"Be not afraid."

One of my favorite people in the world lives at Georgetown. His name is Thomas King, and he is a Jesuit. He must be at least 117 years old. He still teaches theology here, though, and every day or so I see him slowly making his way from the Jesuit residence hall to his class.

He is a bit of legend here on the Hilltop. I imagine it's because he's so old. I don't know how you get to be the "head honcho" Jesuit anywhere, or what that's even actually called, but I figure he's probably it. He gives Mass every Sunday at 11:15pm. And every year for the last forty (?!) he has given the homily at the special Christmas Mass held the third Sunday of Advent. Since 1969.

Last year I went to Christmas Mass, which they hold in this absolutely gorgeous neighborhood church instead of the chapel because so many people attend, and I was absolutely floored. I'd never heard Father King speak before. I don't think I blinked during the entire homily. It was about Isaiah and the Babylonian captivity, and about John the Baptist living in the wilderness. It was about finding Jesus in our captivity, in our wilderness. At the end Drew leaned over and whispered, "He's such a man of God."

Sometimes I think Thomas King doesn't even know the gravity of the things he says.

Christmas Mass came again last night, and the same shaky old priest gave the same determined homily. Since I'd heard it before, I began to wonder what it must have been like giving that homily in 1969. In the Nixon era. In 2001. What big wilderness had entrapped the entire American consciousness during Vietnam? And he was there for all of it.

I finally coerced my attention back onto the Mass by the time Father King told the ushers to dim the lights, told the audience to bow their heads, and began reading the Christmas story as told by Luke. To my left the choir began humming "Silent Night" in harmony. It was a story we'd all heard before. There was a census, and Mary and Joseph went to Bethlehem, and there was no room in the inn, blah blah blah. But last night I discovered something new about it.

At some point in the story, an angel of the Lord, or maybe a few of them, come down to some shepherds in the area who are watching their sheep late at night, to give them the good news of the birth of the Son of God. The first thing they say to the shepherds isn't, "Hey, you might want to go check out this baby born a few miles from here." The first thing they say is, "Be not afraid."

Isn't that encouraging! When I was younger, I used to ask God to send his angels to keep me and my family safe at night. I used to envision them as tiny little cherubim figures floating over my bed like fairies. They weren't scary. And yet, when these angels appeared to these shepherds, the shepherds feared them. Sometimes when I think of Christmas I think about the angels as just prettier-than-average people who show up out of nowhere and bring some good news.

But isn't it amazing to know that maybe something bigger was at work, that maybe the entire kingdom of heaven was in cahoots to begin the life of this little helpless baby? Something huge and awe-inspiring and blazing may have come to those shepherds.

Here's what I think I would've said if I could've been one of those huge, blazing, C. S. Lewis-esque angels:

"Be not afraid. This is the most important thing either you or I will ever be a a part of."