As for what the monks of St. Maur conjectured concerning this sermon—that it proceeded from Maximus rather than from Ambrose—we confirm it by the authority of three most excellent codices and by the similarity of diction. The first codex is the Taurinensis, with the inscription: 'Likewise a homily III on the Nativity of the Lord'; the second and third are codices 90 and 99 of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme: 'On the birthday of our Lord and Savior.' Those same Benedictine monk-editors of the sermons of St. Ambrose, no. 6, p. 397 of the Paris edition of 1690, very rightly said that the sermon turns chiefly on this: that the day of the Lord's nativity was called the new sun, that is, the new year, since from that day the year once used to begin.
The most illustrious Alexander Politi writes in his notes on the Roman Martyrology, at the Kalends of January, that the most ancient of all martyrologies, marked with the name of the presbyter Jerome, takes the beginning of the year from the day of the Lord's nativity, and that the Martyrology of Ado begins from the vigil of the Lord's nativity. From these things it can be known that in some Churches the new year began from the day of the Lord's nativity; since, as our Maximus says, when the Savior rises, not only the salvation of the human race but also the very brightness of the sun is renewed. In a certain way the common people rightly call this holy day of the Lord's nativity the new sun, and confirm it with such great authority of their own that even the Jews and the gentiles agree in this expression.
This we should gladly embrace, because when the Savior rises, not only the salvation of the human race but also the very brightness of the sun is renewed. As the Apostle says: 'That through Him He might restore all things, whether those in the heavens or those on earth' (Eph. 1). For if the sun is darkened when Christ suffers, He must needs shine more splendidly than usual when He is born. And if for the Jews working death He poured out darkness, why should He not display brightness of life for Mary giving birth?
Or do we not believe that at Christ's birth the sun came brighter in homage, since a clearer star went before the magi as a sign? And if the star ministered the office of day at an unwonted time, why should we not believe that the sun too, in the hours of night, took away some little space by its earlier coming? From this, in short, I think it came about that the night grew shorter, while the sun, hastening in homage to the Lord's nativity, brought forth light to the world before the night had completed the course of its own time. Nay rather, I would say that that night in which the shepherds kept watch, the angels exulted, and the stars ministered, did not exist at all, nor had anything of darkness in it.
Nor ought we to marvel that at Christ's nativity all things were made new, since this very thing was new—that a virgin gave birth. But if the nativity took place contrary to the usual course, and homage was rendered contrary to the usual course, then, as the Lord rises, the shepherds keep watch, the angels exult, the sun does homage, the star ministers. And indeed the angels and the shepherds attend their joys with voice or with words; but those elements attest their joys, since they could not by voice, by their service. The sun therefore, contrary to custom, shone forth as morning at this festival; and no wonder: for if at Joshua's prayer it fixedly stood still in the day, why should it not at Jesus Christ's nativity hasten forward into the night?
The common people therefore call this day the new sun, and when they say 'new,' they thereby show that there is also an old one. Now I would call the sun of this world old—the sun which suffers eclipse, which is shut out by walls, which is obscured by clouds. I would call that sun old which is subject to vanity, which fears correction, which dreads the judgment. For it is written: 'The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood' (Joel 2:31; Acts 2:20). Old, I say, I would call that sun which is present among the wicked deeds of men, does not flee from adulteries, does not shun murder, and, whereas every kind of man wishes to keep clear when any crime is committed, this one alone stands by amid all misdeeds.
Therefore, since it is manifest that this one is old, whom else do we find as new but Christ the Lord, of whom it is written: 'The Sun of righteousness shall rise for you' (Mal. 4:2); of whom also, in the person of sinners, the prophet says: 'The sun has not risen for us, and the light of righteousness has not shone for us' (Wisd. 5:6). For this Sun, when the whole world was oppressed by the darkness of the devil, and gloom filled with crimes possessed the age, deigned in the last time—that is, when night was now pressing on—to pour in the rising of His nativity. First, indeed, before the light—that is, before the Sun of righteousness would illumine—He sent, as a kind of morning, the oracle of the prophets: 'I sent My prophets before the light' (Jer. 7);
but afterward He Himself shone forth with His own rays, that is, with the radiance of the apostles, and dispelled so great a gloom of the world with the light of truth, that no one stumbled into the darkness of the devil. This therefore is the new sun which penetrates enclosures, unbars the depths below, searches out hearts. This is the new sun which by His Spirit gives life to the dead, restores the corrupted, raises up things already deceased; or which by His warmth purges the sordid, burns up the fluid, boils away the vicious. He Himself, I say, is the one who in all our deeds beholds all our works, and does not so much condemn crimes as amend them.
This plainly is the just and wise sun which is not, like the sun of this world, carried around over good and evil without discernment, but which, insofar as it shines forth by the judgment of holy truth, sets upon the sinner. This difference exists between the two suns: that the one is a minister of corruption, while this one is the Lord of eternity; that the one is about the earth, while this one is the Creator. Yet this sun of the world, before it rises, is wont, while still before the light, to be preceded by a lamp for the necessary uses of men. But Christ the sun also has His own lamp, which went before His coming: as the prophet says: 'I have prepared a lamp for my Christ' (Ps. 138). And what that lamp is, the Lord shows us, saying of John the Baptist: 'He was a burning lamp' (John
5). And John himself, as a lamp going before, calling his own light small, says: 'Behold, there comes after me one the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to loosen: He will baptize you in the Holy Spirit and in fire' (John 3). At the same time, understanding that his own light would be dimmed by the sun's rays, he foretells Him beforehand: 'He must increase, but I must decrease' (ibid.). For just as the brightness of a lamp is destroyed by the sun's coming, so also John's baptism of repentance was emptied when the grace of Christ came upon it. Let us see, then, here, from what source our new sun is born. As is true, it rises with God as its author. He is therefore the Son of Divinity; of Divinity, I say, incorrupt, whole, unspoiled. I plainly understand the mystery;
for the reason His nativity was fruitful through the immaculate Mary is that His prior nativity through the Divinity had stood unspoiled: He whose first nativity was glorious does not deserve that His second be shameful. This is, that just as the Virgin Divinity brought Him forth, so also the Virgin Mary should bear Him. He is also written to have a father among men; as we read in the Gospel, when the Pharisees say: 'Is not this the son of Joseph the carpenter, and His mother Mary?' (Matt. 13). In this too observe the mystery. Christ is called the son of a carpenter. And plainly God the Father is a carpenter, who fashioned the works of the whole world; He is plainly a carpenter, who in the flood arranged for Noah to build the ark.
A carpenter, I say, is He who ordered Moses' tabernacle, established the ark of the covenant, raised up the temple of Solomon; I would call Him a carpenter who polishes rigid minds, cuts back proud thoughts, exalts humble deeds. This carpenter also uses a curved iron tool upon the trees, as we read in the Gospel, John saying: 'Now the axe is laid to the root of the trees. Every tree not bearing good fruit shall be cut down, and cast into the fire' (Matt. 3; Luke 3); so that He may set in place useful trees of the heavenly workmanship in the future, but consume the unfruitful ones, torn up by the roots, in the burning of the flames. Here it ends.