The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood. We saw the glory with our own eyes, the one-of-a-kind glory, like Father, like Son, Generous inside and out, true from start to finish. John 1:14. According to 'The Message', a personal translation by Eugene Peterson
Friends,
The strange thing about Christmas is that it comes whether we are ready or not.
It arrives in the middle of unfinished packing and wrapping, social calendars with more invitations than hours in the day, the memory of someone we love and see no longer caught in the bauble we hang on the tree. It comes in all the moments when we haven’t had time to pause or make space for the beauty and mystery of the season. The story refuses to wait for the moment we feel prepared to receive it. Instead, it comes when we need it most.
At the heart of Christmas is a claim that still unsettles us, I think: God comes. Not past tense, present tense. Not as an explanation or a tidy answer, but as a child born to Mary, laid in borrowed shelter, dependent on the care of others. God comes hungry, tired, needing to be held and soothed. Needing a name, a place, and people willing to stay. This is God choosing to live a human life from the inside.
As the Gospel puts it, the Word became flesh and moved into our neighborhood. Not above us. Not apart from us. Next to us.
And that choice changes things. It changes where God can be found — not removed from the world, but within it. It changes what home means — no longer something we secure by our own strength, but something God shares with us by grace.
Because when God chooses proximity, a dwelling is made among us. Not one we manage or maintain, but one we live inside — a life shaped by shared presence, open hands, and room at the table.
At Christmas, we gather in familiar places, around tables and trees, mangers and stories older than us. Not, I think, simply to reminisce — though memory matters — but to touch the heart of love once more. The love we gather around at Christmas is not an escape from the world we’re living in. It’s a reminder that God has already entered it, and remains. We gather because something has happened, and is still happening, whether we feel settled — or perhaps especially when we don’t.
During our Christmas Eve and Christmas Day services, the financial gifts offered will be shared between the work of love here at St. Francis-in-the-Wood and Covenant House. At this time, gifts to Covenant House are being matched by a donor, extending their reach even further. In different but connected ways, both are about amplifying the love we celebrate — here in our parish, and alongside young people seeking safety, care, and a place to belong.
Come, step into the season when love takes its first breath among us, with the 4pm pageant on December 24th - a service I like to call holy chaos, and you’ll still be home in time for dinner. Or perhaps your soul needs some quiet candlelight, stuffed in a pew with friends and family, singing the Christmas carols we love - that’s our 9pm service on December 24th. Perhaps, after the presents are opened and the coffee is enjoyed, you need some quiet and peace in the beauty of Christmas morning, that’s our 10am on December 25th.
Whoever you are, and wherever you find yourself on the journey of faith, Love is calling you home this Christmas. Love made tangible here at St. Francis-in-the-woods.
See you in the pews, I’ll save you a seat.
Alex+
PS: Click the video below to hear some of the music which is helping me express what loves means to me this season.
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