A light in the dark night.
Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa - This year, Christmas holds an even deeper meaning for those living in the Holy Land and for those closely following events in this region. Luke’s Gospel account of the birth of Jesus—set against a backdrop of political decrees and power struggles—reminds us that faith is not a form of escapism. Rather, it is an immersion in reality, a reality often scarred by injustice and suffering.
The Holy Land, a crossroads of peoples and faiths, bears witness to this truth. Here, the choices of the powerful have tangible consequences on the lives of millions, as recent events have dramatically demonstrated. War, violence, hunger, and devastation have left a deep mark on the region. Gaza, in particular, has endured unimaginable violence and destruction. Although the conflict has entered a new phase, almost all families still live among the rubble, facing a future that appears fragile and uncertain.
Yet, even in the midst of this dark night for humanity, the light of Christmas shines through. When I met these families recently, I was struck by their resilience and their desire to start over. I witnessed their ability to find joy again and their determination to rebuild their lives, even when all seemed lost. I believe that right now, they are experiencing their own distinct Christmas—one of new birth and life.
This is not to be naïve. We are fully aware that the problems remain unresolved and will not be fixed easily or quickly. Rather, it is about giving voice to the desire for life and rebirth, a desire stronger than any destruction. This is where the spiritual message intertwines with current events: hope is not an illusion. It is a real force that springs from faith and translates into tangible acts of reconstruction and peace. Perhaps this is how Christmas should be for everyone.
Christmas does not invite us to flee from history, but to stay, to engage, and to refuse neutrality. Every act of reconciliation, every word that refuses to fuel hatred, and every choice that centers on the dignity of others becomes the place where God’s peace takes on flesh. The responsibility for peace does not lie solely with institutions or political leaders, but with each of us: civil society, religious authorities, and every man and woman called to be a guardian of hope.
The contrast in the Gospel between the power of the Roman Empire, symbolized by Caesar Augustus, and the fragility of a child born without privilege remains relevant today. While history seems to follow the logic of force, God chooses the path of discretion, closeness, and sharing. The meaning of Christmas is not a spiritual refuge or an escape from reality, but above all, a school of responsibility. It teaches us that the "fullness of time" is not an ideal condition we must await, but a reality to be welcomed and transformed. It is Christ himself who makes time full, inhabiting and transfiguring it.
In the Holy Land, this truth resonates with particular force. Celebrating Christmas in Bethlehem means recognizing that God chose a real land, marked by wounds and waiting. The holiness of the sacred sites coexists with the still-open wounds of history. Yet, even amid the rubble, the tears, and the unanswered questions, the Child of Bethlehem continues to illuminate the faces of many. He passes from heart to heart through humble acts, reconciled words, and daily choices for peace.
Christmas reminds us that God chooses to dwell in this very history. He invites us to be a presence of light, hope, and peace—here and now. Christmas, then, is not merely the memory of a past event, but a call to live the present with courage. The night of the world may be deep, but it is not definitive. The light of Bethlehem does not impose itself; it opens paths. Like the shepherds in the Gospel, we too are called to return to our lives glorifying and praising God, carrying with us what we have seen and heard.
On this holy night, the Church proclaims that hope has not been disappointed. God has entered our history and has never left. He has chosen to dwell in human time so that no one feels excluded, no life is discarded, and no night is left without light. May the Child of Bethlehem bless this land and all its peoples, and make us instruments of His peace: not spectators, but witnesses; not fugitives, but guardians of hope.
Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem