(Christmas 1996--This homily was given by Fr. Raymond Suriani on December 25, 1996 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R. I.)

"It’s not enough to love the ‘baby Jesus’."

For many people in this country, the daily preparation for work includes two essentials: coffee in a cup and Don Imus on the radio. Now personally, I don’t listen to Mr. Imus very often--after all, I don’t have very far to go to get to work in the morning. But regular listeners have told me that he often says this line: "I love the baby Jesus." In fact, I’ve even heard him say that during the handful of times I’ve actually tuned into his program. Now what strikes me about this line is that qualifier, "baby." Why does he say, "I love the baby Jesus." Why only the baby Jesus? It would be understandable if this were 6 BC and Jesus had just been born in Bethlehem--but that’s not the case.

I suppose it’s like someone saying to me, "Fr. Ray, I just love your baby sister. She’s adorable. She’s so cute in those little outfits your mom buys for her." If someone said that to me I would answer, "Well, that’s very nice of you to say, but (in case you haven’t noticed), Donna grew up! She’s not a baby anymore! She outgrew all those cute little outfits. She’s now married with two children, and she’s finishing up her degree in nursing. I guess you haven’t seen her in a while."

Now, presuming that Mr. Imus knows it’s 1996 and is aware of the fact that Jesus is not an infant anymore, why does he still keep saying that he loves the baby Jesus?

I think the answer is simple: it’s easy to love the baby Jesus. In fact, it’s easy for most people to love any baby. (Although with abortion so common, I guess it’s a bit more challenging for some people than it used to be.)

And why is a baby so easy to love? It’s because a baby is incapable of challenging us in the same way that an adult can. I mean, let’s face it, all a baby can say is "goo--goo" and "ga-ga" (and on a good day "ma-ma" and "da-da.") But an adult can say, "My friend, I love you, but you need to change your life. You need to become a different person."

And there’s the attraction of saying "I love the baby Jesus." It’s a way of avoiding Jesus the adult. It’s a way of avoiding Jesus as he now is. Because he’s not a baby anymore! He was once--two thousand years ago. But now he’s a man--risen and glorified. He’s a man (a God-man) who lives--and whose words are eternal. As he himself once said, "Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass." And it’s that Jesus (the adult, risen Jesus) whom we have got to face--if we want the gift he came to this earth to give us--the gift of salvation, the gift of eternal life.

So, what does it mean to face this Jesus--this adult, risen Jesus? Well, perhaps I can make that clear by reading you a story. It’s a story that Bishop Sheen told in one of his books--I’m sure many of you remember Bishop Sheen from his days on television and radio. Sheen said: A woman wrote to me about her brother, saying that he was dying in a hospital and that he had been away from the sacraments for about thirty years. She said he led not just a bad life, but he was an evil man. He did much to corrupt youth and circulated all manner of evil pamphlets among the young to destroy both faith and morals. His sister said that ABOUT TWENTY priests had called on him, and he THREW them all out of the hospital room--"So will you please go." Last resort Sheen, I am. I visited him this particular night and stayed about five seconds, because I knew that I would fare no better than anyone else. But instead of just making one visit, I made forty. For forty straight nights I went to see this man. The second night I stayed ten or fifteen seconds. I increased my visits by several seconds every night. At the end of the month I was spending ten to fifteen minutes with him. But I never once broached the subject of his soul until the fortieth night. That night I brought with me the Blessed Sacrament and the holy oils, and I said to him, "William, you are going to die tonight." He said, "I know it." I said, "I am sure you want to make your peace with God tonight." He replied, "I do not. Get out." I said, "I’m not alone." "Who’s with you?" he asked. "I brought the good Lord along. Do you want him to get out too?" He said nothing. So I knelt down alongside of his bed for about fifteen minutes because I had the Blessed Sacrament with me. After the prayer, I AGAIN said, "William, I’m sure you want to make your peace with God before you die." He refused and started screaming for the nurse. So in order to stop him I ran to the door as if I were going to leave. Then I quickly came back. I put my head down alongside of his face on the pillow, and I said, "Just one thing, William. Promise me, before you die tonight you will say, "My Jesus, mercy." He said, "I will not. Get out!" I had to leave. I told the nurse that if he wanted me during the night, I would come back. About four o’clock in the morning the nurse called and she said he had just died. I asked her how he died. "Well," she said, "about a minute after you left he began saying, ‘my Jesus, mercy,’ and he never stopped saying it until he died."

My brothers and sisters, from all external indications, in the last moments of his life, William finally faced the adult, risen Jesus. It wasn’t easy, but I’m quite confident that right now, at this moment, William is very glad he did. And this is where we find the real meaning of Christmas. The name Jesus means "savior." And that’s precisely why he came to earth--he came in order to die and save us from our sins. We are all sinners. We all need salvation. Some of us in this church right now need it badly. We’re weighed down by lots of spiritual garbage from the past. But it doesn’t have to be that way. In fact, getting rid of that "garbage heap" of sin is as simple as going to Jesus in the sacrament of confession--to experience the cleansing power of his blood through the absolution of the priest. If we are willing to face the Lord in that way, then we will be able to say, not "I love the baby Jesus" but rather, "I love Jesus--I love Jesus Christ, the crucified and risen savior, because he saved me--he saved me from my sins." Then our hearts will echo these words, which were on a Christmas card I received a few days ago:

He came to a stable, not to a palace.

He came to serve, not for praise and fame.

He came to die, for the sins that weren’t his.

He came to save . . . praise his holy name!