at Dawn, Ed Foley - Home<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/praytellblog.com\/index.php\/2024\/12\/23\/ars-praedicandi-christmas-mass-at-dawn-ed-foley\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta 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