Christmas Eve, 2025

                             (Nativity Diorama, c. 1920s, Glencairin Museum, Bryn Athyn, Pa.) 

That is the claim of Christmas: that the eternal God steps into our ordinary world and changes everything.

One of the oddest Christmas experiences I’ve ever had happened in mid-August … in Guangzhou, China. In Guangzhou, entire city blocks are devoted to wholesale Christmas decorations, toys, and novelties.

As I walked down those streets, I saw vendors hawking plastic Santas and snowmen by the metric tonne, miles of garland and lights stretching as far as the eye could see, and warehouses filled to the brim with artificial trees and wreaths. Wholesalers shouted prices in dollars, euros, and pounds while shipping agents negotiated their next container overseas.

That day I realized that Santa’s workshop was real—just not at the North Pole. It was on a city block in a city of millions on the banks of the Pearl River.

There are really two Christmases in our culture. The first begins sometime  after Halloween and builds steadily through December until it finally peaks late on Christmas Eve. This is the Christmas of shopping and sales, of busy schedules and tired hearts. It is the Christmas that Charlie Brown names so honestly when he asks, “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?”

The other Christmas is what we are celebrating here tonight.

This is the Christmas of candlelight and carols, of pageants and family meals, of gifts given with care and gratitude, and—at the center of it all—the worship of God. This is the Christmas that opens the human heart to the possibility of the miraculous and speaks of a light that shines in the darkness. This is the Christmas of which Linus says, with simple confidence, “That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

These two Christmases could not be more different. One is built around consumption; the other around communion. One exhausts us; the other restores us.

A few years ago, I had the privilege of visiting the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, the place from which our Peace Light comes. Standing there among pilgrims from around the world, I was struck by how different that experience was from the streets of Guangzhou. Some people there were devout pilgrims, others curious tourists—but all had been drawn by the story of Christ.

In that way, we are not unlike that crowd tonight. Some of us are here week after week. Others are here because of family or tradition. Some may not even be sure why they came at all. But in one way or another, all of us have been drawn here by the story of Jesus, seeking the true meaning of Christmas.

Tonight we gather to hear again the story of Jesus’ birth, to sing our praise, and to welcome Christ into our lives anew. There is no distinction here between regular worshippers and occasional visitors. We are all part of the same sacred humanity, redeemed through the life, death, and resurrection of the one whose birth we celebrate.

What happened in that stable in Bethlehem more than two thousand years ago is the decisive moment in human history. God became human. The invisible became visible. The eternal entered time. Through Jesus’ birth, his life, his death, and his resurrection, God opens his arms to us. In that embrace, our deepest longings are met, and what is broken within us begins to heal. In Jesus, the restlessness of our hearts finds its rest.

St. Ambrose, one of the great preachers of the early Church, wrote:

God made himself a child so that we might become mature in faith.
He was wrapped in swaddling clothes to free us from the bonds of death.
He came down from heaven so that we might rise to heaven.
He had no place in the inn so that we might have many dwelling places with God.
Though he was rich, he became poor for our sake,
so that by his poverty we might become rich.

At Christmas, God reaches out to us and draws us near. God invites our worship, but also calls us to follow—to trust that no darkness we encounter can overcome the light that entered the world on this holy night. And God calls us to carry that light into the world.

On the door of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem there is a simple sign:

If you entered as a tourist, may you leave as a pilgrim.

That is my hope for all of us tonight.

If you come grieving, know that Christ offers joy.
If you come estranged, know that Christ offers reconciliation.
If you come angry or anxious, know that Christ offers peace.
If you come weary, know that Christ offers rest.

If you come tonight as a spiritual tourist, may you leave as a pilgrim and a disciple.
And if you come already walking the pilgrim path, may you be strengthened for the journey ahead.

And now, as we continue our journey together, let us sing:

O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant…