Dear St. Andrew’s Family,

In Advent, we kept returning to one simple, world-changing name: Emmanuel—“God-with-us.” Not God-above-us, not God-beyond-us, not God-for-us-in-the-abstract, but God with us: present, near, and personally involved in the real texture of human life.

That’s what Christmas dares to proclaim.

One of the gifts of our assigned Christmas lectionary is that it lets us see what this means from three angles at once.

First, we hear the familiar story in Luke: the journey, the crowded town, the ordinary animals and feeding trough, the angels singing in the night sky, and shepherds who become the first witnesses. It’s a story with dirt under its fingernails and its breath visible in the chilly air. God arrives not in a protected, curated, “perfect” setting, but in a place where people are tired, overstretched, and trying to make do. That is exactly where the “good news of great joy” lands.

Then we hear Isaiah proclaiming hope with the confidence of a messenger running over the hills: peace is possible; God is acting; salvation is not a fantasy. Isaiah’s Christmas promise is not sentimental. It is sturdy and concrete. It’s for people who know what it means to wait, to worry, to wonder if the world can really be made right. Isaiah insists: God has not forgotten us. God is coming. God’s joy is not a denial of what hurts; it’s the beginning of what heals.

And finally, we hear John—no manger scene, no shepherds—just the grand announcement: “In the beginning was the Word… and the Word became flesh and lived among us.” John’s word takes us all the way back to the Word in creation, and says, in effect: the God who said “Let there be light” has stepped into our darkness personally. Not as an idea, not as a distant force, but as a living, breathing human life. Emmanuel.

So here is the heart of my Christmas message to you: Whatever this season holds for you, remember God is with you in it.

If Christmas is joyful for you this year—if your home is full, if your table is lively, if you feel the warmth of love and belonging—then rejoice, and know that your joy is not shallow or accidental. Joy is a holy sign. God is with you.

And if Christmas is complicated—if you are carrying grief, or loneliness, or worry for yourself or someone you love; if you feel stretched thin, or uncertain about the future; if the lights feel too bright for the ache you’re holding—then please hear this too: God is with you. Not disappointed in you. Not waiting for you to “get it together” before drawing near. With you in the quiet. With you in the hard parts. With you in your questioning and longing.

That’s what it means that Jesus is Emmanuel. God did not stand at a safe distance from human life. God entered it. God shared it. God sanctified it from the inside.

So, as you celebrate, I want to invite you into a simple Christmas practice: make room. Not just in your schedule, or your house, or your holiday plans—but in your heart.

Make room to receive God’s nearness.
Make room for wonder.
Make room for forgiveness, if it’s needed.
Make room for someone who could use a phone call, a meal, a ride, a quiet visit, or a note that simply says, “You matter.”
Make room for worship—because when we gather, we remember and receive Emmanuel together.

As your priest, I’m grateful for you. I’m grateful for the ways you carry one another. I’m grateful for the many quiet kindnesses and offerings of time that rarely get noticed but are the true “light” of this community. And I’m grateful—deeply—that the God who comes to us in Jesus is still coming to us now: in Word and Sacrament, in prayer, in service, in our shared life.

May this Christmas be, for each of you, not only a celebration of what happened long ago, but a renewal of what is true today: Emmanuel. God-with-us.

With love, and with every blessing,

Fr. Keith+