Setting out a nativity scene in your home without the baby in the manger is a great way to make the time of Jesus’ coming linked to the present and the past. In our Catholic churches, the parish nativity scene usually isn’t lugged out of storage until Christmas Eve and the sweet and amazingly quiet baby is already in the manger when you arrive at 10:30 to save your seat for Midnight Mass. Sometimes, and I prefer this myself, the celebrant will carry the baby Jesus into the Church during the procession and place Him in the manger.
When I was growing up, the most memorable experience of waiting to see Jesus in the manger was the Advent of 2nd grade when I made a dough sculpture of a manger and a baby Jesus, took it home, and followed the instructions of preparing my heart for His birth by softening his hard bed with yellow strips of yarn for every sacrifice or good deed I performed.
Nativity Rearranged!
Now that I’m all grown up I’ve had a little children running around my house for the last 8 years. I’ve learned that I really can’t leave anything out before someone rearranges it, or in the case of the Nativity scene, before someone kidnaps the Baby Jesus because he’s so cute and fits perfectly in the front seat of their toy van.
Noooooooooooo!
Actually, I don’t mind if the children play with the Nativity scene. But after all these years of reading labels and near subliminal disclaimer messages in drug ads, I gladly wait to put the obvious choking hazard in the manger until after Midnight Mass—the fewer days He’s on display the better!
Jesus’ manger was not meant to be eaten.
The pieces of His real crib have been kept safe from teething infants in all stages of fixation and mobility for over a thousand years, hidden in a reliquary in the Pontifical Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome. Also very “kid-friendly” is the beautiful carved marble presepe, or permanent nativity set, the oldest one in Christendom (late 13th century), which is situated above the altar over the relics of Jesus’ crib. Of course, this is no coincidence if you know the history of this important basilica:
Come hell or high water, no child of mine can lose this baby Jesus—He’s permanent!
During the 36th Pontificacy, that of Pope Liberius (352-366), Santa Maria Maggiore was proclaimed to be the host church of a new Christmas festival. It is where the first Christmas Mass was said. Christmas devotions had already existed but now there was a special place where everyone could come and celebrate the significance of the nativity all year round. I’m positive Pope Liberius had the mystery of Jesus’ homoousios phusis on his mind (i.e., Jesus sharing the “same nature” with God vs. the Arian idea of a “similar nature” or homoiousios phusis). Of course, this might not make one iota of difference to us today, now would it? (comedic drum roll)
This “precious cargo” will be delivered to Mass on Christmas Day—guaranteed.
Christmas comes but once a year in America, despite the whiny pleas of the little folk. For some wayward families, that’s the only time of year their children even go to Mass. Maybe they’re confused: that’s the Catholic-in good-standing-minimum requirement for confession, not Mass. Perhaps these families need reminding that there certainly were times in the past when Catholics were few in number and Masses were scarce in America, like just before and after the American Revolution, and the faithful had to travel many miles on foot or by horse and buggy to go to Mass once a month. Now we Americans are spoiled, with so many churches, Dial-a-Ride, and more than one Mass per day! Well, at least there are three Masses said on Christmas, so the irregulars can manage to make it somehow at a time of their convenience.
Actually, the celebration of three Masses on Christmas has nothing to do with making it more convenient for everyone to attend or providing options to schedule your personal Christmas festivities around. There are three Masses on Christmas to give special honor and glory to God, commemorating His gift of a Savior to us in three different ways.
St. Thomas Aquinas in his Summa Theologica III:83:2 speaks of “Christ’s threefold nativity”:
On Christmas Day, however, several masses are said on account of Christ’s threefold nativity. Of these the first is His eternal birth, which is hidden in our regard. And therefore one mass is sung in the night, in the “Introit” of which we say: “The Lord said unto Me: Thou art My Son, this day have I begotten Thee.”
The Dumb Ox knows his Master as well.
The second is His nativity in time, and the spiritual birth, whereby Christ rises “as the day-star in our [Vulgate: 'your'] hearts” (2 Peter 1:19), and on this account the mass is sung at dawn, and in the “Introit” we say: “The light will shine on us today.”
The third is Christ’s temporal and bodily birth, according as He went forth from the virginal womb, becoming visible to us through being clothed with flesh: and on that account the third mass is sung in broad daylight, in the “Introit” of which we say: “A child is born to us.” Nevertheless, on the other hand, it can be said that His eternal generation, of itself, is in the full light, and on this account in the gospel of the third mass mention is made of His eternal birth. But regarding His birth in the body, He was literally born during the night, as a sign that He came to the darknesses of our infirmity; hence also in the midnight mass we say the gospel of Christ’s nativity in the flesh.
I had the unique experience this year of going to two Christmas Masses, the Mass at midnight and the Mass “in broad daylight,” one with one kid and one with all the kids—in part because we had to rearrange our schedule around the out-of-town grandparents whose flight home was on Christmas morning. I was pleasantly surprised to note for the first time the real distinctions between these two Masses.
I also had the excellent fortune of noticing that one of the distinctions that St. Thomas Aquinas wrote about above—the specific proper texts sung as the Introits, or entrance chants—is still a living part of our Catholic liturgy, at least in some places here in Phoenix. At midnight Mass at St Joan of Arc, I heard the same entrance chant that we read about in Aquinas’ 13th century text quoted above, “Dominus dixit”, or “The Lord said unto me…” Then, at the third Mass of Christmas later in the morning, in the old Latin “extraordinary form” of the liturgy at Mater Misericordiae, I heard the chant schola sing the “Puer natus est” at the entrance, “A child is born to us.” (I caught at least three hours of sleep on Christmas night, which made the Mass at Dawn a non-option this year.)
Two different Masses, two different Phoenix parishes, two different forms of the liturgy—and yet the old distinction Aquinas wrote about 750 years ago is still loud and clear.
And yes, the kids completely trashed our nativity scene at home on Christmas morning. We had set up a hidden videocam and caught them in the act:
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I learn something new every day! I had never heard of the “threefold nativity”, nor noted any distinction in the Masses I attended. Though until recently I attended 4-5 Masses at Christmas time as a musician, I don’t think I had gotten enough sleep to catch this! Bravo to you for taking note of this on 3 hours of sleep
The three masses of Christmas was a new discovery for me as well. I started writing this post before Christmas–otherwise, I wouldn’t have noticed either. I also think it was Denys’ posts on the “O” antiphons that tuned me in to the Latin this year.
I wasn’t able to see your video from my computer at work, but I just watched it now. I am so glad there are other people in the world who appreciate Mr. Bean! Thanks for the laugh.
I am going to make your blog required daily reading in our little homeschool.