We gather here in the middle of the night, surrounded by darkness, to celebrate the Light of the World. It is a beautiful tradition. But as we sit here, let’s start with a bit of honesty—something we Dominicans call Veritas.

If we were to look at the historical records, the meteorological charts of ancient Judea, or the shepherding schedules of the first century, we would likely find that Jesus was not born on a cold night in late December. Shepherds don’t keep flocks in open fields in the dead of winter. It’s likely He was born in the spring or perhaps the autumn during the Feast of Tabernacles.

So, why are we here on December 25th?

We are here because in the 4th Century, Pope Julius I decided. He looked at a world that was celebrating the return of the sun—the pagan winter solstice—and he said, “No. We do not worship the sun; we worship the Son of God.” He planted the flag of Christ right in the middle of the darkest time of the year to say: The Light has conquered the darkness.

But here is the important part: The date is liturgical. The event is reality.

It does not detract from the truth one bit. Whether it happened in April, October, or December, the fact remains: The Infinite God became a finite infant. The Creator entered His creation. The Word became Flesh.

However, we must be careful not to get stuck in the sentimentality of the scene. We look at the Nativity set, the peaceful animals, the glowing baby, the silent night—and it feels cozy. It feels safe.

But if we look closer, we realize that His birth means absolutely nothing without the Cross.

Archbishop Fulton Sheen once said that every other person who ever came into this world came into it to live. Jesus Christ is the only person who came into this world to die. His death was the goal of His life.

From the very first moment He drew breath in Bethlehem, He was marching toward Calvary.

He was placed in a manger, a feeding trough for animals, signifying that He would become Bread for the world—the Eucharist.

He was wrapped in swaddling clothes, bands of cloth that looked suspiciously like the burial shrouds that would wrap Him in the tomb.

And most importantly, He was laid on wood.

The wood of the manger prefigures the wood of the Cross. You cannot have Bethlehem without Golgotha. You cannot have the Crib without the Crucifix. If He had just been born a great teacher, a great philosopher, or a nice man, we wouldn’t be here tonight. We are here because that Baby is the Victim who would pay the price for my sins and for yours.

So, with that heavy reality in mind, what does Jesus want us to take away from this night?

He doesn’t want a birthday cake. He doesn’t want us to just feel warm and fuzzy for an hour and then go back to our lives.

He wants us to realize why He came.

He saw us in our mess. He saw us in our addiction to sin. He saw us lost in the darkness of our own making. And He didn’t send a representative; He came Himself. He “got a guy”—and that guy was Himself.

What He wants from us tonight is surrender. He wants us to look at the manger and see the Cross, and say, “Lord, if You went to these lengths—from the glory of heaven to a dirty stable, all the way to a Roman cross—just to save me… then the least I can do is give You my life.”

He wants us to leave this church different than we walked in. He wants us to carry the Light out those doors. The world is still dark, just like it was under Caesar Augustus. It needs Light. It needs Truth. It needs you to be the carrier of that Light.

Tonight, let us not just admire the Baby. Let us adore the Savior. Let us embrace the Cross that allowed us to be here.

A Blessed Christmas to you all.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.