A Christmas Eve Reflection
Luke 2:1-20
Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley
December 24, 2025
Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYealXZjbwY
We tell this story every year. We know all the parts. Augustus was Emperor. Quirinius was governor. There were Mary and Joseph, of course. And the shepherds who say . . . “Wow” and the sheep go . . . “Baa” and the angels say . . . “Do not be afraid.” That’s right and then afterwards they sing. But the first thing angels always say is “Do not be afraid”. I think they know that we humans are fearful creatures.
We tell this story every Christmas, but we don’t really linger on the fearful parts. You know Mary had to be afraid, terrified even. Afraid to give birth, afraid that she might not survive the process or that the baby might not. We don’t hear that part. We don’t wait with an anxious Joseph. We don’t see it through the eyes of the midwife who has seen it all go wrong too many times before.
The house was full of people. The spare room was already taken. That’s why Mary gave birth in the place with a feeding trough – it was the space available with the most privacy. But the whole house would have known that she was in labor. Some aunts were probably her birthing coaches. Some uncles were commiserating with Joseph. Older cousins were playing with younger ones to keep them distracted and out of the way. And everyone held their breath a little, until they heard that it was a boy and he was fine and Mary was fine and all was well. Then there was a collective sigh of relief and some tears of joy and hugs and proud grandparents congratulating their son and their new daughter-in-law.
We have already talked this season about the risks Mary accepted in saying yes when the angel asked her to bear God’s Son. We have already mentioned Joseph’s struggle to reach the decision to stick with Mary and accept the baby as his own. Those are also parts of the fear and joy of this story.
Mary and Joseph are in Bethlehem, instead of with Mary’s family in Nazareth, because the government doesn’t care about forcing a pregnant person close to delivery to make a several-day journey. The governor only cares about their value as tax-payers, so they have to go to Bethlehem for the census. Come back for the next two Sundays to hear about how the authorities become even more of a threat, and how Mary and Joseph and the baby become refugees, fleeing the violence of their homeland to give Jesus the possibility of growing up to adulthood.
We tell this story every single year. We tell it in the years when the economy is strong and peace is prevailing and everyone is getting along at the Christmas dinner table. We tell it every year -- the times when not everyone makes it home for Christmas, during the hardships of a pandemic and when there’s not enough money to buy even one gift. Tonight, somewhere in a war zone or at a hospice bedside, this story is being told. We hear this story tonight together in a place where this month we have lamented the ongoing attempted genocide in Gaza and a shooting in Australia that targeted a Jewish community celebrating Hanukkah. We hear this story against the backdrop of gun violence in our country, most recently as young adults at Brown University were killed and injured. We are hearing it as we bear witness to ICE raids that are tearing families apart and creating terror in immigrant communities.
We tell this story every year, because we need it. We need to remember that God came to earth and joined a family, entering into the struggles, the fears, the anxieties, the joys, the dangers, and the tragedies that go along with being human.
We tell it with all the details we know, because God came as a very specific human, one who was born to parents of humble means. Mary and Joseph were poor. They were pushed around by the powerful. Their lives were shaped by historical forces beyond their control. They did not have fancy educations or investment portfolios or any kind of privilege to buffer their child from a hard life. That child was God.
We tell this story because we are afraid and because this is a story of great risk and great love that can cast out fear. God, becoming a helpless child, susceptible to all the dangers that terrify us. God, putting God’s own self right into the thick of it.
As one of my colleagues says, “Remember the incarnation. Remember that God chose to become one of us. The God who chose to become flesh and dwell among us is always standing with the vulnerable and never celebrating with the cruel.”[1]
Friends, listen to the angels who say do not be afraid. I know, that’s a big ask. So I’ll modify it. Try it just for tonight. You can be afraid again tomorrow if you really want to. But for tonight, do not be afraid. Where fear would take up space in you, make room tonight for awe and wonder. Make room for heartache and compassion. Make room for imagination and hope. Make room for the holy to be born in you.
[1] The Rev. Marcella Auld Glass in her sermon on December 14, 2025 https://irp.cdn-website.com/95473ce8/files/uploaded/Sermon+12-14-25+MG.pdf