Joseph Mussomeli
If Christmas is anything, it is a revolution of the heart against the tit-for-tat of this world, against the demands of this world for balancing the scales and righting every wrong with a hard justice. Ultimately, if this world is saved, it will be mercy, not justice, that saves it.

I. When the Outlandish Is the Only Thing That Makes Sense
Christmas is such nonsense. Literally. For thirty-two years I enjoyed the food, the singing, the pageantry, and especially the lights, but I never believed the story plausible. For me, the story of Christmas Day made no sense. And worse, it was a slander and insult to Judaism, the one religion that had for centuries carefully and sensibly cleansed itself of pagan sentiment. But somehow that silliest of pagan myths, of a god becoming human, infected this most hermetically-sealed and protected faith. What a sacrilegious—indeed, ludicrous—notion that the Ineffable, the Incomprehensible, the Infinite, and the Eternal should descend, even condescend, to be human! How could That whose name dare not be uttered for fear that the naming would limit what is limitless become a mere human: frail, aching, lost?
And then, unexpectedly, my view changed. Because, unexpectedly, I became a father. What had seemed to me absurd and bizarre became absurdly obvious and natural. My son Isaac was born in March 1984, and within a few months, he got sick. Nothing serious, but to a new parent every sniffle seems certain death. I came home from work one day to find my wife Sharon huddled up on a chair, rocking Isaac, both of them crying inconsolably, tears silently streaming down their cheeks. She did not want to let him go, yet somehow I took him in my arms and tried to calm him, but nothing I said or did made any difference.  » Read More
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