As originally published in The Catholic Telegraph Magazine
Invitation to Prayer: “In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Luke 1:78-79)
Reflection
“O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” This ancient hymn captures the yearning of a world cloaked in shadow—a world the Christ Child entered on the first Christmas day. It is both a cry of hope and a declaration of faith that “the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.”
As we gaze toward Christmas morning, we believe that this light is not only a child in a manger but the God who transforms death into glory. In His coming, the shadow of death is pierced by the radiance of God’s glory, and what once seemed impenetrable darkness becomes a place where the divine light shines brightest.
Every Christmas season, the tension between light and shadow is made visible. Around our tables, we notice the spaces left by those who have gone before us, their absence keenly felt even in the midst of joy. Some of us fear becoming that empty seat, a mere memory in the hearts of others.
Christmas speaks tenderly into this grief. It tells the story of the infant Jesus, whose coming ensures that every empty chair and silent space will ultimately be filled—with His Light, the light of eternity, and the joy of reunion with our glorified loved ones. Where death once reigned, the dawn of Christ brings life everlasting. Even the reminders of death, painful as they may be, are transformed into reasons for hope. Christmas proclaims that the dawn from on high has broken into our lives, shining its eternal light into the shadow of death.
By Christ’s birth, our deaths become births themselves—they are no longer endings but sunrises illuminated by the light of Heaven. Christ’s presence flips the world on its head and reverses the power of death. My father’s heart, which ceased beating barely two months ago, joyfully drums once again, not by the cold physical forces of this earth but by the fiery love of God. The friends I lost to addiction have been emptied of their drugs and filled with the Living Water that quenches every thirst. Even the relentless process of aging, which eventually carries all our loved ones (and ourselves) to earthly graves, is inverted as we become as young as the angels in Heaven.
This Christmas, know that your loved ones are with you. You may not be able to see them, but they are there, and one day you will gaze upon them again. In the tender compassion of our God, you will be reunited in unending joy. The pain of loss will pass, but the joy—oh, the joy—will never end.
Prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, fill every shadow of my heart with the dawn from on high. Come into my grief, my emptiness and my longing heart. Take everything that I am and make it like yourself. Shine the light of Your eternal Kingdom upon my soul, so that I know my loved ones are in Your loving hands. Strengthen me on this journey to see them again. Amen.
Colin Rahill is the Director of Digital Engagement for the Archdiocese of Cincinnati. He is also a writer and speaker, published under the name of C.M. Rahill.
