God says: Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

 

God moves in down the street and wonders, "Won't you be my neighbor?"

Isaiah 9:2-7

Psalm 96

Titus 2:11-14

Luke 2:1-14(15-20)

This sermon was preached on Christmas Eve at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. The readings above, as well as the life of Fred Rogers guided this message. A video of the sermon may be viewed here.

Holy God, may my words be your words, and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen. 

 

The Reverend Fred Rogers—better known as Mr. Rogers—was once asked why his television show had such a lasting impact, why children—and adults—felt seen by it in a way few programs ever managed. His answer was simple.

 

He said that whenever someone came into his studio—child or adult, guest or stranger—he tried to imagine a sign hanging around their neck that read:

Please do not judge me.
Please try to understand me.
I am doing the best I can.

 

And then he said something even more striking.

He believed that the greatest gift he could offer another person was not advice, not correction, not even answers to life’s big questions…
The greatest gift he could give was his presence.

Because when someone stays long enough…
listens without rushing…
refuses to abandon another to fear or shame…
something quietly but permanently shifts.

When someone shows up for us in this way…

We begin to breathe differently.
We begin to trust.
We begin to hope.

We feel connected.

We feel seen. 

It is yes, a human interaction, but it is also divine.

When someone honors us in this way, it is as though the interior mansions of our lives—our very souls—begin to be remodeled.
The furniture gets rearranged.
New space opens up within, between, and among us.

Not so that we will have more capacity—
but so that God might dwell with us… within us. 

That God and we might dance together… living not just around each other, but with one another.

 

Tonight, we celebrate not a passing presence, but a dwelling one.
On this Holy Night, we remember that God did not create the world, then retreat from it.

On Christmas Eve we marvel at the truth:
God came close.
God made a home among us.
God moved into our neighborhood, 

And asked, won’t you be my neighbor?

 

The Gospel writer Saint Matthew picks up the Prophet Isaiah’s divine name for our God-turned-neighbor calling Jesus—Emmanuel meaning: God-with-us. 

 

How and where did God-With-Us choose to be our neighbor?

Returning to our Gospel lesson for tonight, Saint Luke is clear: God did not enter in myth or legend, but in the middle of history.

Note the details:
A census.
A journey.
An occupied people.
A world where power is held tightly by the few…

Messy and much like our own day.

 

Isaiah names this reality plainly: darkness.
Not just night, but despair.
Not just fear, but exhaustion.

And into that world—not a perfect one, not a healed one, not a deserving one—into our world, a child is born.

Not in a palace.
Not behind walls of protection.
Not at the center of wealth or influence.

But in a place meant for livestock (our equine and bovine neighbors).

God-With-Us arrives in complete vulnerability.

And friends, that is a crucial ingredient in the miracle of Christmas.

 

But, it’s not all of it. For elsewhere in Holy Scripture, we read something else essential about God’s entering into our world.
In the First Letter of John, we are told plainly: God is love.

Which means that if God is love,
then God-With-Us is also Love-With-Us.

Not as a feeling.
Not as an idea.
But as a person.

Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ, the Messiah, the Savior and Redeemer of the World.

 

John will later put it more poetically:
The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

God-With-Us did not hover at a distance.
Love-With-Us stayed with us.

However, if you follow the story long enough…

 

You may wonder, But Seth what about the Ascension? Didn’t Jesus leave then?

As we remember, God coming to be with us, it’s only good and right to also ponder what about when God seemingly left us.
And here our siblings in Orthodox Christianity offer a striking legend.

 

This old story from the Church of the East imagines that as the risen Christ Jesus ascended into heaven, the apostles—still afraid of being left behind—reached out and clung to him. They held onto his feet. And as Christ rose, they held onto one another, forming a living chain between earth and heaven.

 

As they climbed higher and higher, Christ Jesus did not shake them loose. I think that is because in the Incarnation, God brought heaven to earth—making ordinary human life holy, and in the Ascension, Jesus forever bound earth to heaven—not by leaving us behind, but by drawing our very humanity to the right hand of God the Father, into the very Divine life of the Trinitarian Community.

 

Even the Ascension, then, is not a story of departure, abandonment, or absence. It is a story of communion.

 

This means that tonight, we do not simply remember a birth. We proclaim an eternal presence. 

God-With-Us is here. 

God-With-Us has always been here. 

God-With-Us will not abandon us.

 

And in a few moments, that same God-With-Us will come to us again—
not as an idea to be considered,
not as a metaphor to be decoded,
but as bread and wine.

 

Ordinary elements.
Everyday food.
The kind of things that sustain life and mark celebration.

 

And in them, God reminds us that divine presence is not reserved for mountaintops or holy moments alone,
but is woven into daily nourishment and quiet abundance.

Even now, God is choosing nearness…

Still choosing to dwell with us—
hidden in plain sight at this table, yes…
and revealed again and again in the world we inhabit.

 

God-With-Us meets us in the faces of friends and family,
in the love of those seated beside us,
and in the tenderness we offer and receive.

 

God-With-Us also resides in the stranger who needs our care,
in the neighbor who carries a burden we cannot see,
and yes—even in the one who challenges us, resists us, or stands opposed to us.

 

Because God-With-Us is not only among us—
Love-With-Us is within us, all of us.

The same God who called creation into being,
the same God who holds all things together,
is here—
now—
with and within each one of you, each one of us.

 

So, hear the good news of this Holy Night:
You are not alone.
You have never been alone.

And God will reside with you forever. 

 

For we have an attuned God loving us.

We have the gift of God’s divine love within us. 

We have within us an everlasting spring of a Love so abundant that the heavens could not contain them on their own…

So, Love spilled over forming and inhabiting all of Creation…

Because God eternally gives not only divine presence—but also stays with us in an everlasting relationship…
Staying, abiding, refusing to leave—that is who God is.

And, when Christ Jesus came among us, we were given another sign to hang around our necks. This one reads:

God loves me. 

God understands me.

God knows I am doing my best.

 

For God is with you in your joy and in your weariness,
in your hope and in your doubt,
in this moment and in every moment still to come.

 

God-With-Us came to be in relationship with you and with us. Love-With-Us came to dwell among us—and never left. 

Emmanuel has moved into the neighborhood, and he is wondering: 

Won’t you be my neighbor? 

Won’t you be one another’s neighbor?

By Their Fruits

Jesus is pretty clear that it's not about lip service, it's about incarnate, embodied ministry.

Isaiah 35:1-10

 Canticle 15

James 5:7-10

Matthew 11:2-11

 

© 2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

This sermon was preached on Sunday, December 14^th at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. You may view a video of the sermon by clicking here.

 

Holy God, let my words be your words, and when they are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen. 

 

Beloved in Christ, there is a sentence Jesus speaks in this week’s Gospel that lands differently when the world around us feels anxious and reactive. Jesus says, “You will know them by their fruits.” Not by their slogans. Not by their power. Not by how loudly they say, “Lord, Lord.” But by the fruits of their lives. 

 

Jesus teaches this because human beings, especially religious human beings, often confuse conviction with correctness, or fear with faithfulness. And sometimes—God help us—we confuse identity with discipleship. 

 

This past week, our own city of Hoover has been in the news. Some have spoken at public meetings expressing concern, fear, or outright opposition to the creation of a new Islamic school. I’m not here to adjudicate zoning, land use, or financial feasibility—that is not my lane—and I would be wholly out of my depths discussing proper city planning. But I am here to speak—in love—to the Christian reasoning that some have used to justify opposition. Because friends, we must be very, very careful when we invoke Jesus’ name to build walls that He Himself tore down. 

 

Let me say this clearly: If your objection to this school is economic, or infrastructural, or traffic-based—that is civic conversation—and it is good and right to engage in weighing the pros and cons. But if your objection is that Hoover is a “Christian town” and Muslims are a “foreign religion,” that is not Christianity speaking. That is fear wearing a cross as camouflage. And I say that with compassion, because fear is a very human response. 

 

I understand that any change can stir up anxiety. That’s human. But Jesus never let fear steer the ship. And so, Jesus calls us to something deeper. Because here is the truth: Jesus never called His followers to build an exclusive community that shuts others out; He sends us into the world, not away from it. 

 

And Jesus envisioned His followers living among all kinds of people, not separating themselves from them. Think about His entire earthly ministry: He lived in a religiously mixed society—Jews, Samaritans, Roman polytheists, Greek philosophers, zealots, sinners, the faithful, the faithless, the seekers, the tired, the forgotten, and… 

He did not fear them. 

He ate with them. 

He healed them. 

He blessed them. 

He spoke truth to them. 

He received hospitality from them. 

He called some of them to follow Him. 

 

Let’s remember a few of His encounters: 

• The Samaritan woman at the well—member of a rival religion. Jesus reveals to her more than to any disciple. 

• The Roman centurion—a soldier of the occupying force. Jesus marvels: “I have not found such faith in all Israel.” 

• The Syrophoenician woman—a mother from a foreign religion. Jesus learns from her boldness and expands His ministry. 

• The parable of the Good Samaritan—the outsider is the neighbor; the religious insiders walk by. 

 

Friends, our Lord Jesus lived his entire life as a faithful Jew, not a Christian. And He saw the faith of outsiders, the dignity of strangers, and yes—the presence of God beyond the boundaries of His own religious tradition. 

 

And today’s Gospel—which is all about being known not by what we say but by what we do—leads us to this truth: Real faith is recognized not by correctness but by fruit. By healing. By mercy. By justice. By welcome. By courage. By love. 

 

This is why I think about Jesus’ words in John’s Gospel, where He calls Himself the Good Shepherd. And then He says something astonishing: “I have sheep that are not of this fold.” 

 

Jesus, the one we claim as Lord, believes that God is bigger than our boundaries. Bigger than our maps. Bigger than our categories. Bigger than our religions—even as He works within His own tradition faithfully. Even as He works in this Faith—this Tradition in which we are called Christians because we are all called to be “little Christs.” Which leads me to believe: If Jesus can imagine God’s care for people beyond His fold, surely we as His followers can make room for our Muslim neighbors to flourish. Not in spite of our Christian faith. But because of it. 

 

Opening our hearts to our neighbors of other faiths doesn’t weaken our Christian identity—it strengthens it, because it roots us more deeply in Jesus’ own way. If a Muslim school produces children who are compassionate, curious, committed to justice… 

If it teaches respect, diligence, love of neighbor… 

If its graduates bless our city—then Jesus’ own standard applies: “You will know them by their fruits.” 

 

And likewise—If we Christians in this city produce division, exclusion, suspicion, or fear—Jesus’ standard still applies: “You will know them by their fruits.” 

 

I am not preaching at anyone here. I am preaching for us—so that the world sees the real Jesus through us. Not the Jesus of political talking points. Not the Jesus of culture wars. Not the Jesus invoked to defend territory or to justify sinful behavior that distorts our relationships with neighbor, Creation, ourselves, and God. Not any of that… 

But instead, may we reveal the Jesus who moved toward the other, not away. The Jesus who crossed lines, not reinforced them. The Jesus whose courage came from love, not from fear. The Jesus whose power was shown not in dominance but in mercy. So if you ask, “How do I talk with people who use Christianity to injure those of other faiths?” 

 

I have five steps, and if you are thinking, I’m not going to remember any of this, do not fret. I’ve made a conversation guide that you can pick up on your way out of church. 

 

You might begin here: 
1. Ask them about Jesus’ example, not their opinions. “Where in the Gospels does Jesus avoid or oppose people of other religions?” 

2. Invite them into curiosity. “Have you ever met a Muslim family? Have you heard their hopes for their children?” 

3. Use fruit language. “What fruit will this decision produce in our city? Fear or hospitality? Division or relationship?” 

4. Remind them of the Great Commandment. It’s not “Love your neighbor if they are Christian.” It’s Love your neighbor. Full stop. 

5. And remind them of the Great Commission when Jesus tells His followers to go into all nations to baptize and model everything He commanded—which always brings us back to the heart of His teaching: Love God. Love Neighbor. 

 

The Church grows through witness, not domination. Through light breaking through the cracks—not through building thicker walls. Through invitation, not intimidation. 

 

Beloved, I don’t know what our great city of Hoover will decide. I don’t know what the council and mayor will approve. I don’t know how everything will shake out. But I do know what kind of Christians we are called to be: 

People whose faith bears fruit worthy of the One we follow. 

People who walk in love, not fear. 

People who embody the wideness of God’s mercy. 

People who trust that Jesus meant it when He said, “Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called Children of God.” 

 

And if we do that—if we become known in Hoover as a church that is curious, compassionate, humble, and brave—then we will be a signal flare in this city: a community willing to have the hard conversations, a people unafraid to stand in truth, a church striving to look, live, and be like Jesus. 

 

And friends—that is the fruit that will last. And Christ knows, we make his Name known not only by what we say or think, but mostly by how we live, and move, and have our being. 

 

So, beloved, what kind of fruit will we bear?