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Merry Christmas!
Three days ago we celebrated the birth of Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of God. It was beautiful, and it was holy. God came to us, God’s family, to dwell among us. What a gift! And yet, even now, so close to Christmas morning, I can feel a tender longing—a desire that the joy we tasted three short days ago would not fade, but would draw us ever deeper into love for the Lord we know so well and need so much. As Isaiah proclaims, “I will greatly rejoice in the Lord… for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation.” (Isa 61:10) We feel that rejoicing, and yet we long for it to be renewed again and again.
This morning I want us to remember what God has done, what God is doing, and what God calls us to do.
First, we remember the incarnation of Jesus: God choosing flesh and blood, choosing our world, choosing to be with us.
Second, we acknowledge our own presence here right now. Worship is something we show up for, something we practice with our whole selves, just as Christ showed up for us with his whole self.
And third, God calls us to show up for one another; our friends, our neighbors, the people God has placed in our lives. Just as God came to be with us, we are invited to be present with others.
Incarnation, presence, and showing up: three reminders of why we are here today, three movements of God’s love that we are invited to embody.
One of the most extraordinary claims of our faith is that God chose to dwell among us. God chose to become incarnate rather than remaining distant from our struggles. As the Gospel of John proclaims, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. And the Word became flesh and lived among us.” God came here, close enough to touch us, to embrace us, to share a meal with us, and yes, even to suffer with us. God meets our deepest longing with God’s divine presence. It is worth remembering that the author of John wrote these words so long ago knowing he would never meet us. He would never look into our faces or know our names. And yet the author writes with confidence that God intends connection. God intends relationship, both with God and with our neighbor.
God did not come to us once in Jesus, but God continues to send people to one another, intentionally, across generations, so that we might look into one another’s eyes and glimpse something holy. Incarnation means God refuses distance. It is more than a doctrine; it is a way of being, as familiar practices of faith awaken longing anew and invite us to show up fully in our lives, reminding us again and again how deeply we love Jesus and how completely we need him.
The celebration of Christmas is the bold affirmation that God became human. As the Nicene Creed puts it: “For us and for our salvation, he came down from heaven: by the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary, and was made man.” This is not God playing dress up or pretending to be human. This is God fully entering into human existence: crying as an infant, growing up in Nazareth, working with hands that grew calloused, feeling hunger and fatigue, and even enduring the humiliation of betrayal and death. God meets us not only in moments of wonder, but in the ordinary rhythms of life we know so well.
Jesus’ life affirms that to be human is not to be distant from God, but to be the very place God chose to dwell. “You shall be called My Delight Is in Her,” Isaiah writes, “for the Lord delights in you.” (Isa 62:4) God delights in humanity enough to enter into it. Think about that. God chose flesh. God chose our fragile, vulnerable, limited existence as the place to make divine love known. That means our lives, our bodies, our relationships, our daily acts of kindness are not incidental to our faith. They are the very place where love for God is formed, tested, and renewed.
The incarnation of Jesus shows us that presence matters. God could have sent us a letter, a sign, a set of instructions, or even another prophet. But instead, God sent a human, God’s own Son, who walked among us. God chose nearness, again and again, to draw us back when our love grows distracted or weary.
If the incarnation of Jesus shows us that presence matters, then one of the most practical places we live that out is in worship. Worship, especially over time, shapes our hearts. Even when it feels familiar, it awakens longing. Even when it feels routine, it reminds us who we are and that we belong to God.
Now, I know there are Sundays when it feels easier to stay home. The bed is warm, the coffee tastes just right, and the idea of putting on clothes and shoes and heading to church feels like a burden. And in our digital age, you have the option of streaming a service online. This is convenient, and if you can’t make it to church it is a good alternative, but it is not the same as incarnate worship.
When we gather, in person here at Epiphany, something holy happens. Jesus said, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am in the midst of them.” That does not mean Christ is absent when we pray alone, but it does mean that our embodied gathering carries a unique promise of God’s presence. Over time, showing up together deepens our love for Christ and for one another.
Worship is not only about hearing words or singing hymns. It is about being here, side by side, breathing the same air, shaking hands, sharing the bread and the wine, giving thanks. And at the heart of it all is the table. Each time we step forward for the bread and wine, we are choosing Jesus again and again. Christ meets us in something as ordinary as bread and wine. And the more we return, week after week, the more our joy is renewed and our salvation clothed upon us (Isa 61:10).
I remember once talking with a parishioner who said, “Some Sundays I don’t feel like I get much out of worship. But then someone will hug me, or I’ll notice the way the choir sings with such beauty and devotion, and I realize it wasn’t just about me. My being here may have encouraged someone else. My presence was perhaps my gift to the community, and in turn it became God’s gift to me.”
That is incarnation: showing up, even when it’s inconvenient, trusting that God is at work in ways we cannot always see.
During the pandemic, our ability to gather as an incarnate community was taken away. We gathered online, and some people even found Epiphany through online searches. One such person continued to worship online even after the restrictions were lifted because he knew no other way. Epiphany was close to his home, but his routine of worshiping online felt sufficient. One Friday he walked into Epiphany for the first time for the funeral of a friend. He introduced himself to me afterward with tears in his eyes and said, “I had no idea that worship in person could be so beautiful and so moving. I will be back on Sunday.” And he was, and has been every Sunday since, unless he was out of town. Incarnate worship renewed his longing for God and drew him into community.
Incarnation does not end at the church door. It extends into our friendships and daily lives. Paul writes in Romans, “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” Notice Paul doesn’t say send “a card from afar” or “pray from a distance” though those things have value. He says, be with them. Enter their joy and sorrow in person. Be with them. Presence rekindles love where distance cannot.
When we show up for one another, we become that sought-out place for someone else—evidence that they are not forgotten.
It makes a difference when someone shows up. A phone call is kind. A text is thoughtful. But when a friend drives across town to sit with you after a loss, or to celebrate a milestone, it speaks volumes. As Isaiah says, “the Lord delights in you” (Isa 62:4)—and we embody that delight when we are present with one another.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “The physical presence of other Christians is a source of incomparable joy and strength to the believer.” He knew this deeply, especially while he was in prison. Letters sustained him, but what he longed for most was presence. Longing, even in its ache, points us back to love.
We show up at hospital bedsides, in kitchens, on front porches. We may bring casseroles, but more importantly, we bring ourselves. And for love’s sake, we do not remain absent.
A couple of months ago I was about to get into my car when a friend rushed out to me, clearly distraught. Even though I was late, I stopped. I listened. She was upset about something a longtime friend had written on social media about her. For several minutes she cried, yelled, and then spoke quietly. Her pain was visible. I said nothing. After a while she stopped, looked at me, smiled, and said, “Thank you for being here. Thank you for listening. I know what I need to do.” Presence was enough.
Incarnation is not about having the perfect words. It is about bringing our whole selves, our listening ears, our compassionate hearts, our patient presence. That is what Jesus does for us, again and again, and it is what Jesus invites us into.
Jesus faced misunderstanding, rejection, and the cross. To show up for others is to risk vulnerability. But it is also where joy is found. When we show up in worship, our faith is strengthened. When we show up for friends, our love deepens. Presence renews longing, and longing draws us closer to God.
The incarnation of Jesus Christ changes everything. It reveals that God’s love is not abstract but embodied. It calls us to show up for worship, trusting that even familiar practices will renew our love for the Lord. And it calls us to show up for one another, because love without presence is incomplete.
The Word became flesh and lived among us. Now we, as Christ’s body, are called to live incarnate lives—here in this church, and out there in the world. God showed up for us in Jesus. We show up for God in worship. We show up for one another in love.
And every time we do—every time we choose presence over absence—Christ’s incarnate love takes deeper root in us. “When faith grows familiar, God awakens longing again, reminding us how deeply we love Jesus and how completely we need him.
Our longing is renewed, our love made stronger, and the glory of God is revealed—not in some far off heaven, but right here, right now, in flesh and blood, in all of us.
So as we leave this place today, let us carry with us the heart of why we gathered.
We remember what God has done: that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, choosing our world and choosing our lives.
We remember what God is doing: meeting us here in worship, shaping us through our embodied presence, renewing our longing and deepening our love.
And we remember what God calls us to do: to show up for one another with the same compassionate presence that Christ shows to us, becoming signs of God’s nearness in a world that longs to be seen and known.
Incarnation, presence, and showing up; God’s love made real in Jesus, God’s love made real among us, and God’s love made real through us.
May these truths guide our days ahead, that we might be renewed in love for the Lord we know so well and need so much.
Merry Christmas.