Christmas in the Year of Mercy

Robert Z. Cortes

IN the run-up towards Christmas – last night in particular – I felt impelled, for some reason, to return to Santa Maria in Monticelli. This church was one of the shrines I featured in an article I wrote some weeks back to help me and my friends prepare for the opening of the Year of Mercy. Since the church was just some five minutes away, walking from my house, I thought it would be a good idea to say the rosary in a shrine of Our Lady, to accompany her, as it were, on her journey to Bethlehem. But, as with many of my plans, this one ended up being modified by Providence – and, as always, to my advantage.

There was a pleasant surprise waiting for me inside the church. It was the Blessed Sacrament exposed in a monstrance, in the middle of the altar. The rest of the church was dimly lit, and the only bright light was in the front focusing on Our Lord. There was a heightened sense of the solemn in that moment, but it was not only because of the dramatic ambiance, which included a solitary white-haired man praying the rosary on his knees. Above all, it was because I had not expected the exposition to be there at all. I felt I was waited upon, and by Whom!

After 30 minutes of accompanying Our Lord, I then went to the side chapel to carry out my original intention of praying the rosary. The chapel is dedicated to the Crucifix, handed down from the 14th century, and is a venerated image. St. Bridget of Sweden, whose church is just nearby, is known to have prayed before this Crucifix on many occasions.

Our Lady on the altar is the Madonna in Monticelli. It used to be on the high altar, apparently, but has been replaced by a painting of the Presentation of Our Lady. She is venerated here as Our Lady, Help of Christians. As I knelt down, I saw an exhortation posted on top of the kneeler, written in Italian, which I found very touching. It said: “Before this beautiful image of the Madonna, invoked as Help of Christians, stop for a moment and pray through the title to which, in moments of persecution, Christians have turned to Our Lady: entrust to Her your family, your sick loved ones, and suffering humanity.”

The last phrase moved me, as I remembered my family abroad, my sick friends and relatives – especially those who have personally asked me for prayers – and the migrants who are suffering a very cold and difficult winter, many times rejected by those who should be welcoming them. I felt that amidst my incapability of giving everyone a material Christmas present, this is was the best I could do. Many times, in fact, our prayers are the best gifts we can possibly give. So I put them all there with all the strength of soul I could muster, not relying on my memory which has long become poor, but on my desire which is still gigantic.

I looked at the obviously very ancient Cross many times, already pierced in many parts with bukbok, and marveled at the fact that I had now become part of the long line of men and women in history who have found solace before it. I was pleased to discover, as I looked at the dome above, that the angels painted on it were each holding something connected to the Passion: a Pillar, the handkerchief with the Holy Face, the Shroud, and Our Lord’s Robe.

But I mostly looked at the image of Our Lady and the Child, and for many reasons. First, because it was much nearer. Then, because the figures were ravishingly beautiful: their reddish cheeks, their soft looking skin, their beautiful crowns, and the very delicate lace below our Lady’s neck. I remembered something I learned in art class: that the red dress of Our Lady represented her humanity, and her blue cloak represented how she had been made royalty; the white tunic of Our Lord represented his purity. Above all, the picture reminded me of Christmas: and not only because of the Mother and Child, but because the hearts they were holding – amazingly painted as red, soft and tender things – reminded me of those winter Christmas cherries you see on the Christmas tree.

How nice it would be, I thought, if we decorated the Christmas tree of our lives this Christmas season with a tender and soft heart for those who need it most from us this Christmas time. That red, soft, and tender thing would be the constant glow lighting our living tree. Christmas is always one of the best seasons for give ourselves in meek and humble service to others, especially those closest to us, but even more so in this Jubilee Year of Mercy. In our own little way, we would then be like Our Lord who came as Child for the purpose of waiting upon us, of serving us; He has waited upon us for centuries in the Blessed Sacrament.

This genuine disposition of being Christ to others is arguably the best one we can have this Christmas. With it we can more sincerely and more meaningfully greet each and every one “Merry Christmas!”

(Robert Z. Cortes is a PhD student in Social Institutional Communication at the Pontifical University of Santa Croce, Rome. He has an MA in Ed. Leadership from Columbia University, New York.)