Msgr. Ronald Knox: A sermon preached at the London Oratory, Sunday, 21 December 1941

"The light shines in darkness, a darkness which was not able to master it." Shines, not shone; it may be, nearly a century had passed since the first Christmas Day, when those words were written, and still there was no rift in the clouds. The darkness was not able to master it; what does that mean? To overpower it? Or to understand, to assimilate it? We shall never know; perhaps St John was thinking of both meanings. Perhaps he meant us to see the world as permanently a battle-ground in the struggle between light and darkness, either setting off and showing up the other. On the one hand, darkness cannot take in, cannot assimilate the light. There is that in human nature, a nature wounded by the Fall, and redeemed now but not rectified, which will hold its own to the end of time. And always human nature in the mass will be like a caricature, that emphasizes the ugly features of a subject by writing them large; men in crowds will be more impatient, more cruel, more acquisitive than men considered as individuals. Perhaps—we do not know—there will always be shadows, as well as light, around the cave of Bethlehem.

Equally true, and perhaps more importantly true, is the other side of the picture. Darkness cannot overpower, cannot restrain the light. Once Christmas has happened, once we have been allowed to get Bethlehem's angle on the world, things can never be the same again; we may try to live down that revelation, but we shall not forget it. It has been said, and wisely: "Even to make darkness visible, some light is needed. We are only discontented with ourselves when we are struggling to be better than ourselves." If we find the world hideous, do not let us forget to thank God for that illumination which enables us to see its hideousness, for every rush-light that guides our way through darkness, a darkness which it cannot dispel.

And don't let us forget that the same principle holds true of our own personal lives. So many of us, when Christmas comes round, feel as if we had not the courage to present our self at the crib; it shames us with its poverty—we are so creature-loving; shames us with its humility—we are so full of injured pride; shames us with its faith—we are so full of hesitations and evasions. Why is it still dawn with us; why have we never grown up into the perfect day? As long as you have the grace to be thus discontented with yourself, take courage; all is not lost. No need to despair of any soul, except the soul which despairs of itself. Those deep shadows which checker the recesses of your conscience are proof that the light is still there. There is headroom in the cave of Bethlehem for everybody who knows how to stoop.