Following our season of expectancy leading up to His birth, we have come into a long period of meditation, a directed retreat. We have the Nativity itself — the appearance of ineffable purity and goodness, "God-with-us." That is, immediately we begin life having always two views: the focus of our ordinary existence as it had been and a focus illuminated by the purest and brightest light imaginable. It is a blinding light in some ways. That is the immediate experience of it. Yet, it is soft and elevating, something like the atmosphere that our guardian angels know and with which they are familiars:

We have intimations of this from the time weuwere children. It is good and right to perceive the birth of our Savior and Lord as being a gift. It is a gift to us. Yet, we are also aware that a new way of living has been shown to Earth. And this is much more than a gift: it is a revelation of life and an injunction to live in a whole new way. In some ways, this higher way has always been known to us as a shared racial memory of goodness, which resides at our core — the human race's recollection of Eden.

For many, the hard knocks and rough places of this world have formed a callous upon the heart, which then grew progressively thicker with each passing year. Over time, such a man prides himself as being "nobody's fool!" driving the "hard bargain!" And be sure of this: he is "wise to the ways of this world!" This kind of life is celebrated in a song made famous by Frank Sinatra (of course):

Yet, this worldly man remembers his first Christmas, too. He also received the gift of Jesus' birth as a boy. And with the rest of us, he inevitably perceived the entrance of an Elder Brother into the world — a Brother Whom no can fully "live up to." Nonetheless, this Brother loves us where we are and understands us perfectly, all that we've been through. Who can avoid the challenge of following His example? For Who could ever finally refuse God's love?

Simply being near to Him reassures. We are with Him, and He is with us. Yet, knowing of His love, His wisdom, and His superior knowledge of ourselves, He unavoidably shines a light into our lives where everything is seen honestly and as it is. In this light, He is apt to ask us,

At His birth Jesus is always already our Elder Brother. Yes, at first, we receive the little child in His passive aspect: vulnerable and benign. We attend His Circumcision when He is only eight days old. Yet, we proceed directly to His Baptism, where He is an Adult, a formidable Man, Who will immediately confront Satan in the desert and for forty days!

The pace quickens from here. He calls the Twelve. A royal herald, St. John the Forerunner, goes before Him to announce His near coming as was customary whenever the progress of any king should makes its way across a kingdom. For the people must prepare for the approach of their king. And even a king shines a bright light into ones life — the state of ones dooryard, of ones home, of ones manners, clothes, and choice of words. And should a king address his assembled people, each of his words must be attended with the greatest respect and in absolute silence.

Today, we have arrived to this moment. The herald has come and gone. We are all assembled — in every cathedral, church, monastery, and hermitage in the world. The Lord is about to utter His first word, the very first word of His three-year ministry. He has not spoken to the world until now. All is silence. He speaks:

Indeed a bright light has shone into our lives. And in this light everything is seen perfectly: exactly as it is, for God's knowledge — both His sense of justice and His sense of compassion — are complete. There is no point in explaining or excusing ourselves. All the facts are already before Him and understood more clearly and honestly than we ever could understand ourselves.

What do mature men and women do at such a moment? Surely, this is not time to lapse into junior-high-school emotionalism or retreat into rationalization. It is a time for silence .... and profound regret. There is nothing we can say that is not already known. Yes, there always was another way. We did not have to do what we did at every turn in the road. We did not have to take the wrong path at the crossroads. It is this shame — just, honest, owned, and accepted — that marks the mature soul and which makes the heart tender as it was made to be from our birth.

We are silent. Our hands are clasped in prayer. And the look in our eyes is far-away as we cast our minds over the many years.

El Greco's painting, "The Tears of St. Peter," which is presented with today's reflection, captures this. It is (at least for the West) one of our great icons of penitence. Here in full display is the large and lumbering man who was "nobody's fool." Here is the man of the docks who drove "hard bargains." Here is the man who said to the Master, "Look here, we have sacrificed everything for You. Now, what's in it for us?!" (Mt 19:27). And when the chips were down, he "took care of No. 1!" betraying the Master in the High Priest's courtyard .... three times (Jn 18:37). When he was challenged by the Risen Christ to requite the Master's sacrificial love (agape), he offered only the more distant love of friendship (philia) .... three times (Jn 21:15-25). And then outside Rome, abandoning his congregation, leaving them to fend for themselves with the approach of Roman troops, he encounters the Master.

"Quo vadis, Domine?" ("Where are you going, Lord?")

Jesus replies coolly, "I am going to be crucified a second time."

Here is the man of regret. On each of these three occasions, Peter could look into the Master's eyes and see that inaugural and signature phrase plainly:

We are saved by thinking always on Him. This was St. Athanasius' insight. Yes, He has saved us in the sense that He gave us life — first, at the Creation and, then, in a broken world, at His birth. His Person touched the Earth, and the shock of it reversed the destiny of the human lifeworld from a path toward death to one now leading to life.

Nonetheless, following the cosmic act of His Incarnation, our sovereign freedom guarantees that we are able to sink back into the culture of death once again. We have the power always to do it our way .... if we choose to.

What exactly is it that continues to save us following the Lord's Nativity? We are saved! What's next? Following His great renovation of the world, then His passion and death, which has revealed the human path to Eternal Life .... and the, what comes after that? What is next for us? We decide. The the awesome power of our freedom avails greatly here.

St. Athanasius answers: we are saved following His saving acts by keeping our gaze fastened always upon Him, keeping our souls directed towards Him in meditation, ensuring that He is the center of our personal universe, our ground of being, and our standard of life.

As the El Greco masterpiece depicts, Peter has that far-away look. His eyes are averted from the those who examine the painting .... that is, from society. A deep anguish is etched in deep lines upon his face. For the Kingdom of Heaven drew near, even enfolded him, body and soul, in the embrace of God. But he bargained. He made his own rules. He was world-wise. He did it his way.

Famously, what saved Peter was a broken heart, a heart from which the callous has split open and fallen away. He knelt before the Most Holy Theotokos, according to tradition, and wept in her smock. And, later, gazing into the Lord's face outside Rome and seeing that look — "Have shame!" — he takes hold.

"What would You do, Lord?" he asks.

"I would be crucified again," Jesus replies matter-of-factly.

And Peter rises to his full stature and makes his way back to Rome. And there he is crucified .... forever sanctifying that ground. You see, he returned to the crossroads where he had made the wrong turn and then set things right, taking the path our Elder Brother would take.

We are tested every day. God tests us. So many of us have taken the wrong turn at crucial moments in the past. We must live with those regrets for the rest of our lives. Let us not increase this awful burden. We must always think on Him.

He is not the lowly and meek man so beloved by Sunday school teachers and nineteenth-century composers of hymns. Indeed, there is no evidence in the Gospels whatsoever for such a mild and retiring figure. Yes, he says "I am gentle and lowly" (Mt 11:19) .... but then, "Take my yoke upon you." This lowliness is of a Master Who will yoke us, rein us in, harness us beside another, so that we may plow straight furrows in a wild a woolly field planting a harvest that will yield good fruit.

He is not meek and lowly as sentimentalists love to depict Him. He is heroic, courageous, and demanding as all men made of such stuff will be. He is our Elder Brother, the greatly beloved ideal Whom we follow and gauge ourselves and all other men by. He cannot bear to see us as less than He made us to be. His every word and motion remind us of these expectations, always recalling that first word He uttered:

The feeling is electric. We can feel the awesome power of this goodly Presence. We can feel His sweet and Divine breath upon us and a most pure light emanating from His comely form.

Look into His eyes. See all the hope there for us, His high, high hopes. For He leads us, He leads up through high mountain passes where we feel the fullness of our own power coming into full force and our tender hearts swelling, even unto bursting, with gratitude and with joy.

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.