Christmas Day of the year of the Lord 2000. Two thousand years of the reality of the Incarnation of God in human flesh, the coming of the holy into our midst, the poor son of Mary and her husband, Joseph, son of God and son of Man, firstborn of all creation. 

We Christians believe that this child is the hope seeded deep in the psyche of all those who waited for the day of the Lord in Judaism, though they still wait. For us, 2,000 years is a benchmark, in theory at least, a place in time that could be a great turning for all humanity.

But much of the world looks at us askance, dubious that this coming year will be any different in reality from the past 100 years or the past 1,000. Sadly, this past century alone will have to be remembered for its murders and misery-as the time in which we have killed more human beings than in the entire previous history of humankind. For if truth be told, these 2,000 years of Christianity have, for many, been a time of domination, exploitation, and destruction-a far cry from the bright vision of Isaiah that is cried out as the first reading of midnight Mass:

The people who walk in darkness
have seen a great light.
A light has dawned
on those who live in the land of the shadow of death. . . .
Every warrior's boot that tramped in war, every cloak rolled in blood,
will be thrown out for burning,
will serve as fuel for the fire.
For a child is born to us,
a son is given to us;
the royal ornament is laid upon his shoulder, and his name is proclaimed:
"Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace."-Isaiah 9:1, 4-5

As Christians, we must begin this way with an acknowledgment of our failure in history and our betrayal of the gospel. We must promise atonement, restitution, a reversal of policies and attitudes, and a radical conversion to the will of God.

We are at a crossroads. There are some basics the human race has never learned (and, sadly, that includes Christians), but we must learn now. The most fundamental principle is perhaps best expressed in the Buddhist saying: "Do no harm." We must learn to listen and speak to one another with respect, to compromise, and to deal nonviolently with conflicts without escalation, rancor, vengeance, and self-righteousness.

In international terms this means: No more war. This is not an option. Any form of war must universally be outlawed and declared inhuman, unnatural, illegal, and unjust.

Call it the ultimatum of peace, the possibility of a future for human beings. Call it Christianity's first commandment of love-"Love one another as I have loved you"-in practice. Call it the Christmas child's project and gift.

Where God has gone
Christmas is for stories, for wide-eyed wakefulness, and wonder shared among young and old. Stories can make us weep for joy and help us to be silent in awe at this gift of God given 2,000 years ago and given this day and every day.

This story I borrow from Japan:

In many temples and shrines-along with the great halls, serene gardens, and tatami rooms hung with ancient scrolls-there are treasure rooms filled with glass cases. They hold manuscripts, calligraphy, paintings, artifacts, relics of founders, and exquisite treasures that were gifts to the monasteries.

Usually this is the last place to visit, and monks stand for hours beside the cases repeating verbatim for curious visitors the explanation of what is in the cases. They recite the words almost as though they were a sutra or chant.

They often do not look either at the case or at any of those listening. The visitors, however, peer into the case, nose to the glass because many of the objects are so old, unique, and beautiful.

This one time the monk was droning on but no one was bent over or looking down at the case. They were all watching him intently. The case had been emptied for cleaning or research purposes, and he was talking about empty space.

Finally he realized something was different and glanced down. Startled, he responded, "Oh, they've gone away," and the group was invited to move on to the next display.

The point of this simple story is that many of the old temples and monasteries are magnificent, but that in reality "the gods have departed" for elsewhere.

On Christmas we celebrate the truth that God has departed. God has gone to dwell outside the walls, the boundaries of society, the outskirts of towns and churches. God has gone to dwell with prisoners, those lame and leprous, those who are crowded out and wedged and hemmed in and those left utterly alone.