“[N]one of the saints ever wearied of it,” St. Bernard said.[1]
He was talking to the brethren, his fellow monks; he was talking about Christmas. “[N]one of the saints ever wearied of it;” some of the brethren had obviously grown a little weary of it. That Christmas had come again had come to mean not very much at all, perhaps. All of it had become routine, perhaps—the religion, the music, the customs, the celebration. My guess is St. Bernard could sense it, see it in their faces; he could feel it, spirits less spirited than they ought to be. “Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is born in Bethlehem of Judah” is the Christmas proclamation; it was the custom of the monks to prostrate themselves as these words were chanted, but many didn’t feel it; it was just the ritual, what you had to do. I am strangely comforted by the fact that even monks sometimes couldn’t get into the holiday spirit, that even they were sometimes cold and indifferent to it.
Sometimes I’m like that, maybe you are too. I think it’s normal; don’t beat yourself up if you don’t have some warm mystical experience; that’s just the way it is sometimes. Carry on anyway. Faithful in marriage even when it’s not all a honeymoon; faithful in your vocation even when you wonder what on earth God was thinking; faithful in doing right even when you begin to ask yourself what’s the point: carry on anyway, be faithful anyway. The same is true with God: even when you don’t perceive him, be faithful anyway. That’s preaching for grownups, for mature Christians: merry Christmas, but be faithful anyway; even if it’s just Christmas, and you wonder where all the merry went, be faithful anyway.
But still, I can’t help but wonder about what St. Bernard said, that “none of the saints ever wearied of it.” Why is that? I’d like to know. To get into the Christmas spirit, my first instinct is to pour me something a little stronger than normal to drink and to turn up Andy Williams, but I don’t think that’s how the saints do it; I think they get into the Christmas spirit differently, I’m guessing. How do the saints not weary of Christmas? How do they not get bored with it? I really would like to know.
St. Bernard, with his mystical and medieval mind, goes where we moderns don’t usually go; he goes deeper, meditating on words, the meanings of words and the spiritual meaning of the Scripture. Today we like our religion to be like fast food—cheap and easy, something we don’t have to work too much for or think too much about. But just as that’s not how a person becomes fit and healthy physically, that’s not how a person becomes wise spiritually. To become wise, you must work at it, think about it. St. Bernard does that; he takes us deeper. We Christians should want that sort of wisdom, the wisdom we must truly seek, not just the ever-shallow quotable Christianities of social media and too many churches. We must go deeper.
Which is what St. Bernard did when he told his monks that in order to experience Christmas as it truly is then they must become Bethlehem: “If only we too may be found a Bethlehem,” he told them. That’s a strange thing to say. What did he mean? Again, he’s inviting us to think deeply, spiritually. We can do this; we can follow him; it is our inheritance to be mystics at Christmas. To welcome Christ, to understand Christmas, we must become Bethlehem. What did he mean? He was playing on an old etymology, debated today: what was thought to be the original meaning of the word “Bethlehem.” Bethlehem means “house of bread,” Bernard reminded the monks; and bread, well, that means the word of God. Bread is a symbol of the Scripture. Bread strengthens the heart, the psalmist said; he wasn’t just talking about nutrition.[2] Give us this day our daily bread; Jesus wasn’t just talking about the food we eat.[3] “One does not live on bread alone, but by every word that comes forth from the mouth of God.”[4] That’s what Jesus told Satan in the desert, resisting him. That’s what bread symbolizes—the word and the will of God.[5] Which is what St. Bernard was trying to say, that deeper, wiser thing—that simple thing—we should want to know: and that is, to know Christ, to welcome him, to feel Christmas, we must become a Bethlehem, a house of bread; that is, we must get close to word of God, the Scripture; you must open the Bible on your shelf. No more excuses: you can either have a cold and colder heart or a heart warmed by the word of God; that’s the choice. That, very plainly, is what you and I must do: draw near to the word of God; otherwise, we shouldn’t complain or foolishly doubt God because we don’t feel it, because we can’t see it. Christmas comes every year, but still we must always look for it. “[N]one of the saints ever wearied of it;” there’s really nothing to it at all; it’s very simple. We must become Bethlehem, we must read the Scriptures, find the newborn Christ there—adored by angels and his Mother, Joseph and the shepherds—in the word of God.
But then, of course, we’ll not only feel Christmas as the saints do, we’ll see deeper the mystery which brings us all hear, which brings a billion others to altars all over the world—to the real gift of Bethlehem, to the real reason Bethlehem is the house of bread. “I am the bread of life,” Jesus said; “whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.”[6] That’s why we should become Bethlehem, why we should learn the word of God: so that we may understand this mystery, so that we may taste the mystery we’re about to receive not just with our mouths but with our minds. Again, I’m trying to go deeper; I’m asking you to come with me. We do this every Christmas, this same thing every year. But “none of the saints ever wearied of it;” I don’t want to weary of it either; I don’t want you to weary of it either. I want at some point to celebrate Christmas like a saint; I hope you do too. But this is what it’ll take—not gimmicks, not cheap music, not drink—but bread, the word and the sacrament of God. Merry Christmas, and may we be saints together. Amen.
[1] Bernard of Clairvaux, On the Eve of the Lord’s Birth, Sermon Six 3
[2] Psalm 104:14-15
[3] Matthew 6:11
[4] Matthew 4:4
[5] John 4:34
[6] John 6:35
© 2022 Rev. Joshua J. Whitfield
