Our Lady of the Ranch:
A Christmas Homily

           “Bow down and pray for God’s blessing.”
           This instruction accompanies the dismissal from Mass, yet its practicality extends far beyond the exit doors.
           If you’re a barefoot child in summertime, for instance, a bowed head will detect ants about to crawl across your toes! If you’re a farmer sowing wheat, a bowed head informs you of the condition of the soil. If you’re a mother gathering socks from the floor of a daughter’s bedroom, a bowed head might spy an earring amid a scattering of hair barrettes.
           Oh, the things we notice when we bow our heads!
           Similar benefits apply to bending the back. This useful posture enables a nurse to lift a patient from a bed, a boy scout to crawl into his tent and a mechanic to reach beneath the hood of a truck.
            Tonight, at this Christmas Mass, we exercise both of these postures: we bow our heads and bend our backs. In so doing, we follow the lead of long-ago shepherds who once stooped to enter a cave where the Savior of the world waited to greet them. Prior to bowing heads and bending backs, however, those same shepherds gazed up at a sky filled with stars, their eyes transfixed in wonder and awe.
           For this pastor of souls on the Texas plains, that scene of shepherd craning their necks recalls a Mexican folksong, "Our Lady of the Ranch," which sings of Mary strewing thousands of stars across the midnight sky.            Jorge’s eyes no long functioned, yet they brimmed with pride each time he spoke of his years shearing sheep. For most of his life, Jorge and his crew traveled ranch to ranch, from the rangeland of of New Mexico to the mountains of Montana. His stories painted vivid scenes of mules and horses, canvas tents, campfires songs; the smell of wool in the air and the glisten of lanolin oil on their hands. 
           Jorge loved his work. Yet he loved the Savior even more.
           During pastoral visits to his home, when it came time to pray, Jorge would lower his face into his hands. At the words, “Behold the Lamb of God,” he would lift his head and direct his sightless gaze toward the Body of Christ, his yearning eyes moist with tears.            My friends, on this Christmas night, remember Jorge, who bent his back to bundle wool and sang of our Lady while pitching a tent.
           Bow your head, then lift your eyes to behold the sky, domain of angels and province of Mary.
           The firmament of Heaven. Arrayed in beauty and diamonded with stars.