Christmas Memories

Christmas homilies remembered

By Natalie Hoefer

Of the many Christmas homilies I’ve heard in my life, two stand out.

The first occurred nearly 25 years ago, when my brother and I were both dating non-Catholics.

Both of our significant others agreed to join us for Christmas midnight Mass. My brother and I both knew the priest, a wonderful, faith-filled African man. A hospital chaplain, he had been without sleep for almost 24 hours. He was tired during that Mass, a state which made his accent stronger and harder to understand.

During his homily, he kept referring to the “sandy cloud.” Over and over he mentioned the “sandy cloud.” All four of us flashed confused glances at each other, especially the two non-Catholics!

Finally it dawned on me what the priest was saying in his tired, thick African accent. As my whispered explanation made its way one by one to my date, my brother’s date and then my brother, it was hard not to laugh as understanding then humor lit their faces one at a time: “He’s talking about Santa Claus!”

While the man I dated is just a memory, the woman my brother dated is now his wife and a convert to Catholicism—despite the crazy Christmas homily about the “sandy cloud!”

The second homily I remember had a more meaningful impact.

It was given by Msgr. Paul Koetter at St. Monica Parish in Indianapolis about 15 years ago.

He spoke of how Christmas cards depicting the peaceful manger scene probably misrepresent the reality of the actual event. A young woman giving birth to a first child in a smelly stable with animals all around, far from home and with no familiar women to help—chances are it was pretty chaotic, Msgr. Paul noted.

But there, in the middle of all the chaos, was God incarnate.

And so Msgr. Paul offered some advice that I have used in my own life and shared with many others over the years: Look for God in the chaos. That advice has helped me—and friends and family—more than once during a chaotic situation or time in life to stop, breathe and look for God’s presence. It never fails—he’s always there, just as he was in the middle of that cold, smelly, hectic stable.
 

(Natalie Hoefer is a reporter for The Criterion and a member of St. Monica Parish in Indianapolis.) †