Christmas: When God chooses to walk with the wounded
This Christmas finds Sri Lanka in a moment of deep vulnerability. The year has been marked by loss that has touched every corner of our land. Natural disasters have claimed lives, shattered homes, and uprooted families. Entire communities have watched helplessly as hillsides collapsed, burying not only houses, but memories, livelihoods, and years of patient labour. Many now face the season with grief that lingers quietly, exhaustion that words cannot fully express, and questions that have no easy answers.
In such a context, Christmas cannot be approached lightly. For many, celebration feels restrained, even painful. Yet Christmas, at its core, has never belonged to moments of comfort alone. It was born in a world familiar with uncertainty, displacement, and fear. And it continues to speak most truthfully when life is fragile.
A child in a manger: Bringing hope
The ancient image of light appearing in darkness is one of the most enduring ways humanity has tried to express hope. It suggests that darkness however real is not final. Long ago, the prophet Isaiah spoke of “a people who walked in darkness” seeing “a great light” (Isaiah 9:2). Those words were first addressed to a wounded people, not a secure one. Today, they echo powerfully within our own national experience.
For Christians, this image finds its deepest meaning in the birth of Jesus Christ. His coming into the world is understood not merely as the arrival of a religious figure, but as a radical claim: that God chooses to enter human history, to share human vulnerability, and to stand within human suffering rather than above it.
This belief lies at the heart of the Catholic understanding of Christmas. The Incarnation – God becoming human – is not an abstract doctrine. It is a profound statement about the dignity of human life, especially when it is wounded. As the Christian tradition expresses it with striking simplicity, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). God does not observe pain from a distance. He experiences hunger, fatigue, rejection, and fear. He is born into poverty, lives among ordinary people, and encounters loss and injustice firsthand.
From the very beginning, His life signals a God who refuses to remain detached from the human condition. He does not arrive as a distant ruler, but as a vulnerable child, entrusted to human care. In this, Christmas reveals a God whose power is expressed through closeness, whose strength is revealed through humility.
This understanding offers deep consolation in a year such as this. It tells those who have lost loved ones that grief is not ignored by God. It tells those who have lost homes that displacement is not unfamiliar to Him. It tells those who feel overwhelmed that weariness itself has been carried by Christ. The Incarnation affirms that suffering is not a sign of abandonment, but a place where divine closeness can be discovered.
The light associated with Christmas, therefore, is not a dramatic brightness that suddenly removes all shadows. It is quieter and more resilient. It is the kind of light that endures. As the Gospel reminds us, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5). This light allows people to take the next step even when the path ahead remains unclear. It is the strength that enables families to rebuild, communities to support one another, and individuals to endure without surrendering their humanity.
This light becomes visible wherever compassion overcomes indifference, where solidarity replaces isolation, and where hope is chosen despite loss. It shines in the courage of those who help neighbours rebuild, in the patience of those who wait without bitterness, and in the quiet generosity of those who share even what is scarce.
Christmas also speaks of peace not as the absence of struggle, but as an inner steadiness that holds a person together amid instability. On the night of Christ’s birth, the message proclaimed was one of peace, offered not to the powerful, but to ordinary people living uncertain lives. This peace does not deny pain; it coexists with it. It allows people to grieve honestly while still believing that life retains meaning.
In a year marked by anxiety and disruption, such peace is not sentimental; it is essential. It is the peace that steadies the heart when answers are incomplete and the future remains uncertain.
The Catholic vision of Christmas also carries a challenge. If God has chosen to enter human suffering, then those who believe in Him are called to do the same. Faith is not an escape from responsibility, but a deeper engagement with it. The Incarnation invites people not only to receive comfort, but to become instruments of comfort for others.
In times of national crisis, this call becomes especially urgent. Rebuilding Sri Lanka will require more than infrastructure and economic recovery. It will require trust, empathy, and a renewed commitment to the common good. It will require the courage to look beyond divisions and recognize our shared humanity. When people choose to carry one another’s burdens, the meaning of Christmas becomes visible beyond words.
This season also invites reflection on what truly matters. In a world driven by speed, consumption, and constant noise, suffering has forced many to slow down and reconsider priorities. Christmas gently asks: What sustains us when familiar structures collapse? What gives meaning when achievements fade? What kind of society do we wish to build when we are given the chance to begin again?
The Christian response does not offer easy answers, but it offers a presence. It speaks of a God who remains close, even when solutions are incomplete. As the Gospel affirms, Jesus is Emmanuel-God with us (Matthew 1:23). This presence does not remove every burden, but it ensures that no one carries them alone.
As Sri Lanka marks this Christmas, we do so with realism, not denial. Pain has not vanished, and many journeys remain unfinished. Yet within the Catholic tradition, Christmas is not a declaration that suffering has ended. It is a proclamation that suffering has been entered, shared, and transformed by love.
For those who walk in darkness, the promise of light is not an abstract idea. It is a lived reality, experienced wherever people choose compassion over despair, courage over resignation, and solidarity over indifference. In this sense, Christmas is not confined to a single day or season. It is an ongoing invitation to allow light to shape how we live together.
May this Christmas help us rediscover calm amid uncertainty, strength amid fatigue, and hope amid loss. May it remind us that even in our most fragile moments, human life remains sacred, and new beginnings remain possible.
That enduring conviction that light can still be born where darkness seems strongest lies at the heart of Christmas. Merry Christmas!
(The writer is Director, City Mission of the Archdiocese of Colombo and Parish Priest of St. Anthony’s Church, Kollupitiya)
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