Christmas 2025
At Christmas, we celebrate the astonishing truth that God became human, not in power or glory, but in the ordinary rhythms of family life. Through the mystery of the Incarnation, God reveals that everyday moments are not obstacles to grace, but the very places where God chooses to meet us. Because Christ has been born, nothing in our daily lives is ever truly ordinary again.
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Some years ago, I won’t say how long ago, but it was when I was training to be a priest, I spent a couple of years in Mexico. When I first arrived, my Spanish was very poor. I could hardly understand anything. But I arrived just before Christmas, and it turned out to be a very beautiful time to be there.
In Mexico, as in some other places, there is a tradition called posadas. It is similar to Simbang Gabi, if you are familiar with that. For about nine or twelve days before Christmas, people in the village gather each evening to reenact Mary and Joseph’s search for a place to stay. Together, the community moves from house to house, singing back and forth, asking to be welcomed in. The first few houses refuse, and then finally, at the last house, the doors are opened. And of course, once you are welcomed in, there is a big celebration: food is shared, and many songs are sung.
As I mentioned, my Spanish was very limited at the time. But there was one song I remember very clearly because it struck me deeply. It is called Los Peces en el Río, “The Fish in the River.” Some of you may know it. At the time, I didn’t really understand the lyrics, but the song moved me. We often sang it inside the houses during the posadas, and I remember feeling quite emotional whenever I heard it.
I knew it had something to do with fish in a river, somehow connected to worshipping Jesus at his birth. And so, in my imagination, I filled in the gaps. I built the song up in my mind as something very lofty and mysterious, something quite profound.
The following year, we celebrated the posadas again. By that point, after about a year, my Spanish had improved a little. So when I heard Los Peces en el Río again, I finally understood the lyrics, and I was surprised. They were much more down to earth, much more homey, than I had expected.
The song does speak about fish swimming in the river, drinking the water as they go to worship Jesus at his birth. But the first verse actually begins with Mary by the river, brushing her hair. I remember thinking, “All right, this is a bit unexpected, but I can work with this.”
Then came the second verse, which is even more striking. It begins, La Virgen lava pañales y los tiende en el romero, “The Virgin washes diapers and hangs them on the rosemary bush.” This was definitely not what I thought the song was about. The whole image I had built up in my mind suddenly burst. I remember thinking the song was a bit childish, maybe too simple.
But as time has gone on, and as I’ve learned a bit more humility, I’ve come to see that Los Peces en el Río is actually quite profound. In fact, I think it expresses something central to the mystery we celebrate at Christmas, the mystery of the Incarnation.
Like the Incarnation itself, this song communicates a deep truth. God works in extraordinary ways, but God’s extraordinary grace comes to us through ordinary moments of life. It is in the everyday, ordinary experiences we live through that God’s grace is found.
Tonight, of course, we celebrate something truly extraordinary. We celebrate the Incarnation, something astounding. God has become a human being. God chose not to save us by sending a messenger, or even an angel. God chose to become one of us, to save us, to be close to us.
The infinite God chose to become finite. The Creator of all things chose to enter into creation. The eternal Word became flesh. God did this to save us, to be as close to us as possible.
There is a story often told at this time of year, and some of you may have heard it. It tells of an old farmer on a cold winter night, shortly before Christmas. A storm had just passed, and the farmer went out to check his barn. When he entered, he discovered several birds inside. They had flown in through the rafters to escape the storm, but now that it had ended, they were trapped.
The birds kept throwing themselves against the windows and walls, trying desperately to get out. The farmer felt pity for them. He opened the barn doors wide and tried to shoo them outside. But the birds were afraid of him. They flew away from the open doors and continued to injure themselves.
The farmer tried everything. He scattered food, waved a broom, and tried to guide them gently toward the door. Nothing worked. The birds were terrified and only grew more frantic. Finally, the farmer had a realization. He thought, “If only I could become a bird. If I were one of them, they would trust me. If I became like them, I could lead them to safety.”
Just as this thought came to him, the church bells rang across the countryside, announcing the beginning of Christmas.
Tonight we celebrate something truly extraordinary. God has become a human being. And yet, at the same time, there is something disarmingly ordinary about how Jesus comes into the world. It is often said that there are two miracles at Christmas. The first is that God becomes human. The second is the kind of human being God becomes.
We look at the nativity scene and see that God does not enter the world in power or wealth, not as a mighty ruler or a famous philosopher. God enters the world in simplicity, in humility, in a family, in poverty. God comes to us in ordinary ways.
God does not ask us to escape our ordinary lives in order to meet him. Instead, God comes right into them.
This is why Los Peces en el Río is so theologically rich. It invites us to imagine Mary brushing her hair by the river. It asks us to imagine her washing Jesus’ diapers and hanging them out to dry. I try not to think too much about the fish drinking downstream. But the point is clear. In becoming human, God enters fully into ordinary life, into joy and fatigue, family life and daily struggles.
Our ordinary existence is not an obstacle to encountering God. It is the very place where God chooses to work.
Christmas invites us to see the world differently, to put on new lenses. If God entered the world through ordinary family life, then we should expect to meet God in the ordinary moments of our own lives, at the dinner table, doing the dishes, at work, on our commute, at school, with friends, when we forgive, when we are forgiven, when we serve, when we show patience.
In all of these moments, God’s grace is at work.
Perhaps a good question for us to ask tonight is this. What seems ordinary in my life right now, and how might God be communicating something extraordinary through it? It may be something joyful. It may be something difficult. But God meets us there.
For me, Christmas Mass is always one of those moments where the extraordinary shines through the ordinary. In many ways, tonight has been very ordinary. We came through a chilly night, avoided a bit of rain, found parking, and arrived perhaps a little tired. And yet something extraordinary is happening. We are gathered here from many backgrounds and places, united as the family of God, filled with joy, celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ.
This is what Christmas reveals to us. God has chosen to fill the ordinary with his presence. And if we have the eyes to see, and this is what Christmas trains us to do, then nothing is ordinary anymore. Because Christ has been born, every ordinary moment becomes an opportunity to encounter the extraordinary grace of God.
