The world tempts the traveler with many strange and wonderful sights, the white temples of Shangrila, which seem to float in the clouds, the houses of Timbuktu, like a tangled maze of children's blocks, the monumental city of the Pharaohs, stretching out across the ancient sands. Each may lay claim to being a land of mystery.
But as Christmas approaches, a young person returning to Maine can see the most mysterious sight the world has to offer, a pine forest beneath a wintry night sky and the Northern Lights. As the miles recede behind him, a gently-waving curtain of multicolored lights casts its light over snowy fields, as each tree points up and outward like an arrow to the starry path beyond the sky.
Somewhere in his heart, the returning wayfarer knows that no land is as marvelous as Maine. The civilization of the Puritan, built on a foundation of respect for one's fellow man and obedience to God's Word, made Maine the closest the world has seen to a utopia. Our forebears exalted the spiritual over the material, the eternal over the mundane; and the closer our people moved towards God, the more Maine became like Heaven.
What is true is steadfast and unmoving; tranquil, but giving guidance, like the Pole Star. Error is always in motion, like the fleeting images on our computer screens and televisions, loud and demanding like the music which accompanies every bad idea our society has to offer. Under the constant hammer blows of error and distraction, even the sturdiest values weaken and crumble into dust.
The real Maine is not a tourist destination, a quaint survival of a bygone era, a pristine wilderness which beckons the outdoorsman. The real Maine is a spiritual heritage more certain and more enduring than the Pole Star. This spiritual heritage is a striving for values beyond this world, a mysterious longing to remake the world on the pattern of the divine. Hence the light shining on our dark fields and forests, a symbol of Christmas, is our symbol as well.
At Christmas it is easy to see the spirit of covetousness which imperils our land. Out of pride and the desire to be loved, we dash from store to store in search of the right trinket. Our eyes brim over with the evening news and the big game; our ears are filled with the din of Muzak and the ring of the cash register, we toil to prepare a pleasing Christmas dinner; and in the end, our souls are hollowed out by worldliness and vanity. We modern-day Americans may not be the free and independent, carefree people we claim to be. Perhaps we are an orphaned nation, frantically searching for our father in the night.
How much better it would be if we all could come home. This Christmas, let us remember that the true Maine is not a place of big box stores, of endless hucksterism, each merchant trying to outcry the other with the desirability of his wares. Rather, let us remember those values which are our spiritual heritage, a high regard for women and motherhood, the sanctity of life, peace and tranquility among neighbors, quiet industriousness, not for greed, but to uplift our fellow man - and honor to men who bear arms to protect our nation.
What a gift it is to come home to such a place, at such a time, to parents whose goal is not to gain wealth or power or prestige, but to be transformed into the image of Christ!
And above all, let us come home to the true light, the light which first shone in darkness - Jesus cradled in the arms of Mary, watched over by Joseph, in a stable on a cold winter night, a humble mother and father welcoming the salvation of man.
