We come together tonight to once again follow the star to Bethlehem, to gather at the manger, and to share the Christmas message that “…the Word became flesh and dwelt among us…”

The poetry of this night belongs to everyone, no matter who we are or the level of our faith, and it connects us with generations across the centuries who have gathered year after year, just as we have tonight, to be moved once again by that singular moment in history when God came to us as one of us.

The familiar scripture passages wash over us: “I am bringing you good news of great joy for all people…” “…she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger…” and “…his name shall be called Emmanuel…”

Emmanuel — the God who is with us, the God who is made out of the same fragile, earthly fabric we are. Tonight, God becomes human, that we might know God in terms we can understand.

The bible records that since the beginning of time, God tried again and again to be in relationship with humankind, to show us just how much we are loved. Through priests and prophets and covenants, God kept sending us messages of love and truth. God brought forth Adam and Eve in God’s image; they were the first humans to have a relationship with God, and they were the first of us to separate from God.

God tried again and made a covenant with Abraham, and with all humanity, saying “I will be your God and you will be my people; you will be faithful to me and I will be faithful to you.” And although God upheld God’s promise, we still had our doubts and were not faithful.

Then God gave us, through Moses, the Ten Commandments chiseled into stone tablets, and we broke them in more ways than one. Then God simplified the covenant: “Love me and love your neighbor. And rather than write them on stones, write these words on your hearts, so they will be with you always.” But even that was not enough for us.

Because what we really needed, what we really wanted to know was: what is God like? God had come to us in impressive and powerful ways: in pillars of fire, in mysterious clouds, in dreams and burning bushes. But we could not see God; we could not quite comprehend God or God’s love for us. And the Psalmist put words to humanity’s question: “God, how long will you hide your face from us?”

There is a modern day parable about a religious skeptic who worked as a farmer. One raw winter night, the man heard an irregular thumping sound against the kitchen storm door. He went to a window and watched as tiny, shivering sparrows beat in vain against the glass, attracted to the warmth inside.

Touched, the farmer bundled up and trudged through the fresh snow to open the barn door for the struggling birds. He turned on the lights and tossed some hay in a corner. But the sparrows, which had scattered in all directions when he emerged from the house, hid in the darkness, afraid.

The man tried various tactics to get them into the barn. He laid down a trail of Saltine cracker crumbs to direct them. He tried circling behind the birds to drive them toward the barn. Nothing worked. Seeming to be a huge, alien creature, he had terrified them; the birds could not comprehend that he actually wanted to help.

The farmer withdrew to his house and watched the doomed sparrows through a window. As he stared, a thought dawned on him: If only I could become a bird – one of them – just for a moment, he thought. Then, I wouldn’t frighten them so; I could show them the way to warmth and safety. At the same moment, another thought hit him. He had grasped the reason God had come to us as Jesus, as one of us.

For thousands of years, we asked “God, what are you like?” And tonight God answers by pointing to the manger. For thousands of years we asked God, “How will we know you?” And in Bethlehem, God answers, “Look and see, I will be like you.”

God has come to us as one of us, so that in this child, you and I might become one with God. That is why the angels sing “Peace on earth, good will to all” – to all of us, each one of us.

And yet, I know that for some this Christmas, peace is allusive, and celebrations are laced with pain. Some of us are facing this night alone, or with heavy hearts burdened by grief, loss, uncertainty, or disillusionment. Perhaps we are dealing with an estrangement, or a job loss, or an addiction, and we pray for the shadows in our lives to be filled with the light of hope, and for the pain-soaked places to be filled with joy.

Yet, it was precisely for you that God in Jesus came; it was to touch such pain and heal it, to fill our emptiness, to move us to reconciliation, and to renew us after times of failure. In Jesus, God took on our human frailty and weakness so that God would know what it meant to be human in every dimension, from life’s extraordinary joys to the depths of abandonment, suffering and death.

Whether you walk daily in faith, whether you are one who slips in and out of belief, or whether you have yet to be convinced of God’s existence, what happened on that long-ago night was for you. Christ offers each and every one of us a divine hand, a forgiving heart, a loving embrace, and a new beginning.

Tonight, God knocks on the door of humankind and presents Godself as a person, God with a human face – not the God Up There, distant as the farthest star, but God With Us, who comes to us in the ache of our longing, in the shame of our failures, in the shadows of our darkness, to bring healing in the midst of pain, hope in the center of the hurt, and peace in our anxious hearts.

“The Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.”

Jesus. Emmanuel. God with us.

Then. Still. Forever.

Amen.

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