By Msgr. Robert J. Batule.

Back in 1999, the Cable News Network (CNN) featured something called Voices of the Millennium. The voices chosen were historians, politicians, actors, musicians, athletes, scientists, and a great many others. Some of these figures were well-known and others almost completely unknown, but they all voiced commentary on events, ideas and movements that were changing the way we look at ourselves and the way we view the world.

What brings us to church at Christmas is a voice too - a voice not from late in the second millennium, but from early in the first millennium, calling us to truth - and to God's freedom. That voice made its debut when it pierced the stillness of the night air in Bethlehem of Judea. It was the voice of a baby crying. But how could the people of first-century Palestine know that this particular baby was their long-awaited Savior?

Some may have known of Isaiah's prophecy that a child would be born, a son given, who would be called Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, and Prince of Peace. (Isaiah 9:5) But could people in His time know that this prophecy was fulfilled in Jesus?

The people of first-century Israel had to wait until the beginning of Jesus' public ministry when he announced: "The kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the gospel." (Mark 1:15) We hear these last few words on Ash Wednesday, too, about repenting and believing, as ashes are imposed on our foreheads, marking the beginning of our Lenten journey, which ends at the Cross.

The juxtaposition of Christmas and Good Friday isn't as odd it may first seem. Because these two commemorations - one of birth and the other of death - are joined together by wood. The manger in which the Virgin laid the Christ Child at his birth was made of wood as was the Cross on which he died.

While hanging on the wood of the Cross, Jesus hears this request from Dismas, the "good thief": "Remember me when you come into your kingdom." (Luke 23:42) Dismas is a truthful man. He knows that he had been condemned justly and that his sentence accords with his crime. He also knows that Jesus had not done anything wrong. The Savior then lifts his voice and says to Dismas: "Today, you will be with me in Paradise." (Luke 23:43)

More than two thousand years ago, Paradise did indeed come to Bethlehem as the angel proclaimed the Gospel of great joy. But this joy would be short-lived. In Salvifici doloris (1984), Pope Saint John Paul II refers to Jesus as the Man of Sorrows. Our Lord is called this because He had taken upon himself the sins of us all. (Isaiah 53:4-6)

They are sins both old and new, except that often the new sins have now been redefined - and promoted - as acts of "compassion." What else would you call the passage of a new law in the United Kingdom recently that removes criminal liability for physicians who assist persons in taking their own lives? We in the United States have already had physician-assisted suicide for some time now in several States, most notably in Oregon.

We take such occurrences in stride now, seemingly because we have found an endless reservoir of "compassion" to assuage our consciences when yet another moral boundary has been crossed. But why this obtuseness? Just like ancient Jerusalem, we have failed to recognize the time of our visitation. (Luke 19:44)

How great a loss we have suffered in not taking proper account of our sins. We underestimate the gift of divine mercy given to us in God's Son, Emmanuel, that is, God dwelling with us. (Matthew 1:23) We presume upon the mercy that became man and take it for granted. In this case, we have acted more like the criminal hanging alongside Jesus (not Dismas) who mocked the Lord and wanted to be saved without the Cross. (Luke 23:39)

Not everyone during Jesus' ministry was like the unrepentant criminal on Calvary. There's also, for instance, the rich young man who poses the question: "What good must I do to gain eternal life?" (Matthew 19:16) This question ...