December 25, 2025, Christmas Day

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

On Christmas morning, the Church gives us a text that feels almost too vast for a manger. No shepherds, no angels, no star. Instead, John takes us back before Bethlehem, before creation itself, into the deep mystery of God’s own life. And then, with astonishing simplicity, he says: “And the Word became flesh and lived among us.”

Not descended in power.
Not clothed in glory.
But born — fragile, vulnerable, dependent — into the messiness of human life.

This is the wonder of Christmas: that God does not remain distant, untouched, or abstract. God comes close. God pitches a tent among us. God chooses to dwell in the very places we often think are too ordinary, too broken, or too uncertain to matter.

John tells us that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. Notice that he does not say the darkness disappears. Christmas does not deny the reality of the night. It does not pretend the world is suddenly healed or whole. The empire still dominates. The poor are still poor. Fear still grips the hearts of many. The innocent are still vulnerable.

And yet — the light shines.

This is where Howard Thurman’s words guide us so faithfully. In his poem “The Work of Christmas,” he reminds us that Christmas is not finished when the decorations come down or the carols fade:

“When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins.”

The Word becoming flesh is not the end of the story — it is the beginning of our calling.

John says that to all who receive him, who believe in his name, he gives power to become children of God. Not by bloodline. Not by achievement. Not by status. But by grace. By relationship. By love made visible in Christ.

And what does that life look like?

Thurman answers with clarity and courage:

“To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among others,
To make music in the heart.”

This is what it means to live as people of the Incarnation. Because if God has chosen to dwell among us, then every human life becomes holy ground. Every act of mercy becomes a continuation of Christmas. Every step toward justice, compassion, and reconciliation becomes a reflection of the Word made flesh.

John tells us that in Christ we have seen God’s glory — not in power or domination, but in grace and truth. Glory wrapped in humility. Glory lying in a manger. Glory revealed in love that will one day stretch out its arms on a cross.

And this is our hope on Christmas morning: not that the world is perfect, but that God is present. Not that darkness has vanished, but that light has come — and it cannot be extinguished.

So as we leave this holy day and return to ordinary life, may we carry Christmas with us. May we become bearers of that light. May we live as those who know that God has drawn near, and that love has taken on flesh — in Christ, and now, through us.

For the Word still dwells among us.
And the work of Christmas continues.