At the end of the Gospel we hear on Christmas Eve, we are told that Mary pondered these things in her heart.

She did not rush to explain them.
She did not try to resolve all the questions.
She held them—patiently, prayerfully—allowing their meaning to unfold over time.

That may be the most faithful response available to us right now.

Rather than rushing ahead to the next obligation, the next resolution, the next task, what if we allowed ourselves to linger?

What if we treated these days not as a wind-down, but as an invitation?

An invitation to reflect.
To remember.
To notice.

To allow the memories of what has been, the realities of what is, and the hopes of what may yet be to gather within us.

To look again for the light we might have missed.

To let the Holy Spirit work quietly within us—healing what is wounded, softening what has grown hard, rekindling what has dimmed.

Because when the light fills us, it does not stop with us.

It becomes visible to others.

Not in grand gestures or dramatic displays, but in patience.
In kindness.
In attentiveness.
In the simple, faithful presence of people who know they are not alone.

Christmas is all around us.

The Word is still dwelling among us.
The light is still shining.

The question is not whether God is present.

The question is whether we will take the time to see.

And perhaps, in seeing, help others see as well.

Christmas is all around us. Perhaps we can help others see it too by letting it fill us with its blessings this week.

You can view the whole sermon here.