News and Views

"For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders, and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Great will be his authority, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom. He will establish and uphold it with justice and righteousness from this time onward and forevermore."
– Isaiah 9:6-7a

Beloved of God,

Grace and peace to you in the name of Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, the Light that shines in the darkness and is never overcome.

At the beginning of Advent, I wrote to you about the Light that comes into the world with boldness. A light that is not delayed, diminished, or deterred by the shadows that press in upon us. I shared that even the smallest light matters and each of us makes a difference when Christ’s light shines through us. Now, as we gather again at the Christ Mass, I wonder if we are tempted to treat this holy moment as familiar, even routine, like hearing the children play Jingle Bells on a recorder one more time. We have sung the carols, heard the angels’ song, and rehearsed the story so often that it risks losing its capacity to astonish us. And yet it is precisely now when we are living amid violence and death, division and incivility, weariness and fear, that Christmas must be reclaimed in all its disruptive, awe-inspiring and hope-filled depth.

The Incarnation is not God’s sentimental gesture toward the world. It is God’s decisive act of solidarity with it. In Immanuel, God does not remain distant from our suffering but enters it fully, choosing flesh and vulnerability, risk and relationship. Howard Thurman reminds us that Jesus was born into a world of crushing inequity, political domination, and social humiliation, and that his life speaks most clearly to those whose backs are against the wall. Christmas, then, is not God ignoring the world’s pain; it is God stepping directly into it. The manger is not an escape from reality but a confrontation with it. God is with us right here and right now, breathing our air, bearing our wounds, and refusing to abandon creation to despair.

This holy birth is also the fulfillment of a long and aching hope. The story of Christmas is woven deeply into the promises of God spoken through the prophets of Israel, promises uttered in exile and uncertainty when God’s people wondered whether God was still present. Isaiah dared to proclaim that a virgin would conceive and bear a son called Immanuel, God with us. Micah envisioned a ruler emerging from little Bethlehem, not from the corridors of empire but from the margins. Jeremiah spoke of a righteous branch raised up for David, and a covenant written not merely on tablets of stone but on human hearts. These were not abstract predictions; they were declarations of God’s faithfulness in the midst of history’s heartbreak.

In the birth of Jesus, those ancient promises are not merely remembered beloved, they are confirmed! God shows that divine speech does not expire, that covenantal love does not wither with time, and that liberation delayed is not liberation denied. N. T. Wright teaches that when the Gospel writers tell the Christmas story, they are not simply reporting a birth; they are announcing that Israel’s God has returned at last, keeping faith with the promises made long ago. Christmas testifies that God’s word can be trusted, even when fulfillment arrives in unexpected places and through unlikely people.

That assurance matters deeply for us now. If God was faithful to promises spoken centuries before the manger, then we can trust that God is still moving, still speaking, still acting, and still liberating today. The same God who broke into history in Bethlehem continues to break into our present, interrupting our despair, dismantling the injustice we are witnessing, and calling forth hope where it seems least plausible. Therefore, our Christian hope is not naïve optimism but a defiant confidence rooted in God’s divine future. The Incarnation assures us that God’s future is already pressing into the present, even when the evidence feels thin and the night feels long.

And so, in a year when so much feels shallow, fractured, or performative, Christmas calls us back to depth. It grounds us again in the truth that God’s power is revealed not in spectacle but in self-giving love, not in domination but in presence. It reminds us that the Church exists not to mirror the world’s divisions but to embody an alternative way of being human rooted in promise, shaped by hope, and animated by love.

The Christ Mass is not a ritual we rehearse as rote; it is a mystery we are invited to enter. The Light that was born in Bethlehem still shines, and it shines through you. Your acts of compassion, your refusal to dehumanize, your courage to speak truth with love, your commitment to justice and peace are not small offerings. They are incarnational acts, living confirmations that God’s promises continue to unfold. In a season marked by rejection, othering and condemnation, Christmas is offering presence. In a time marked by noise and cruelty, Christmas is choosing gentleness. In a culture addicted to contempt, Christmas is practicing love.

This Christmas, may we allow ourselves to be re-awakened by the wonder and witness of the Incarnation. May we trust again in the God who keeps promises across generations. And may we rise from the manger renewed, carrying Christ into the streets, sanctuaries, classrooms, communities, and corridors of power where hope is desperately needed.

The Light has come. The Word has been kept. The promise is alive. And by God’s grace, that Light shines through you.

Merry Christmas, beloved.
Bishop LaTrelle Miller Easterling