Luke 2:1-14 on December 24th, 2025
Above is audio of the sermon pulled from the video and amplified.
Below is transcript pulled from the video and formatted by artificial intelligence. There may be inconsistencies or errors.
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We all have favorite Christmas memories. Those picture, perfect moments that come back to us any time December 25th rolls around. One of my favorite memories is a tradition that my family had when I was younger. After Christmas Eve candlelight worship, our family of five would pile into the crowned Victoria and we would drive around to different neighborhoods to look at Christmas lights before heading home to open family gifts. Some houses were beautiful, some were a bit much, but I remember admiring the colors, wondering how long people spent hanging all those lights and soaking it all in. And our kids are old enough now that they can actually stay up past our latest Christmas service. So I mentioned to Dana that maybe we should try that tradition with them. I want to recreate those memories with my kids. And of this present preaching moment, it sounds like tonight's the night.
Now, a funny thing is my parents came up this past weekend to see the new digs and all. And completely unprompted, my mother brought up how I used to hate going to look at Christmas lights after the Christmas Eve service. She went into detail about how all I wanted to do was go back and open presents. So it turns out that my memory is not as perfect as I thought. It's not perfect, it's just polished. Some of us here tonight have old memories of this place, this sanctuary, pictures by the tree, singing favorite carols, holding up candles as a light dim and silent night is sung. And now that we're here, we haven't worked out, I can let you know that we almost had a very imperfect silent night. We are in a new space with things that are beautiful and polished. And while things look put together, some things don't quite work as they should just yet. Some pews were installed incorrectly. The big Christ window doesn't shine as brightly as it does on a Sunday morning, though if you got here about 415 you would argue with me. And the lights, it was almost a silent night under the dentist light kind of evening. All is calm, all is really friggin bright. Not ideal. But even if it had gone that way, that would be a new memory of an imperfect moment and Christ still would have been born.
Because Christmas isn't about recreating perfect moments, it's about God becoming flesh and dwelling among us. From the very start, Jesus was born into imperfection. Mary, the mother, was just an unwed teenager. Joseph was not the father of the baby. Both were traveling a long way to a place that they didn't really know. They were foreigners in that land. And when they arrived, there was nowhere to stay. They were turned away again and again rejected. They were sent to the back shed to deliver their baby, their first born son. And there they were, in a stable with real animals that smell and hay that isn't quite as soft as you might think. It's not beautiful. It's actually kind of tragic. And Christ was born into this. Christ was born for this. God did not wait for conditions to improve. God did not wait for the scene to look right. God didn't wait for perfection. God chose to enter the world in the middle of ordinary, messy and even uncomfortable life. God shows up where we are, not where we are perfect.
See, we do a lot of polishing. We polish our memories, we polish our stories, we smooth out rough edges, and we keep the parts that shine. I guess we think we have to. And yet God comes even if we are misremembering how good things actually were. In the Christ child, God enters into our reality. All of our reality, not just the polished parts, not just the moments that we put in a picture frame, not just those memories that we treasure. God enters the chaos, God enters the imperfection, God enters the craziness, the fear, the mess. And somehow God makes it all beautiful. God doesn't make it perfect. God makes it beautiful. God comes to this. And because God comes to this, we can trust that God is present in every part of our lives, not just the moments that feel holy or put together. God did not shy away from the brokenness of Bethlehem and God did not shy away from the brokenness in our lives either. That's the gift of Christmas that God enters our lives, our real lives, and promises something beautiful.
As we gather tonight, some of us may feel like our lives are beautiful right now. Others may feel that nothing is right, but everything is broken and imperfect. Chances are we're somewhere in the middle. But we gather again to hear the promise that no matter what Christ is born, that Christ is born for you. And while our worship and this space aren't perfect, they don't need to be. God is here. God is here in Word and Song. God is here in Bread and Wine. God is here giving light to life and grace. This is a place where God meets us, where new memories are formed, not because everything is just right, but because God is present. And more than that, God promises to work out something beautiful where we never even expected it. And as we think back to that first Christmas, the scene itself isn't all that pretty or perfect, but we remember it fondly because God was present there. And God's presence, so it makes the difference. The baby born this night will show us the full extent of what God's presence means. God will be present in joy and in sorrow. God will be present in life and in death. God will be present at a cross. God will be present at an empty tomb. God will bring grace. God will bring forgiveness. God will bring life. God will bring beauty, even when nothing else is seen to. Our Savior is born into this. Our Savior is born for this. And that is what we celebrate. God doesn't shy away, but God comes. And God works. God works to make something cherished where it didn't look like it could be. Like lights on Christmas Eve or a birth and a barn, and even in our lives every single day. That is the gift of Christmas. And it's beautiful. Amen.