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?

Resolution: Restoration

Jeremiah 31:7-14

Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a

Matthew 2:13-15,19-23

Psalm 84 or 84:1-8

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

Emmanual, God with us, 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. 

 

Good morning, beloved Apostles! As we gather on this first Sunday in the year of Our Lord 2025, our readings and prayers lead us into a profoundly important theme: restoration. We heard it in Jeremiah's prophecy of God gathering and reconciling with His people. It was proclaimed in Matthew's Gospel of God's protective presence amid political violence. And, we prayed it in the collect that began our service: “O God, who wonderfully created, and yet more wonderfully restored, the dignity of human nature.”

 

Today, I want to reflect on that phrase: “and yet more wonderfully restored, the dignity of human nature.”

 

Several years ago, my uncle Bill decided to restore my grandmother’s 1965 Ford Mustang in beautiful teal. For seasons of my life that car looked like a lost cause—it was hidden under a cover in my grandparents’ basement, the white leather seats were cracked, and the engine barely functional. But my uncle saw its potential. Slowly, with a lot of love and even more sweat, he began to bring it back to life. Yet there came a point where his tools and knowledge weren’t enough. He needed to reach out for help from others who had restored this make and model before.

 

That’s the thing about restoration: it’s both exhilarating and humbling. Whether it’s a car, a house, or even a relationship, the process reminds us of two truths. First, restoration requires work. Second, we can’t do it alone.

 

The same is true for us. Look around, and it’s clear that we live in a broken world. Jeremiah’s words about the scattered people of Israel feel just as relevant today. We see the cracks and fractures—in our personal lives, in our local communities, and across the globe.

 

This week alone, we’ve grieved over terrorist attacks in New Orleans and Las Vegas. The despair and depravity of such violence weighs heavily on us. In our Gospel lesson, we were reminded of another horrific event: King Herod’s massacre of the innocents. If you are unfamiliar with this gruesome part of the Christmas story, it was when in an attempt to murder the Christ child, the despot Herod killed all the first-born sons of Bethlehem. These stories—past and present—confront us with the depth of human brokenness.

 

But brokenness isn’t the final word. Jeremiah’s prophecy reminds us that God is not distant. Instead, God is intimate. God is with us in the messiness. And God is in the business of restoration, gathering the scattered, turning mourning into joy, and sorrow into dancing.

 

Sometimes, though, we believe things must work on our timeline. We “wrestle” control away from God. That it’s all got to be okay RIGHT NOW! At other times, we think restoration means we need to meet God halfway—that we must pull ourselves together and only then approach God. But that’s not the Gospel. That’s not good news at all—that’s conditional, quid pro quo, you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours—that’s the way of the world. That’s not the Gospel, for God’s grace—favor unearned and undeserved—meets us where we are, even in our most hopeless moments.

 

Consider the Holy Family’s flight to Egypt. From a worldly perspective, they weren’t safe. They weren’t secure. They were running for their lives, fleeing from a murderous madman. And yet, God’s presence was with them, guiding them to safety and eventually to a new home. This is the surprising truth of grace: it finds us in the wilderness, in the broken places, and begins the work of restoration. As Max Lucado wrote and former Presiding Bishop Michael Curry was fond of quoting, “God will love you where you are, but God will never leave you where you are!”

 

And here’s an amazing truth—God invites us to be part of this work. Like my uncle restoring that car, we’re called to roll up our sleeves and participate in God’s mission of healing, renewal, and sharing unearned-undeserved favor. Sometimes that looks like repairing a relationship. Sometimes it’s working for justice in our community. Sometimes it’s simply showing kindness to someone in need.

 

But just as my uncle needed help to finish the restoration, we must remember that we’re not doing this alone. God’s power is what ultimately transforms and restores. We do our part, but God’s grace both initiates and completes the work. Speaking of starting and finishing work.

 

At this time of year, many of us are thinking about resolutions. Maybe you’ve resolved to eat healthier, exercise more, or spend more time with family. These are good goals, but what if we thought about resolutions as part of God’s restoration process? What if we resolved to align our lives more fully with God’s vision for us and the world? What would it look like if restoration was our resolution for this year?

 

Restoration in our resolutions could look like this:

 

• Repairing Relationships: Commit to forgiving someone or seeking forgiveness where it is needed.
• Creating Space for God: Resolve to set aside time for prayer, Scripture reading, or worship.
• Caring for Creation: Take small steps to live more sustainably, recognizing that the restoration of the Earth is part of God’s mission.
• Building Community: Volunteer your time, support local ministries, or simply be present with those who need encouragement.
• Fostering Personal Wholeness: Instead of focusing only on self-improvement, consider how your growth contributes to the well-being of others.

These resolutions remind us that restoration is not just about fixing what is broken but about participating in God’s greater work of renewal.

 

As a church, we’re called to be a community of restoration. This means grieving with those who grieve, standing with those who are broken, and offering hope to a world in need. It means being a place where people can encounter the grace of God—the grace that meets us where we are and invites us into something new.

 

Speaking of hope and encountering the grace of God, at the end of today’s service, I will be passing out “Star Words.” You may remember this practice from a couple years ago when the Rev. Emily Collette was here as an Associate Rector. Each star bears a word—a single point of focus for the coming year. These words invite us to reflect and center our intentions. Much like the star that guided the Magi to Jesus, a Star Word can offer us a sense of direction, encouraging us to seek God’s presence and purpose as we step into the restorative work God calls us to do.

 

Having an intentional point, like a Star Word, reminds us that restoration isn’t aimless. It’s a journey with God, guided by grace and anchored in hope. Let your word guide you as you consider how you might participate in God’s renewing and restoring work this year.

 

Beloved Apostles, restoration is hard work. It’s humbling work. But it’s holy work. And the good news is that God is with us every step of the way. God’s grace meets us in our brokenness, restores our dignity, and calls us to join in the healing of the world.

 

So, as we step into this New Year, let us trust in God’s promise of restoration. Let us do the work we can, lean on God for what we cannot, and together, let us reflect the glory of a broken world being wonderfully restored by God’s grace. Amen.

  

Why Are You Searching?

Dwell a little longer in the manger and the mystery of the Incarnation.

 

 

 Jeremiah 31:7-14

Psalm 84 or 84:1-8

Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a

Luke 2:41-52

 ©2022 Seth Olson

A video of this sermon may be found here.

Emmanuel—God with us—let my words be your words, and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

Merry Christmas! Yes, we are still very much in the celebratory time of Christmas. The Magi and Epiphany will soon arrive, as evidenced by the hymn we just sang. Having been raised Episcopalian—and in a family that loves to celebrate the uniqueness of everyday of the year—I am accustomed to accentuating all twelve days of Christmas! I have never understood the majesty and mystery of the Nativity of Our Lord being confined to one day.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not pointing a finger at those who can only pause briefly to celebrate Christmas or those who have already taken down decorations. I know life is busy, other stuff happens, but to me it is such a sad sight to see all the marvelous build up to Christmas come crashing down immediately after we sing Silent Night. Trees strewn in the gutter on the Feast of St. Stephen. Twinkling lights unplugged and boxed away for no one to see by New Year’s Eve. Is there a sadder sight in the world than those inflatable lawn ornaments once the air has been let out of them? It’s as though Frosty or Santa Claus melted in the yard, which would make sense given the unseasonable temperatures. Even if your decorations are securely boxed up in the attic, I invite you to dwell a little longer in the Season of Christmas, for the Incarnation is not so much to be adorned with flashing lights as it is to be experienced within our lives.

We as a species struggle with what it means to have God come among us. Preachers do their best to point towards the mystic meaning of Christ’s coming, but words fall short of capturing the love that brought heaven to earth and earth to heaven. So, instead of rushing on today, let’s just stay here a little bit longer in the manger, in Jesus’ childhood, in the warm glow of the light of the world.

Christmas Day may be over, but everything does not have to deflate like the blow-up decorations, so that we are left lightless in the cold and dark of winter. Let us continue to ponder in our hearts and experience in our lives Emmanuel—God with us.

So how do we sit here with him who came to save us? Back before folks were undecorating I saw a sign, which read: “Wise Men Still Seek Him.” While I wish the sign were written “Wise people still seek him,” it would not make as much sense, seeing as though the Magi were specifically men. Still the sentiment beckons us to continue to wonder and wander seeking God with us. While attempting to find the incarnate God, I sometimes make it too complicated. I think I need to go on an elaborate pilgrimage, pay for an expensive retreat, and take on unattainable disciplines. Sure, I might find God in any of these, but I would do well to search for Christ in the most obvious of places. This was precisely the dilemma that Mary and Joseph went through in today’s gospel story—they searched for Jesus, but neglected looking for him where they left him. I do not blame them!

It was the Festival of Passover, and every good Jewish person was in Jerusalem. This meant that crowds were everywhere. Those going would travel in large groups, dozens and dozens of people from small towns walked and rode together with one another. For this reason, parents would often not worry about their children, especially as their children reached the age of maturity. In that culture, Jesus was almost an adult at age twelve, so Joseph and Mary would have been more concerned about other children.

When Mary and Joseph realize that Jesus was missing, I get an image from Home Alone, the movie, when Kevin’s mother finally realizes they have left him home alone in Chicago while they traveled all the way to France. Except instead of shouting, “KEVIN!!!” Mary would have yelled, “JESUS!!!” Now, as you may recall, at the end of that film Kevin and his mother are reunited with a joyful embrace. This was not what seemingly happened in today’s gospel. Mary said, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” I can see Mary grabbing Jesus by the ear when she says “Child!” This is not a loving, playful nickname, rather this is a cutting label for the almost “mature” Jesus.

This is the only canonical instance in which a biblical writer described Jesus as anything other than a baby or a full-grown adult. Even in early puberty, he possessed such wisdom. All had been amazed at him, but what is more astonishing is his response to his anxious parents. “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

We can read this in multiple ways: we might think Jesus was being an angsty teen who was bristling at his parents’ worrying. “Why were you searching for me?!” could be a flippant comment. However, Mary and Joseph had gone all over the place looking for Jesus. My own son ran and hid from me in the front yard once for about three minutes, and thinking about missing him for three days causes my blood pressure to skyrocket!

Maybe the tween Jesus was not being emotional, but truly curious, as he wondered, “Why?” Why were you searching for me when I’m almost an adult! Why were you searching for me anywhere other than in God’s house—in my Father’s house? His questions pierce through the generations and coax us to wonder for ourselves why are we searching for him and where are we searching for him?

At that point in time, Jesus was speaking specifically of the Temple. As Christians we believe that we have been adopted as children of God through faith in Jesus’ death-conquering-love in the work of the Cross and Resurrection. So, the Holy Place has been expanded beyond just one spot to all of Creation. And yet, here we are worshiping together in what many of us would call a thin space—a holy place—a home where God dwells!

God is most definitely alive here at All Saints. This community has shared almost 100 years of prayer, praise, service, discipleship, and worship! God is working through us to reach out and serve our community. We form disciples of Jesus from birth to death. Our preschool ministers to our neighborhood and beyond. We gather around tables for fellowship and fun! As Mary Bea talked about in her All Saints’ Sunday sermon, the cross and oak wreath, which hangs so beautifully in our Nave serve as beautiful symbols for God’s working in us.

The circle of oak leaves reminds us of Abraham’s hospitality under the oak tree at Mamre. They form a circle, which points to the unity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. There is still an opening within that circle—a space, which helps us know there is always room for the other. We are called to welcome everyone into our sphere, until Christ returns to complete the circle. We are doing this more formally as we build up our Invite. Welcome. Connect. Ministry here at All Saints—let me know if you are interested in these efforts. We will also have a good opportunity to practice hospitality with our incoming Rector Brad, and his family.

Seeing symbols—oak leaves of hospitality, a circle with room for another, a table where all are welcome—seeing these symbols come to life within our community helps me to see that Jesus is here, the Spirit is here, God is with us. Where do you see God? Here? In God’s Creation? In a beloved friend, child, or parent; a sibling or a spouse? What about in the stranger or the other—that one who makes you anxious or annoyed, angry or afraid? God is in all of these people—God is in all places.

In the Season of Christmas, we are called to set aside intentional time and space to see that Christ comes to dwell with us—in all times, in all people, and in all places. Sometimes we rush... through these services, through seasons, through our whole lives, such that we never slow down. We miss that God is with us. In this season of the Incarnation when we celebrate that God comes to dwell among us, we are invited to sit a little longer in the manger and the mystery. Jesus wonders, why are you looking for him? If you want to find him, looking here during Christmas is a good place to start, but don't forget to see him in your everyday life!