Lectionary Commentaries for December 24, 2025
Christmas Eve: Nativity of Our Lord
from WorkingPreacher.org
Gospel
Commentary on Luke 2:1-14 [15-20]
Karri Alldredge
First Reading
Commentary on Isaiah 9:2-7
Terry Ann Smith
In 1943, Ruth Caye Jones, burdened by the grim headlines of mounting World War II casualties, sought solace in Scripture. From her reflection on 2 Timothy 3, she penned the now-familiar hymn:
In times like these, we need a Savior.
In times like these, we need an anchor.
Be very sure, be very sure,
your anchor holds and grips the solid rock.1
Her hymn gave hope in a world shaken by war. Yet long before Mrs. Jones penned these words, the prophet Isaiah spoke to a people in similar darkness. Centuries earlier, the prophet expressed his heaviness and dismay as he looked upon the oppressive reign of King Ahaz and the failures of Judah’s leadership (8:11; 9:1). Chapter 8 describes a time of internal political strife and foreign threats—a house divided against itself. In response to the uncertainty and upheaval of the times, the people sought guidance and hope from the occult rather than their God (8:19). Isaiah declared that this lapse of faith would only lead to greater darkness, distress, and anguish (8:22–23).
This darkness was both physical and spiritual. Physically, it represented God’s judgment—judgment that culminated in the invasion and destruction of Jerusalem and the exile of a vast majority of its populace. Spiritually, the people’s apostasy carried them further away from their Creator, Sustainer, and very Source of life. Prophetically, Isaiah sees the futility in the people’s misguided efforts and yet looks to a hopeful alternative: God’s forgiveness and the salvation of God’s people with the promised coming of a new king.
Isaiah juxtaposes the darkness of imperial invasion with the light of liberatory freedom. Presented as a past event, “the people who once walked in darkness” and “lived in a land of deep darkness” are about to experience something new. This something new was illuminating and celebratory and centered on the birth of a child.
The coming of this child had already been foretold in 7:14, “Therefore, the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son and shall name him Immanuel.” Immanuel—God is with us! The transition from an unborn child (7:14) to the birth of a child (9:6) was the light breaking through the darkness. Rather than the yokes, rods, and bars of their oppressor, this child comes to this war-wearied group with authority, embodying the qualities of a compassionate and just leader: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace (9:4–6).
Isaiah’s words “a child has been born for us” reach into a distant future as an angelic messenger informs a betrothed virgin, Mary, that she will conceive and bear a son and name him Jesus (Luke 1:31). In the most unexpected of places, a stable becomes a birthing center and an animal trough, a crib. It is in a barn that divinity arrives, cloaked in the garment of humanity, not as one with power and privilege, but as one of the most vulnerable in society, an infant.
A star would become God’s GPS as several magi followed its brilliance, which signified the birth of someone truly special, acknowledging the birth of a king—an encounter unlike anything they had ever experienced before. This child, born for us, is evidence of God’s love for humanity, God’s self-giving as the “Word became flesh and lived among us” (John 1:14). Divinity wrapped in humanity came to be with us, came to be one of us. This child, born for us, is the light that dispels the darkness. He came to be the life and the light to and for all God’s people.
The good news is that this child was not just born for us; this Son was given to us. This Son, given to us, expresses the depth of God’s love for us. John 3:16 captures this divine act of love: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” What kind of love is this?
It is the kind of love that is limitless. This love extends to everyone, regardless of age, gender, or ethnicity. This love extends to every community, is boundless in its scope, and is global in its embrace. This love breaks the chains of hatred and division, heals a weary and wounded world, and unites us in a shared vision for humanity. This Son, given to us, is God’s sacrifice, a gift of immeasurable worth.
Despite the dismal circumstances of his day, Isaiah’s prophetic proclamation looked forward to a messianic king—a king who would usher in peace, justice, and righteousness. As we celebrate the birth of our Savior Jesus Christ this season, once again we, too, wait with great anticipation for the arrival of the king promised so long ago. We sing with loud adoration, “Come, Lord Jesus, come!”
Notes
Psalm
Commentary on Psalm 96
Diane Jacobson
Psalm 96 is a psalm of pure exultation, so very appropriate for Christmas Eve.1
We are enjoined, indeed the whole earth is enjoined, to sing a new song to the Lord. The waiting is over—sing a new song. And if this very old song is not sung as a new song on this occasion, we miss the spirit that is at the heart of the psalm.
So, we might well ask, How shall we sing a new song? In many ways Psalm 96 provides for us a model of how to praise. We sense this in the expansive use of imperative verbs throughout the psalm. And we are helped in understanding this model by James Mays, who, in his book on the theology of psalms,2 invites us to see the fundamental purpose of praise in the Psalter as threefold:
- doxological,
- confessional, and
- evangelical.
We see these three purposes clearly at work in Psalm 96.
Praise is doxological.
Doxology is present whenever the Lord is glorified. Psalm 96 begins with doxology, and praise is present everywhere. Throughout the psalm, the Lord is the singular object of praise. The first three verses direct us to sing to the Lord… bless the name of the Lord… declare the glory of the Lord. Indeed, three times in this short psalm (verses 3, 7, and 8), we are told to declare God’s glory (kebod in Hebrew, doxa in Greek). The name of “the LORD” is repeated 11 times. And then, in verse 9, we are told to “worship” the Lord, the central work of doxology.
Praise is confessional.
As with all psalms of praise, Psalm 96 confesses who God is and what God has done. We pray the psalms not only as praise but also that we might better know God.
The content of any psalm’s confession is often found in those verses or clauses that begin with the conjunction “for” or “because.” These verses offer up the reasons we are called upon to render praise. We might call these “key” clauses because in Hebrew, this conjunction is ki.
Verses 4 and 5 both begin with “for …”—ki. Verse 4 tells us that we worship the Lord because the Lord is great. But the single word “great” is not sufficient. The reason is expanded: The Lord is greater than other gods. In fact, those gods are not gods at all. Those gods are idols. The Lord made the heavens. There is almost always a narrative aspect to confession. Confession often recalls other parts of the biblical story or, in this case, the prophets or other psalms.
Confession is also present in verse 10 in what we are invited to say among the nations.
“The world is firmly established,” tying the creation of the earth to the creation of the heavens in verse 5. Creation is, here and elsewhere, not only a statement about the cosmic past; it is a promise for the present and the future: “It shall never be moved!” Confession moves in the direction of promise. And part of the promise is, surprisingly, that judgment is not a threat, as we so often hear it but, rather, good news.
This reality of the psalms came as a great surprise to C. S. Lewis in his Reflections on the Psalms.3 The final verse, 13, echoes the promise of judgment. Judgment arises from equity, fairness, righteousness, truth, and justice. This positive judgment is what we experience in the coming of the Lord—in the psalms, at Easter, and incarnationally at Christmas.
Praise is evangelical.
Psalmic praise serves as proclamation of and witness to the good news of God. When we name the tradition and the “good news” (the Gospel or evangel) into our lives and into the lives of those around us, our praise is evangelical.
Look carefully again at the grammar of the verbs in Psalm 96. The numerous imperatives are addressed to the faithful, instructing them to proclaim the reality of God to others. And who are these faithful who are instructed to give praise?
In verse 1 and again in verse 9, they are “all the earth.” We rightly assume this refers to all the people of the earth, as in verse 7: “O families of the earth.” The very use of the word “families” rather than “nations” lends a positive assessment to all the peoples of the earth. Notably, the very ones who are called to praise are also, as the “nations” and “peoples,” the recipients of the words (see verses 3, 5, 10).
But most wonderfully in Psalm 96, “all the earth” is not limited to humanity. In verses 11–12 the Lord who made the heavens and the earth instructs the very creation to offer praise. Not only the general heaven and earth but also the very sea is invited to roar. And this roaring is heard not as threat to God but, rather, as praise.4
And then, for good measure, the field is invited to exult: the ordered praise of cultivation. And just as the heaven and earth are joined by the chaotic sea, so also the cultivated field is joined by the wild trees of the forest. The praise of the Lord knows no boundaries!
All are part of God’s good work, and all are invited to sing praises. This tood news ensures that praise is not limited or confined to either the human or the orderly. A new song indeed!
Notes
- Commentary previously published on this website for December 24, 2017.
- See chapter 4, “Praise Is Fitting: The Psalms as Instruction in Praise,” in James L. Mays, The Lord Reigns: A Theological Handbook to the Psalms (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1994), 61–71.
- C. S. Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms (San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1958), 9–10.
- William P. Brown, Seeing the Psalms: A Theology of Metaphor (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox), 128–29.
Second Reading
Commentary on Titus 2:11-14
David McCabe
This epistle reading suspends us between the appearance of the grace of God that has brought salvation to all and the “blessed hope and manifestation of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ” (2:11, 13) yet to come. The coming of Christ in the past heralds for us a future that is marked by hope and a sharing in divine glory! Being carried along in this in-between, we find that this salvation is experienced as a “training” in wholesome behavior (verse 12) and a “redemption” or “liberation” toward an eagerness for right living (verse 14). The coming of God means school is in session!
The verbal idea in verse 12 translated as “training” (New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition, English Standard Version) or “teaching” (New International Version, New King James Version) comes from the Greek verb paideuō, which reverberates with the ideas and practices of paideia, the Greek tradition of educating children in order to incorporate them into society as holistically healthy (in mind and body) and well-adjusted members. Paideia is a loaded term throughout the ancient Mediterranean context that would have resonated broadly. It is about identifying what a community values and the ways they construe and configure the world.
Paideia is about holding up a mirror to the one receiving the instruction so they can be formed into the image of what the community wants to see among their own interactions and then in how they inhabit the broader spaces of the world. Paideia is precisely about determining what is the place of this community in broader society, where they fit, how they operate, what they can contribute, and how they can maintain this identity in the face of difference—especially when those differences draw hostility and opposition from groups and peoples who have competing values and contradictory visions for what truly matters.
Thinking about school may be the last thing we want to do during this festival season. A break from the typical drills, rhythms, schedules, and disciplines is a welcome respite for a weary pupil. Having graduated from classwork, few of us are eager to return to brow-wrinkling, finger-cramping tasks of methodical education. The shaping of young minds and the conditioning that comes along with forming productive habits is a noble work across most cultures, and yet we are often only too eager to leave that stage behind.
Therefore, when we come to realize that learning and character-formation are never finished but in fact continue on in the cadences of our daily routines, we must stop to take stock of just how we are being formed in habit and desire. We must be aware of who the influencers are who are whispering in our ears and capturing our eyes. We must be honest about the teachers who continue to structure how we see the world and determine what is right.
It is common to associate formal schooling with the acquiring of skills and the obtaining of information. However, we often look elsewhere for the crafting of character and the shaping of desire.
When there is not a deliberate or intended custom for these essential identity-forming aspects, we can easily be swept up by currents that misshape us. They then erode our most cherished values while grotesque blemishes accumulate in the sediment of our personalities. Distractions slowly carve pock marks across our public- and private-facing motivations. Obsessions crane our necks, obscuring our line of sight from good and beautiful ideals. Addictions disorder our attentions and steal our most precious moments with friends and loved ones. A crippling disease affects everyone we know, and so, we cannot even imagine that there are other, healthier ways to be.
The good news of the grace of God breaks in! Like the warm glow of piercing light into a chilling, heavy darkness, the grace of God has appeared, producing salvation for all peoples. In contrast to a miserable condition in which people are revolting to themselves and repugnant to one another, this letter heralds the salvation that is all a result of “our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us” (2:13–14). This healing re-education is rooted in a gift!
Paul characterizes the dismal human condition with a list of vices, terms whose sting may have been dulled by religious cliché: “impiety [or “ungodliness”] and worldly passions” (verse 12) and “iniquity [or “wickedness”]” (verse 14).
The first term, asebeia, indicates actions and attitudes that show dishonor, especially to divine beings. So, in this way, being “ungodly” is not so much about being “ungodlike,” but rather about showing disrespect to a divine being and thus risking offense to the god, with all the possible ramifications of losing divine favor and suffering the consequences of divine displeasure. The opposite term, eusebeia (see use in Titus 1:1, and the adverb form later in 2:12), means the proper honoring of the god, which also indicates that one is acting appropriately with reference to the proper order of the cosmos.
On the island of Crete, where Titus is being addressed (see 1:5), as well as throughout common Mediterranean cultures, honoring the gods was simply the right way to act and was part of ensuring that one’s life flourished socially and with the rest of creation. It comes as no surprise, then, when the vice of asebeia is associated with “lusts” (epithymia, disordered passions) and “law-violating acts” (anomia). We see here an association of a corrupted personal character and actions that violate social norms.
However, as is common throughout the writings of the New Testament, what counts as reprehensible conduct and unacceptable interactions has been radically reformulated because these are now determined by their reference with regard to what God has done in Christ. Grace serves as the remedy for the disarray because Christ has self-sacrificially given himself for the purpose of liberating a people for himself who will be identified as enthusiasts for good deeds. “He … gave himself for us” (verse 14).
The context of divine grace, living in the divine embrace and reassured with divine favor, becomes itself the stabilizing context in which we can safely and boldly learn what it is to be whole persons and productive citizens for the benefit of all. Grace is our tutor. This contrasts with the many tacit and passive ways we surrender ourselves to tutors such as advertisements, commercials, and entertainments that tickle our fancy, and the myriad other influences that craft our desires, even when we are not self-consciously aware that this is happening.
It is only from this posture, as those who are embraced by God‘s grace and nourished by the salvation offered in Christ, that the believing community can both distinguish itself from the world and still inhabit embodied dispositions that are directed toward the benefit of the world. Only when a redeemed community acknowledges that God wants the salvation “for all people” and desires to humbly bear witness to the invitation to share in the “blessed hope and manifesting glory,” can we identify that the training is taking root in us and the lessons are producing results consonant with the message being proclaimed in the gospel.
On Christmas Eve, we are invited once again into the wonder of Jesus’ nativity. Yet in a time when many are experiencing fear and uncertainty and we witness the gospel co-opted by white Christian nationalism, it can feel challenging to preach the good news of Jesus’ birth. In the Magnificat, Mary invited us to ponder what it means to proclaim the birth of the Son of the Most High who “brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly” and “filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:52–53). Now the baby has arrived, but violence, economic disparity, and division continue to plague our societies. It leaves us asking, What is the good news of the nativity for our present world?
The gospel writer of Luke asks a similar question, for Luke was not an eyewitness to Jesus’ life. Instead, he seeks to retell the good news “in a well-ordered account” for his particular community of primarily gentile Jesus-followers (Luke 1:3). This invites us to pay attention to the unique way Luke constructs the story of Jesus’ nativity, rather than embracing a “Christmas pageant” retelling in which all the gospel accounts are mixed together. By focusing on Luke’s account, we can learn about the concerns of his community. Similarly, we are invited to carefully consider our own sacred process of retelling the good news for our communities today.
The nativity under empire
Luke’s contextualization of Jesus’ birth highlights that its importance within the tradition of the people of Israel cannot be separated from its challenge to the Roman Empire. Jesus’ birth is prophetic and political. Luke moves from the prophecy around Jesus’ birth in the opening chapter to contextualizing Jesus’ birth within the Roman Empire. Unlike Matthew, which mentions King Herod, the Jewish Roman client-king of Judea, to contextualize the nativity, Luke names two non-Jewish Roman officials, Caesar Augustus and the governor of Syria, Quirinius. Because of our familiarity with the text, we may overlook the way this contextualization calls us to examine the political nature of the nativity.
In the opening verse of the pericope, we learn that Caesar Augustus has called for a registration. The province of Judea was placed under the jurisdiction of Quirinius for the registration. The registration was akin to a census. This census provided population information that was particularly important for determining taxation. Taxation was part of the lifeblood of the empire, providing resources to fund military campaigns, infrastructure projects, and other aspects of the Pax Romana. Peace built on a foundation of conquest and the exploitation of human and natural resources was expensive.
Luke 2:1 tells us that Augustus’s census decree required “all the world to be registered.” While this typically is read as referring to all the subjects of the Roman Empire, the universal nature of the decree gestures toward the Roman ideology that all the world was destined to come under Rome’s control.
This empire-building project would not make exceptions for a young couple expecting a child. Thus, Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem. Their journey represents the power of empire to dictate the movements of populations, especially the most vulnerable. Without the empire, Jesus’ birth story could have been much different. Mary would have been able to deliver him in a familiar space without the fatigue or danger of travel. Instead, Jesus’ birth is shaped by the exploitation of empire.
The message of the nativity is political
The first people to receive news of Jesus’ birth are not those in power or even magi, as in Matthew’s account. It is a group of shepherds living in the fields. While we have normalized this event in our Christmas pageants and nativity scenes, it is important to pause here. The first people to learn of Jesus’ birth are working people who are also under the power of the empire. They are acutely aware of the census and its impacts on their lives as they receive word of a life-giving counternarrative to empire in the form of an announcement of a baby’s birth.
Thus, the message the shepherds receive from the angel of the Lord should be read in the context of empire. The angel’s proclamation contains three particular challenges or counternarratives to empire:
Jesus is not the only person associated with the good news (the Greek term from which we derive the word “gospel”). Augustus was also viewed as proclaiming good news for all people and all creation. For example, the Priene Inscription, a 9 BCE calendar reform in honor of Caesar Augustus, declares that his birth was the beginning of the good news.1 Jesus’ birth ushers in a counterform of the good news. This good news is also not limited to the people of Israel but is for all people. It employs the same universal message that the empire used in the census decree. But instead of a call to submit to exploitation, the angel brings news of great joy and new life.
In a text that pays particular attention to context, it is important that the site of Jesus’ birth not be referred to in relation to imperial geographic markers or rulers. Instead, Jesus is born in the city of David, situating him in the context of the people of Israel.
Augustus was referred to as the savior of the world in Roman propaganda, including the Priene Inscription. But here we receive news of a very different savior. It is a child, one of the most vulnerable members of society. In using this title, Luke signals a challenge to Roman understandings of salvation and the type of leadership needed to provide salvation.
As we once again witness Jesus’ nativity, we are invited to ponder the disruptive, life-giving counternarrative to empire that Luke offers. Jesus’ birth ushers in a new way of understanding power, salvation, and hope. It challenges us to consider how we can embody the good news in ways that offer a different vision of power and salvation than that built on prosperity and hierarchy. In this vision, we find hope.
Notes