A young mother wrote the following about an experience she once had on Christmas Day. As I read it to you, ask yourself this question: With whom do I most identify? In other words, which person in this story do I relate to the most?

It was Sunday, Christmas Day. Our family had spent the holiday in San Francisco with my husband’s parents, but in order for us to be back at work on Monday, we found ourselves driving the 400 miles back home to Los Angeles on Christmas Day. We stopped for lunch in King City. The restaurant was nearly empty. We were the only family, and ours were the only children.

I heard Erik, my one-year-old, squeal with glee. "Hithere," the two words he always thought were one. "Hithere," and he pounded his fat baby hands—whack, whack, whack—on the metal high chair. His face was alive with excitement, his eyes were wide, gums bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled and giggled, and then I saw the source of his merriment. And my eyes could not take it in all at once. A tattered rag of a coat, obviously bought by someone else aeons ago, dirty, greasy and worn; baggy pants; spindly body; toes that poked out of would-be shoes; a shirt that had ring-around-the-collar all over; and a face like none other—gums as bare as Erik’s. "Hi there, baby. Hi there, big boy, I see ya, Buster." My husband and I exchanged a look that was a cross between "What do we do?" and "Poor devil."

Our meal came, and the banging and the noise continued. Now the old bum was shouting across the room, "Do you know patty cake? Atta boy. Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look! He knows peek-a-boo!"

Erik continued to laugh and answer, "Hithere." Every call was echoed. Nobody thought it was cute. The guy was a drunk and a disturbance. I was embarrassed. My husband, Dennis, was humiliated. Even our six-year-old said, "Why is that old man talking so loud?"

Dennis went to pay the check, imploring me to get Erik and meet him in the parking lot. "Lord, just let me get out of here before he speaks to me or Erik," and I bolted for the door. It soon was obvious that both the Lord and Erik had other plans.

As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back, walking to sidestep him and any air that he might be breathing. As I did so, Erik, all the while with his eyes riveted to his best friend, leaned over my arm, reaching up with both arms in a baby’s pick-me-up position. In a split second of balancing my baby and turning to counter his weight, I came eye-to-eye with the old man.

Erik was lunging for him, arms spread wide. The bum’s eyes both asked and implored, "Would you let me hold your baby?" There was no need for me to answer since Erik propelled himself from my arms to the man. Suddenly a very old man and a very young baby consummated their love relationship.

Erik laid his tiny head upon the man’s ragged shoulder. The man’s eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath the lashes. His aged hands, full of grime and pain and hard labor, gently, so gently, cradled my baby’s bottom and stroked his back. I stood awestruck.

The old man rocked and cradled Eric in his arms for a moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm, commanding voice, "You take care of this baby." And somehow I managed "I will," from a throat that contained a stone.

He pried Eric from his chest, unwillingly, longingly, as though he was in pain. I held my arms open to receive my baby, and again the gentleman addressed me: "God bless you, Ma’am. You’ve given me my Christmas gift." I said nothing more than a muttered "thanks."

With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. Dennis wondered why I was crying and holding Eric so tightly. And why I was saying, "My God, forgive me. Forgive me."

Which person in that story do you most identify with? The upset, embarrassed mother? Dennis, the poor, humiliated father? Their perplexed 6 year-old son? The other patrons in the restaurant, who must have been extremely upset and angry in the midst of all the noise and commotion?—perhaps some of us could identify with them because we’ve been in similar circumstances at other restaurants.

And yet, my brothers and sisters, if we truly understand the meaning of Christmas, we will identify most with another character in the story. And no, I don’t mean Erik! Believe it or not, I mean the so-called "bum"—the dirty, smelly, noisy, unkempt homeless guy. Fr. William Bausch tells this story in one of his books, and this is the connection he makes. "The bum," he says, "is us."

I hope no one here is offended. But even if we are, it’s still true! The fact is: Jesus Christ did not come into this world because we human beings were perfect! He came into this world because we weren’t (and aren’t). As the angel of the Lord said to Joseph, "[Your wife Mary] will conceive and bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins." Putting that in the terms of this homily, the angel was saying, "He will save those bums who don’t deserve it. But he loves them with an eternal love, so he will." Do we have the courage today to face this truth about ourselves? I hope we do, because it’s only then that we can find true Christmas joy. Think about Erik’s story for a moment. Why was it so moving? It’s because when we heard it, we knew that this homeless man was a wounded, lonely, needy person. If he had been a rich man with no apparent needs, Erik’s jumping into his arms wouldn’t have been a very big deal. It’s precisely because the man had deep needs that Erik’s loving act brought him such joy. And by the same token, it’s only when we realize our own spiritual need for salvation, forgiveness and healing, that we find true Christmas joy! Because then we open our arms and hearts to the Christ child, as the homeless man opened his arms and heart to little Erik.

Of course, every analogy falls short in some respects, and, unfortunately, that’s true here as well. Yes, Erik had the power to touch the homeless man’s heart for a brief instant that Christmas Day, but he did not have the power to change his life. In other words, by himself little Erik couldn’t make the homeless man into something other than what he was. But Jesus Christ CAN make us different! By the power of his grace—which comes to us in many ways but most especially through the sacraments—we can be changed from spiritual bums into saints! Now the good news is: in all likelihood some of us will allow that to happen in our lives. The bad news is: in all likelihood some of us won’t. And those of us who won’t will end up just like that homeless man: embracing the child—in this case the Christ child—for a brief time on Christmas Day, then letting him go and walking away in the same tattered spiritual clothes we were wearing before.

Some people stay away from church because they think it’s a country club for saints. They don’t understand that it’s a hospital for sinners who want to be saints! Hopefully this homily has made that fact crystal clear. But even those who come to Mass faithfully (and those of us who say Mass) are sometimes satisfied with a superficial relationship with Christ. We do the minimal the Church requires, and then go on with our lives. Like the homeless man, we hold the child only for a moment now and again, but are never truly transformed by him.

Erik’s mother didn’t want the homeless man to hold her child at all. Later she regretted her attitude and begged for God’s forgiveness. Mary, not surprisingly, is very different. Mary, the Mother of Jesus, is anxious to have us hold her Son—and not just for a fleeting moment, but for a lifetime, and for an eternity. However, for that to happen, our "hands" must be empty. In other words, if we want to hold Jesus Christ in our arms and hearts, we must be willing to let go of everything which is not of him (which is the challenging part!): our anger, our gluttony, our pride, our lust, our sloth, our greed, our envy.

Erik’s mother tried to walk by the homeless man. Mary, once again, is quite different. Mary, our Blessed Mother, in a certain sense walks up to each and every one of us today and says, "Take him. Please, take him. Don’t be afraid. Let everything else go, and take him."

How will we respond to Mary’s request?