Reflections on the Incarnation

Daily Reflections with Fr. Patrick Reardon gives us some things to contemplate concerning our Lord’s incarnation using the book of Hebrews, Irenaeus and Athanasius of Alexandria This is some good stuff!

“In addressing this question, he followed the same theological line as the author of Hebrews, but he adorned it by introducing the Pauline contrast between Christ and Adam. According to Irenaeus the Word’s assumption of the flesh was required for our salvation because Adam’s sin had been committed in the flesh. Sin in the flesh required salvation in the flesh. He explained, “So the Word was made flesh in order that sin, destroyed by means of that same flesh through which it had gained mastery and taken hold and lorded it, should no longer be in us,” and “that so He might join battle on behalf of our forefathers and vanquish through Adam what had stricken us through Adam” (Proof of the Apostolic Preaching 31).

As I noted, Irenaeus here is clearly the heir to St. Paul, who contrasted Christ and Adam in terms of “disobedience unto death” and “obedience unto life” (Romans 5:12–19).

In his treatment of salvation, however, Irenaeus stresses the Resurrection much more explicitly than is obvious in the Epistle to the Hebrews, and this in turn colors his approach to the Incarnation. Thus, he writes of “our Lord’s birth, which the Word of God underwent for our sake, to be made flesh, that He might reveal the resurrection of the flesh and take the lead of all in heaven.” In this way, explains Irenaeus, Christ becomes “the first-born of the dead, the head and source of the life unto God” (op.cit, 39). ” -Daily Reflections (12-21-07 thru 12-28-07)

The Laughter of Isaac

“Isaac is one of the most engaging figures in Holy Scripture, probably because he is the most associated with the exuberance of laughter. Isaac was named for laughter, in fact, because that name, formed from the verbal root shq, literally means “he will laugh.” It is ever a marvel and a grace, for sure, to hear a little infant laugh, and I confess, for my part, a preference for the view that babies, when they come to earth, bring along with them the laughter of the angels.

In the birth of Isaac, however, the circumstances attendant on his unexpected appearance in this world afforded an even ampler ground for mirth. No one felt this better than his mother, Sarah, who conceived him at the age of 89, and the happy laconism that she delivered, right after delivering her son, was smartly to the point: “God has made me laugh, and all who hear will laugh with me” (Genesis 21:6)…….

According to the full, Christian understanding of the Holy Scriptures, the joy of Abraham and Sarah at the promised birth of Isaac was burdened with the gold of prophecy, for his miraculous begetting foretold a later conception more miraculous still. Isaac was, in truth, a type and pledge of “Jesus Christ, the Son of David, the Son of Abraham” (Matthew 1:1). And Mary, mother of this Newer Isaac, having conceived him in virginity just days before, made perfect her responding song of praise by remembering the mercy that God “spoke to our fathers, to Abraham and to his seed forever” (Luke 1:55).

Did not Abraham himself anticipate with joy the later coming of that more distant Seed? Surely so, for even our Newer Isaac proclaimed, “Your father Abraham rejoiced to see my day, and he saw it and was glad” (John 8:56). Like Moses (5:46), Isaiah (12:41), and David (Matthew 22:43), Abraham was gifted to behold, in mystic vision, the final fulfillment of that primeval word, “But my covenant will I establish with Isaac” (Genesis 17:21).

In the second century, St. Irenaeus of Lyons expressed thus the mystery inherent in the figure of Isaac: “Abraham, knowing the Father through the Word, who made heaven and earth, confessed him as God, and taught by a vision that the Son of God would become a Man among men, by whose arrival his seed would be as the stars of heaven, he longed to see that day, so that he too might embrace Christ, as it were; and beholding him in the Spirit of prophecy, he rejoiced” (Against the Heresies 4.7.1).”- Fr. Patrick Reardon in the Nov. 2003 issue of Touchstone Magazine.

It is Not Christmas Yet

The Second Sunday of Advent: In the Roman Catholic Church and other Christian churches of the West, the several weeks prior to Christmas are known as Advent, from a Latin word meaning “coming.” It happens that the beginning of Advent always falls on the Sunday closest to November 30, the ancient feast day (in both East and West) of the Apostle Andrew. Among Christians in the West this preparatory season, which tends to be less rigorous than Lent and often involves no special fasting at all, always begins on the fourth Sunday before Christmas. Thus, from year to year it will vary in length between 3 and 4 weeks, but always with four Sundays.

The observance of the season of Advent is fairly late. One finds no sermons for Advent, for instance, among the liturgical homilies of St. Leo the Great in the mid-fifth century. About that time, however, the observance was already emerging in Spain and Gaul. A thousand years later, the time of the Reformation, Advent was preserved among the liturgical customs of the Anglicans and Lutherans in more recent years, other Protestant groups have informally begun to restore it, pretty much as it originally started—one congregation at a time.

In the Eastern Orthodox Church, the corresponding penitential season of preparation for Christmas always begins on November 15, the day after the Feast of the Apostle Philip. For this reason it is popularly known as St. Philip’s Fast. A simple count of the days between November 15 and December 25 shows that this special period lasts exactly 40 days, the same as Lent.

Other features of Advent deserve some comment:

First, in the West the First Sunday of Advent is treated as the beginning of the liturgical year. (In the East, the liturgical year does not begin with Advent but on September 1, which bears the traditional title, “Crown of the Year.” Its historical relationship to the Jewish feast of Rosh Hashanah is obvious.)

Second, during the twentieth century there arose the lovely custom of the Advent wreath, both in church buildings and in homes. This wreath lies horizontally and is adorned with four candles. The latter, symbolic of the four millennia covered in Old Testament history, are lit one at a time on each Saturday evening preceding the four Sundays of Advent, by way of marking the stages in the season until Christmas.

Third, because of the emphasis on repentance, Advent is a season of great seriousness, not a time proper for festivity, much less of partying and secular concerns. Advent is not part of the “Christmas holidays,” and Christians of earlier times would be shocked at the current habit of treating this as a period of jolly good times and “Christmas cheer,” complete with throwing office parties, trimming of Christmas trees and other domestic adornments, exchanging of gifts, caroling, and even the singing of Christmas music in church.

All of these festive things are part of the celebration of Christmas itself, which lasts the 12 days from December 25 to January 6. Anticipating these properly Christmas activities in advance of Christmas itself considerably lessens the chance of our being properly prepared, by repentance, for the grace of that greater season; it also heightens the likelihood that we will fall prey to the worldly spirit that the commercial world would encourage during this time. Daily Reflections by Fr. Patrick Reardon

Note- Fr. Pat is presently going through the book of Revelation in his Daily Reflections. One can learn a lot concerning the book of Revelation from Fr. Pat.

Vigilance

1 Thessalonians 5:1-11: In this passage Paul deals with, among other subjects, the theme of vigilance. This was not a theme peculiar to Paul, but part of he common catechetical inheritance of the Church, going back to Jesus Himself (Mark 13:33-37). Being common, it is found in other New Testament writers as well (1 Peter 5:8; Revelation 3:2-3). When Paul speaks on this subject, therefore, he is saying something that Christians generally expected him to say (cf. 1 Corinthians 16:13; Colossians 3:2).

The life in Christ includes a vigilant, heightened consciousness, a stimulated awareness, a certain kind of mindfulness, clear and sharp thinking, intelligent questioning. This vigilance will have some trouble with the general sense of stupor common in contemporary culture, where pipe-in music prevent a person from hearing his own thoughts, and great efforts are made in the advertising world to prevent us from seeing the complications of things. Every single project, from the offering of new deodorant on the market to the construction of anew bridge or road, involves an underlying philosophy and a set of metaphysical presuppositions. The alert mind will search out these things, for the simple reason that his adversary, the devil, goes about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour (From Daily Reflections by Fr. Patrick Reardon, 11-12-07).

Home Bible School

“Before he ever met the Apostle Paul, the life of young Timothy was already full of blessings. Indeed, Paul himself, among the last lines he wrote on this earth, reminded Timothy of those blessings: “But you must continue in the things which you have learned and been assured of, knowing from whom you have learned them, and that from childhood you have known the Holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus” (2 Tim. 3:14–15).

Both Paul and Timothy knew who were the latter’s first teachers of Holy Scripture. Paul wrote earlier in this same epistle, “I call to remembrance the genuine faith that is in you, which dwelt first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice, and I am persuaded is in you also” (1:5).

These two women, Timothy’s mother and grandmother, had raised him, not only in the faith but also in the study of the Sacred Writings, ta hiera grammata—sacred grammar. It was this early study of Sacred Letters, carried on in the home, that grounded the soul of young Timothy and prepared him to become, in due course, an apostle of the Church and the bishop of Ephesus. The whole Church, for the past 2,000 years, owes to these two women an immense and unpayable debt of gratitude.”- Fr. Patrick Reardon

Read the entire article here.

Fr. Patrick Reardon on Orthodox/Roman Catholic Relations

I was looking through the archives at Touchstone Magazine and came across this article by Fr. Patrick Reardon concerning the ecumenical conference Orientale Lumen II, conducted at the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C., during June 9–12,1998.

Except for leading vespers one evening, I was pretty much a passive participant at the conference, quietly attempting to absorb the rather substantial amount of material with which we were presented. In so doing, I came away with three distinct impressions.

First, there was the constant underlying sense that Roman Catholic and Orthodox ecclesiologies differ more than the major participants in the conference, especially the Roman Catholics, appeared to realize. The two sides, I am persuaded, mean something quite different when they say that they believe “in one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church.”

In Cardinal Cassidy’s presentation, for example, it was clear that the word “Church” primarily meant a juridical, canonical institution, and this impression became very explicit in the somewhat animated exchange between the cardinal and Bishop Kallistos in the general discussion that closed the event.

Bishop Kallistos insisted that the Church derives her identity from the celebration of the Eucharist and that canonical jurisdiction necessarily resides solely in the Eucharistic president, the bishop, by reason of his consecration to this sacramental presidency. The universal office of the pope, on the other hand, has no such sacramental foundation. In the Orthodox view, jurisdictional authority must derive from episcopal ordination, by which a man is consecrated for the normative presidency of the Eucharist, but the pope’s episcopal consecration is identical with that of any other bishop. That is to say, the pope’s office has no special foundation in the sacraments of the Church. In consequence, whatever authority the pope may have, it cannot include jurisdiction over the whole Church, because it is not related sacramentally to the whole Church.

In all of this, Bishop Kallistos was enunciating what has been the standard Orthodox position for centuries; in the Orthodox view, any jurisdictional authority within the Church derives essentially from, and is directed towards, her sacramental structure and identity. Yet, after many decades of serious and scholarly ecumenical dialogue, even so generous, enthusiastic and dedicated an ecumenist as Cardinal Cassidy seemed unable to come to grips with this most elementary doctrine of the Orthodox Church.

In short, the Roman Catholic and Orthodox theories of canonical jurisdiction diverge at root; they do not begin in the same place nor grow in the same direction. Thus, when Bishop Kallistos, in the most blunt exchange of the whole conference, suggested that Cardinal Cassidy’s separation of canonicity from sacramentology ran the danger of “ecclesiastical Nestorianism,” the cardinal appeared not to grasp what he meant, nor did the Roman Catholics among whom I was sitting. It seemed to them an impertinent remark at best.

While I found this particular exchange most discouraging, it probably was an inevitable consequence of the Orientale Lumen format. The discussions at each of these two conferences have been conducted by shared commentary on papal documents, and the lines of elaboration within these documents have understandably presupposed a Roman Catholic ecclesiology. Consequently the discussions themselves have tended to be no more than exercises of “fine tuning” of Roman Catholic thought, and the Orthodox have been expected to make their own contribution to the refinement.

For everybody concerned, this is frustrating. It is as though the Orthodox were summoned to play in a baseball game, whereas they themselves do not particularly like baseball and would prefer football. When the kind and gentle Roman Catholic hosts cordially invite the Orthodox to make suggestions relative to such matters as the height of the pitcher’s mound, the ground rule double, the distance of the center field wall and the infield fly rule, they are understandably distressed when their guests, the “disappointing” Orthodox, then insist on throwing screen passes, using the halfback option and punting on fourth down. In short, the ecclesiastical differences are far deeper than the dialogue has yet become.

A Delicate Balance

Second, if the ecumenical discussion did begin to follow Orthodox lines of thought, and if the Roman Catholic Church were to adopt that more conciliar approach to ecclesiology characteristic of the Orthodox, it could mean utter disaster for Roman Catholics in many places. From outside that institution, one has a strong impression that the single entity holding the Roman Catholic Church together right now is the centralized office of the pope. An adoption of a more Orthodox ecclesiological perspective, in which authority is vastly more diffuse, would almost certainly weaken that papal office, whereas it is by no means obvious that the many Roman Catholics around the world have much else in common besides the papacy. For example, were it not for the authority of Rome, what would the bishops (to say nothing of the nuns) of the Roman Catholic Church in this country (to say nothing of Holland) have in common with their counterparts in Bavaria, Spain, or Poland? The Roman Catholic Church for nearly a thousand years has moved toward ever greater centralized authority, and it is no longer clear that she would thrive, or even survive intact, without that authority maintained at full strength.

Her present historical situation may be likened to that of a plant conditioned over a long time by a special environment. Our domestic wheat, for example, would probably not last very long if we human beings did not cultivate it; human protection of wheat has become so necessary that, were it suddenly removed, the many natural adversaries of wheat would simply destroy the thing. Similarly, the centralized Vatican authority, which has systematically weakened every other local authority in the Roman Catholic Church since the time of Hildebrand, has now become her only viable option. Given the doctrinal chaos in evidence in Roman Catholic theological faculties around the world, for instance, what would happen if there were no equivalent to Cardinal Ratzinger and his staff of trained theologians at the Vatican? Does anyone seriously fancy that local Roman Catholic bishops would be able to detect a heresy or be able to do anything about it? In sum, if the Orthodox truly desire the well-being of their Roman Catholic brethren, I believe that they should not seek to weaken the authority of the pope and his entourage right now. Go to Touchstone magazine to read the entire article.

Standing, Lying, and Prostrating Before the Lord

Among the several ways of confessing what we believe about Jesus, not least important, I think, is our posture when we pray to Him. To be sure, we can pray to our Lord in any of several postures, and it may be the case that each of them expresses some distinct aspect of our faith.

Standing before Christ, for instance, intimates a readiness to do His will. That, we recall, was the posture of John the Baptist (John 3:29). Again, sitting in the presence of Christ suggests a humble submission of ourselves to His tutelage. Such was the case with Mary of Bethany (Luke 10:39). Again, prayer on bended knee is a very special posture of love and supplication to Christ. Peter (Acts 9:40) and Paul (20:36) preferred to pray that way, and we know that Stephan died on his knees in the presence of Christ (7:60).

Even lying down on our beds, moreover, may express the confident faith that our Lord makes us dwell in peace and safety (Psalms 4:8). Indeed, that was the position in which the waking daughter of Jairus first encountered Him (Mark 5:41).

Among the bodily postures expressive of our faith in Christ, however, the most solemn is that of prostration, or adoration (proskynesis). This is especially obvious n the Gospel of Matthew, which rather habitually pictures various people encountering Jesus in that posture. Indeed, in Matthew prostration is a supreme expression of the Christological faith.- Read more at Orthodoxy today.

-Fr. Patrick Reardon

Phil. 2.12 and a Reformed view of Sanctification

One of the things that really bothered me when I was a Reformed Christian was the Reformed view of sanctification. The Reformed theologian usually teaches that good works do not contribute to our salvation but are simply the fruit of a greatful heart that has already received salvation. What is the Reformed to do with passages like Phil. 2.12? The Reformed theologian is rightly concerned that our salvation is by God’s grace but I think there is another way to see works in the context of our salvation without denying grace as is demonstrated by Fr. Patrick Reardon. Fr. Patrick says,

“Anyway, commentators were quick to mention that the expression “work out” means something different from “work for.” This distinction, however, though it is certainly valid (in the sense that salvation can never be earned), is also something of a distraction from what the apostle has in mind to say. Paul does not mean, “Work out the consequences of being saved.” That is to say, there is nothing in the passage to suggest that this working out is the fruit of a salvation already accomplished. On the contrary, in telling the Philippians to “work out” their salvation, Paul is thinking of salvation as something ongoing, not yet achieved, still to be accomplished. Salvation remains to be . . . well, “worked out.” The tense implied in the text is the future.

The context, manner, and spiritual atmosphere of this working out, says Paul, is “fear and trembling,” and this expression too needs examination. Why fear and trembling?

There are those that believe that the fear and trembling indicate that salvation is somehow still in doubt–that we must work at like the deuce, lest we ultimately lose it. But this interpretation also seems alien to the context. The reason that the apostle gives for our fear and trembling here is not the danger of losing our salvation (though there are other places where the Bible addresses this question too).

The reason for fear and trembling given here in Philippians is, rather, the consideration that “it is God who works in you both to will and to act for His good pleasure” (2:13). The motive for our fear in this passage is not a sense that our salvation is in doubt. On the contrary, it is the awareness that the real “work” in the process of salvation is done by God, who is active in our lives and hearts. This sense of God’s holy and transforming activity is the source of our trembling. Whatever work we do, we do because He is at work in us. We do not tremble because of some fear that we may fail. We tremble, rather, because we know that the least effort we can exert respecting salvation comes from the sanctifying influence of divine grace.”

The entire article is here.

Three Characteristics of Christian Prayer.

The Lord’s account of the two men who “went up to the temple to pray” (Luke 18:9-14) may be said to illustrate three characteristics of Christian Prayer. It shows such prayer to be theologically structured, persistent, and pure.

First, the prayer is theologically structured. Jesus tells us that this Publican “went up to the Temple to pray.” He could have prayed anywhere, we suppose. He might have gone out into the woods, for instance. Some folks have told me, over the years, that they don’t come to church on Sunday because they find it more comfortable to pray out in the woods, or in the privacy of the home, or on the beach, or perhaps on the golf course. We presume that this Publican could have done the same, but he chose to make a special trip to the Temple, a particular house set apart for the purpose of worship. That is to say, the Publican gave a determined theological structure to his prayer.

It may have been the case that this Publican went up to the Temple at one of the special times for prayer, such as the ninth hour, when the evening sacrifice was being offered. Thus, the Acts of the Apostles tells us, “Peter and John went up together to the temple to pray at the hour of prayer, the ninth hour.” This time of the evening sacrifice was a favored time of prayer. One of the Psalms recited at that hour contained the lines, “Let my prayer be set before You as incense, The lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.” Jews observed this evening hour of prayer throughout the whole world, uniting their hearts and minds in communion with the evening sacrifice taking place in the Temple. Thus, in the Book of Acts we find the Centurion Cornelius observing that same ninth hour of prayer.

When Cornelius became a Christian, did he stop observing that daily discipline of evening prayer? Of course not. Indeed, he and the other converts carried it right over into the Christian Church as the canonical hour of Vespers, which we have continued, in an unbroken tradition, to the present day. It is instructive to observe that Vespers invariably contains the lines, “Let my prayer be set before You as incense, The lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.”

Or perhaps the Publican went up to the Temple to pray at the third hour, the time of the morning sacrifice. That too was a standard time of daily prayer for Jews throughout the world, who united their hearts and minds with the morning sacrifice being offered in the Temple. This third hour, we recall, was the time at which the Holy Spirit descended on a group of Jews gathered in the upper room on the first day of the week. Those Jews, when they became Christians, did not stop that daily discipline of prayer at the time of the morning sacrifice. It passed over into the Christian Church as the canonical hour of Orthros or Matins, which we have observed ever since. Vespers and Matins are older than any other part of our daily liturgical format; they are older than the Christian Church.

Or it may be the case that the Publican went up at some other time during the day, a time dictated solely by his personal preference. It makes no difference. The important thing to observe is that he made his prayer in the Temple. That is to say, he gave his prayer a defined theological structure. His prayer was not a purely private devotion. It was offered within a theological context, because the Temple was an institution of theological history. The Publican’s prayer was rendered in the setting of an “organized religion.” It found its proper frame of reference in an ongoing community of shared faith and binding address. His prayer was situated within salvation history. It expressed his identity as a child of Abraham and an heir of the covenant. He prayed in continuity with Moses and the prophets. In prayer his soul was united to David, the author of the Psalms. The Publican’s prayer was an expression of his very identity.

Second, the Publican’s prayer was persistent. Jesus tells us that this Publican “standing afar off, would not so much as raise his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me a sinner!’” Luke uses here the imperfect verb etypten, which literally means, “he kept on beating his breast.” The Publican was not afraid to repeat himself in his prayers.

Luke also uses the imperfect tense in two other scenes of prayer in chapter 18 of his Gospel. Thus, in describing the cry of the widow in the parable that comes just before this one, Luke says that when this lady came to the judge’s house, she cried out repeatedly. Similarly, later in this same chapter of Luke, we read of the blind man of Jericho, who kept on crying out to Jesus as He walked along the road. These were all repeated prayers. The Publican’s “Lord, have mercy” was prayed many, many times. He was not content with just once. His prayer was persistent. He would give God no rest.

Persistent prayer tends, in short, to be repetitious prayer. This is a perfectly biblical style, in spite of a strange modern bias against repetition in prayer. Apparently it was this somewhat recent bias that caused the translators of the King James Bible to mistranslate the Greek word polylogia (”wordiness”) as “vain repetition” (Matthew 6:7). Repetition in prayer, however, is exactly what we find in these stories in the Gospel, where petition takes the form of repetition. There is nothing “vain” about it.

Third, the Publican’s prayer was pure. It was a simple pleading for the divine mercy, a prayer of humility and repentance. In short, it was a pure prayer. Unlike the Pharisee in this parable, the Publican passed no judgment on anyone else. Knowing himself to be a sinner, he was not the least bit disposed to think of himself as better than others.

Pure prayer is humble and repentant. It is not self-righteous. It is not puffed up and self-satisfied. Pure prayer does not seek its own fulfillment. A man that prays with spiritual purity stands in stark contrast to those who pray in order to find some sort of spiritual lift or personal satisfaction.

We don’t know if the Publican felt spiritually fulfilled by his prayer. In fact, we surmise that perhaps he didn’t. We suspect that he felt just as miserable after his prayer as he did before. He was no less a sinner for having admitted to being a sinner. When he left the Temple that day, we may presume that he was not content or happy with himself. None of that has anything to do with the purity of prayer.

No, purity in prayer means that the prayer is unselfish. It is not prayer made for the sake of some spiritual experience or devotional high. These qualities are not essential to prayer. Indeed, they may serve in some cases as nothing better than distractions. What is important in prayer is its purity. Pure prayer is unselfish prayer.

The Publican’s prayer represented the gift of himself to God. True, it was a poor gift, because he was a sinner, and he knew it. Yet, according to Jesus, “this man went down to his house justified rather than the other; for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.” Such is the prayer of the man who is justified through faith, not by his own merits. His prayer is pure because it is based solely in the mercy of God. This is the prayer that Jesus teaches in the parable of the Publican.

Fr. Patrick Reardon is pastor of All Saints Antiochian Orthodox Church in Chicago, Illinois, and a Senior Editor of Touchstone: A Journal of Mere Christianity. He is also the author of Christ in the Psalms, and Christ in His Saints (both books are published by Conciliar Press).

The Historical Problem of Christmas

A special historical problem attends the Gospel accounts of our Lord’s Nativity, but the correct solution to that problem, I believe, offers a unique perspective on those narratives. This subject is easily understood and very much worth the pursuit. We will look first at the problem, and then consider its solution.

The problem, as I remarked, is historical. We may put it simply: Just where did Matthew and Luke find the historical material that fills the first two chapters of each of those Gospels?

The significance of this question will be obvious if we examine the content of the earliest apostolic preaching. It is not a hard task to demonstrate that that preaching was based on a defined narrative structure, which invariably began with the ministry of John the Baptist. It contained nothing pertinent to the Lord’s conception, birth, and childhood.

We discern the structure of that early apostolic preaching in the Acts of the Apostles. Thus, when St. Peter began to evangelize Cornelius and his friends at Caesarea, he commenced by speaking of the ministry of John (10:36-37). He went directly from John to Jesus; there was nothing mentioned about Jesus prior to His baptism by John.

The same is true of St. Paul’s evangelization of Pisidian Antioch. To speak of Jesus, Paul began by linking Him directly to the ministry of John. He included not one word of Jesus’ life prior to that time (13:23-25). That is to say, the “evangelical narrative,” the story form in which the Gospel was proclaimed, embraced the ministry of Jesus, beginning with John the Baptist. It contained no information about the earlier years of Jesus, or about His conception and birth.

Now this is exactly what we should expect from a close inspection of the directive that Peter gave to the assembled Apostles prior to the Pentecostal outpouring of the Holy Spirit. When they determined to choose some person to take the place of Judas Iscariot to fill up the number of the Twelve Witnesses, Peter specified the time period concerning which that chosen person would have to bear witness. He must be selected, said Peter, from among “these men who have accompanied us all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, beginning from the baptism by John to the day that He was taken up from us” (1:21-22). That period of time, beginning with John’s ministry, defined the specified limits of the original apostolic narrative, the primitive story structure of the Gospel.

Two of the Gospel writers adhere rather strictly to these specified time limits. Thus, Mark begins his Gospel with the ministry of John the Baptist (1:2-3). Even the evangelist John, whose first words take us up to the eternity of the Word’s relation to the Father (1:1-5), commences the story of Jesus’ life on earth by introducing John the Baptist. Even before declaring that “the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us,” John proclaims, “there was a man sent forth from God whose name was John.” He goes on to describe the Baptist’s ministry at some length (1:6-40). He moves directly from John to Jesus. Neither Mark nor John mentions a single detail about Jesus’ life from an earlier period.

In short, then, the inherited story structure of the first apostolic witness began the story of Jesus’ life at the point of the preaching of John the Baptist. That apostolic witness seems to have contained not a single detail about Jesus prior to the Baptist’s appearance at the Jordan. Matthew and Luke, consequently, in order to lengthen the Gospel story to include accounts of Jesus’ conception, birth, and early life, had available no pertinent material from the earliest apostolic preaching. As far as we can tell, no one had ever preached on such material.

Therefore, this is the historical problem: just where did Matthew and Luke obtain the narrative material that fills the first two chapters of each Gospel? What source was available to them?

The only reasonable answer, it seems to me, is Jesus’ own mother, of whom we are told, “Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart” (Luke 2:19,51). Luke is obviously disclosing his source here. Mary alone was still alive to remember, years later, those details no longer known anyone else. She is surely the living witness of the precious stories about herself and Joseph, the conception and birth of John the Baptist, her own virginal conception, the manger in the stable, the swaddling clothes, the angels and the shepherds, the Magi and their gifts, the Lord’s circumcision, the presentation in the Temple, Simeon and Anna, and the dramatic event that occurred when Jesus was twelve years old.

Matthew and Luke differ greatly between themselves with respect to details and their differing literary and theological interests, but they tell essentially the same story, and it was a story they could have learned from only one source.

Consequently, to read their Christmas stories even today is to enter into a mother’s contemplative heart where those stories were preserved until they were written down in the Gospels under the inerrant guidance of the Holy Spirit. Holy Church, in order to proclaim this earlier part of Jesus’ life, draws us into the immaculate heart of Mary, to share in her inner faith and contemplative vigilance, to understand Christmas as she understood it.

Fr. Patrick Reardon is pastor of All Saints Antiochian Orthodox Church in Chicago, Illinois, and a Senior Editor of Touchstone: A Journal of Mere Christianity. He is also the author of Christ in the Psalms, and Christ in His Saints (both books are published by Conciliar Press).