Lectionary Commentaries for December 25, 2025
Christmas Day (III)

While John 1:1–14 is the appointed gospel lesson for Christmas Day (Proper III), I prefer to preach on the first 18 verses.¹

The Prologue to John’s Gospel is John’s birth story of Jesus. The themes we have come to know for Christmas preaching are certainly present in how John begins his Gospel. A preacher could focus on any of the themes outlined below to create a meaningful Christmas sermon.

Christmas is the rebirth of God

The first verse of John 1 is deceptively complex. “In the beginning” should stir up biblical resonances, particularly that what follows will have something to do with creation. The next verses (1:2–4) secure Jesus’ role as creator with God. Furthermore, God has chosen to recreate God’s very self in Jesus. God has been reborn into the world, now as God’s creating Word in the flesh. The threefold claim “in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” reveals the origin of Jesus, his relationship with God, and his identity as God.

Christmas is the light shining in darkness

Verse 5 has been a topic of ongoing debate for Johannine scholars with regard to pinpointing the moment of the incarnation, either here or in John 1:14, “the Word became flesh.” The fact that the incarnation of God is first presented as light shining in darkness evokes the creation story in Genesis.

The verb “overcome” can be translated “grasp” or “seize,” and has connotations of “comprehending.” Festivals of light are essential in the darkest days of the year, and so Christmas originated as a celebration that could rival Saturnalia (see Forbes, Christmas: A Candid History). A preacher might explore the importance of light, for Christmas, for our lives.

Christmas is witnessing to the light

The introduction of John in the next verses, not the Baptist but the Witness, is a rather strange interlude in this cosmic birth story. What is John doing here anyway? Commentators explain away John’s presence as a later interpolation that does not belong in such a majestic narration of Jesus’ origins and identity.

Yet the presence of John here, particularly for our Christmas preaching, suggests that a critical response to Christmas is witness. Christmas is not over when the trees are put out to the curb. Christmas is just getting started for those who confess Jesus as God who has become flesh.

Christmas is Jesus as a child, and is who we are

John 1:9–13 suggests that just as Jesus is a child of God, so are we. Jesus as a baby cannot devolve into sentimentality but has everything to do with its promise for us. To be a child of God is a literal claim for the Fourth Gospel. This Gospel imagines that every single aspect of the parent–child relationship is operative in our relationship with God. Everything a child needs from a parent, for survival, protection, to be sustained and nurtured, to grow and mature, is what God provides.

Preach the promise of Christmas that puts us in the manger with Jesus and helps us sense the dependence of Jesus as that which we have on God.

Christmas is the Word become flesh

“The Word became flesh” states most clearly the theological promise of John. This primordial Word, which was in the beginning with God, a partner in creation, in relationship with God, and who is God, has now become human. While the New Revised Standard Version translates the verse, “and lived among us,” the verb here is skenoo, “to tent” or “to tabernacle.” Most readers of the Gospel of John will be familiar with the translation “and dwelt among us.” The verb can also be translated “took up residence,” and thus Peterson’s The Message: “moved into the neighborhood.”

The dwelling of God is a deeply intimate, personal claim and assumes God’s commitment to and continuity with God’s people. Moreover, in the Word made flesh and dwelling among us, now God not only goes where God’s people go, but is who they are.

Christmas is grace upon grace

“From his fullness” (John 1:16) has the sense of the “sum total,” “complete,” and can also connote “superabundance.” The word “grace” is used only four times in the Gospel of John (1:14, 16, 17) and only in the Prologue. Once the Word becomes flesh, grace is then incarnated in the rest of the Gospel.

That is, the entirety of the Gospel will show what grace looks like, tastes like, smells like, sounds like, and feels like. This is Christmas preaching. For John, God in becoming flesh in Jesus has committed God’s self not only to revealing what God’s grace looks like, but that God wants to know it and feel it as well.

A few Christmas sermon possibilities.

Notes

1. This commentary was previously published on this website for December 25, 2016.

“Beauty” is a word in the English language that gets used a lot to talk about places, people, objects, circumstances, et cetera.¹ But what exactly is beauty? Who defines it, and what is it good for?

This text identifies something very specific as beautiful: a messenger’s feet. This raises an interesting question: But why? What leads the poet to conclude that one of the dirtiest parts of the human body—especially in the ancient world—is actually beautiful? The field of philosophy that deals with the topic of beauty is called “aesthetics.” So what kind of “aesthetic” does this text have? And how can our answers to these questions help us preach and teach this text more effectively?

Critically for our purposes, the poem isn’t actually concerned with the messenger’s visual features, despite the reference to his “feet.” The author quickly pivots away from the body of the messenger to the content of his message: “peace … good news … salvation … ‘Your God reigns.’” What makes the messenger’s feet “beautiful” is not a visual or physical attribute, but the promises and proclamations that the feet carry into the world—and in particular to exiled Jews.

In popular American parlance, beauty is often associated with things like youthfulness, physical appearance, and other idealistic expressions. These modern understandings of beauty have no place in Isaiah 52. This text’s understanding of beauty is much closer to what we find in the theological aesthetics of Martin Luther.

In 2017, an important book was published by Mark Mattes, theologian and Luther scholar at Grand View University in Des Moines, Iowa: Martin Luther’s Theology of Beauty.² A version of his argument also appeared in 2019 in Word & World.³ In these works, Mattes draws attention to how Luther’s aesthetics both reflect emerging trends in his time and environment and also break from the scholarship he inherited. Luther’s view can be summarized in this way: The gospel is beautiful.⁴

To fill that picture out a little bit, Mattes offers an interpretation of Luther’s mature theology of beauty. For Martin Luther, beauty is “a feature of God’s faithfulness even to sinners and not some kind of Aristotelian golden mean of proper proportion. It is found in God’s self-donation and in human trust in God’s promise.”⁵

This quality of beauty is not a result of Jesus’ fulfillment of the divine law, but because of his grace toward the world. Mattes’ important claims about Luther provide us with insight into how one should interpret the 52nd chapter of Isaiah—a book occasionally termed “the fifth gospel.”⁶

Isaiah 52 is a poem that announces the restoration of Jerusalem and the return of Jews from exile to the City of David. Its goal, like that of so many texts in Isaiah 40–55, is to inspire confidence that Yhwh will restore Jerusalem and her people. For Isaiah 52, what makes the messenger’s feet beautiful is the fact that he announces the coming reign of God (verse 7).

This is an important point, because the poem suggests that God’s favor was hidden for a season. The absence of that favorable rule was felt in military and cultural defeat, the forced deportation of Jews to Mesopotamia, the loss of sovereignty, and the destruction of the temple—the ritual space where Yhwh had promised to be present for Jews. These public defeats left a mark of shame and dismay. But according to Isaiah 52, a new day was on the verge of breaking, and its light would be every bit as public as the darkness that preceded it.

God’s acts of redemption will now be “in plain sight” (verse 8) for all to see. The messenger appears “upon the mountains,” “announces salvation,” and speaks directly to Zion herself. The very ruins of the city break forth into song and shout for joy, and the Lord shows his holy arm before an international audience (verse 10). The “beauty” of this message is the great reversal that God promises—rubble raises its voice in celebration, defeat cedes to restoration, and lament gives way to praise. This is Isaiah 52’s “joyful exchange.”

It’s also important to note what kind of help Yhwh offers. Isaiah 52 is not simply claiming to offer a vague religious feeling—an opiate to dull the sting of defeat. The ministry of presence is only part of the poem’s vision; the God of Isaiah 52 promises to change the facts on the ground. The king is returning to his city (verse 8), Jerusalem will be redeemed, and the nations of the earth will take note. Like in so many poems in Isaiah, salvation is cosmic in its scope.

Preachers and teachers will find in Isaiah 52 a thoughtful poem addressed to hurting souls. Key to understanding that poem is its concept of “beauty.” The text represents an opportunity to disrupt modern understandings of beauty and to point, instead, to a very different concept of beauty—one marked by divine generosity, the rebuilding of ruins, and human trust in divine promises.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for December 25, 2023.
2. Mark Mattes, Martin Luther’s Theology of Beauty: A Reappraisal (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2017).
3. Mark Mattes, “Luther and Beauty,” Word & World 39 (2019): 11–24.
4. Mattes, “Luther and Beauty,” 13, 16–22.
5. Mattes, “Luther and Beauty,” 20.
6. John F. A. Sawyer, The Fifth Gospel: Isaiah in the History of Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).

Like many psalms of praise, Psalm 98 begins with an imperative “call to praise,” followed by a “reason to praise” introduced by the Hebrew word ki, “for.”¹

Here is my translation of 98:1–3:

Sing to the Lord a new song,
for (ki) he has done wonders!
By his right hand and his holy arm
has he achieved deliverance!
The Lord has made his deliverance known,
he has revealed his righteousness before the eyes of the nations!
He has remembered loving fidelity and faithfulness to the house of Israel,
all the ends of the earth have seen the deliverance of our God!

The “wonders” and “deliverance” that Psalm 98 originally celebrated may have been a specific military victory or miracle. Or, much like our Easter or Pentecost hymns, the psalm may have been composed for an annual celebration of one of the Lord’s historic “wonders”—such as the exodus, the rescue of Jerusalem from the Assyrian army in 701 BCE, or the return from exile in the sixth century BCE.

Whatever the original purpose or ancient Israelite use of the psalm may have been, the Revised Common Lectionary that many Christian churches follow has elected to use this psalm on Christmas Day. The psalm is fitting for Christmas Day because it celebrates the long history of God’s saving actions and wonders. It is also fitting because it calls for “joy noise,” “joyous song,” and “praises” to be sung to the Lord. More on that momentarily. But first, a word about the “new song” for which the psalm calls.

A “New Song”

The psalm’s opening imperative calls for a “new song” (shir chadesh) to be sung. This “new song” for which the psalm calls is generally understood by Psalms scholars to refer to a special genre of songs—the “new song” that is to be sung after a particular experience of God’s gracious deliverance. To put it another way, the “new song” does not merely mean to compose a new psalm composition. The “new song” means to write and sing a song that has to be “new” because God has just done something new—such as a new act of deliverance, a new act of grace, a new act of forgiveness, or a new act of blessing.

There are several places where the Scriptures sing of the “new song.” But the newness of this type of song can be seen especially in two places.

First, the “new song” can be seen in Isaiah 42:10–13 [14–43:7?—it is not exactly clear where the song ends]. In this song, the anonymous prophet of the exile sings a “new song” announcing and giving thanks because the Lord was moving to restore the Judean exiles to their home: The Lord was moving “to open the eyes that are blind, to bring the prisoners out of the dungeon, from prison those who sit in darkness” (42:7).

A second place where the newness of the “new song” can be seen is at the start of Psalm 40, which is a song of thanksgiving that a person sang after experiencing personal deliverance by the Lord. Here is my translation:

I waited and waited for the Lord,
he inclined and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the desolate pit,
out of the miry swamp.
He set my feet upon a rock,
he established my steps.
He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God.

The “new song” here is the song of thanksgiving that the psalmist came to sing after the Lord had lifted the singer “out of the desolate pit”—a metaphor for extreme danger.

In light of what the “new song” was in the Old Testament, it is appropriate for Christians to sing the old, old songs of Christmas every year, because in Jesus Christ, the new covenant, new testament, new creation, and new life of God have drawn near. As Paul wrote, “So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” (2 Corinthians 5:17).

We Sing the Faith

Therefore, the people of God don’t just tell the faith; they sing it. From Jubal in Genesis 4, to Moses and Miriam, through Zechariah, Mary, the angels at Christ’s birth, and later from Martin Luther to Charles Wesley, and finally right down to us—the people of God sing the faith.

I would go so far as to say that the Christian faith must be sung. This is the case because by singing, we can at one and the same time respond to God’s active work in this world and challenge the anti-God powers and regimes that seek to wrench this world from God’s will.

When thinking about biblical songs, I especially am drawn to Eugene Peterson’s illuminating paraphrase of the start of the Magnificat: “I’m bursting with God-news, I’m dancing the song of my Savior God.”²

“I’m bursting with God-news!” The people of faith must sing because we are “bursting with God-news.” Mary sang because she was bursting with God-news. In response to what the angel and her cousin Elizabeth had told her, but also in challenge to the powers of the world—the powers of sin, death, and the devil that cling to us so closely, that crowd into grand-jury courtrooms so that justice itself is strangled in the womb and after long labor pangs, injustice is born in its place.

Throughout the church year, the words and tunes change. But the God-news that the people sing stays the same. The God-news of Advent, the God-news of Christmas, the God-news of Epiphany, Lent, Easter, and Pentecost demands that we sing. We sing because we are bursting with the God-news that in Jesus Christ, God is reconciling himself to the world, overcoming sin and all the powers of death. And we sing in resistance to the death and injustice of the world.

As one translation of the final stanza of Martin Luther’s “new song” “A Mighty Fortress” has it:

Were they to take our house,
Goods, honor, child or spouse,
Though life be wrenched away,
They cannot win the day!
The kingdom’s ours forever!³

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for December 25, 2014.
2. Eugene H. Peterson, Luke 1:46-47, The Message: The Bible in Contemporary Language (NavPress, 2002).
3. ² Martin Luther, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” Text translation © 1978 Lutheran Book of Worship, admin. Augsburg Fortress.

The majestically celebratory opening of Hebrews merits a cautious approach at Christmas.¹ The author’s portrayal of Jesus as unique and superior comes at the expense of Jewish traditions and practices. Understanding this portrayal can help audiences celebrate Jesus in ways that liberate us from this singularity and make room for difference.

Context matters

Biblical scholars frequently use terms like “enigmatic” to describe Hebrews. It sits among the letters of the New Testament, between Paul’s letters (genuine and pseudonymous) and the various eponymous letters (often pseudonymous as well) often categorized as the “catholic epistles.” Unlike the writers of those letters, the author of Hebrews remains anonymous; they never name or introduce themself. It is impossible to say anything firm about the historical context of this letter based on the text itself.

Most notably, this means the letter’s audience is likewise unclear (and oft-debated among scholars). Later Christian theologians added the designation “to the Hebrews” well after the letter was written. The letter draws heavily from the Septuagint (the ancient Greek translation of Jewish Scriptures) to make its arguments. Part of this argument—which we must consider more cautiously below—is that Jesus’ superiority renders God’s past covenant with Moses obsolete.

Traditionally, many commentators assumed the author and their audience were both Jewish, given their knowledge and use of these Scriptures. However, Pamela Eisenbaum points out that, in the first and second centuries CE, Greek-speaking Jews and gentiles were familiar with these textual traditions. The author never refers to specific Jewish customs (such as Judaism’s relation to the Temple) that would have been characteristic of Jewish practice during this era. The author could have or could have not come from a Jewish background; their audience could have been exclusively Jewish or non-Jewish or could have included both.²

Though English readers can see the poetic nature of the letter’s opening in 1:5–12, they do not get the full sense of the author’s sophisticated literary style. Their word choices are intentionally alliterative: the first four verses set the tone for the opening poetic and rhythmic flow. Throughout Hebrews, the author uses language that evokes. Though like Paul and other letter writers, the author makes a theological argument, their persuasion could be described as more poetic and less pointed. That said, the poetry still makes theological points.

The poetry of 1:1–4 introduces one of the author’s major emphases: Jesus’ uniqueness and superiority as the Christ (christos, the Greek translation of the Hebrew messiah). The author describes Jesus as “having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs” (1:4). This language—alongside the frequent references to Jesus’ proximity to God throughout the letter (for example, “the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being,” 1:3)—contributes to scholars identifying Hebrews as having an especially “high” Christology compared to other early Christian texts.

The author’s language about Christ and God in this passage appears to be influenced by the Jewish scriptural tradition, including Psalms, Proverbs, and the Wisdom of Solomon. The theological power of this poetic presentation of Christ is undeniable, and Christians have long found these descriptions meaningful—especially when celebrating Jesus’ birth and incarnation.

This said, Hebrews—starting in 1:1–4—builds Jesus’ divine-like superiority upon a Jewish foundation in ways that presume that following Christ uniquely fulfills Jewish Scriptures. This uniqueness leaves no room for other Jewish interpretations, theologies, and practices. Eisenbaum therefore cautions, “Hebrews is the foundation of this idea that Christianity has ‘replaced’ Judaism.”³

The letter opens: “Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son” (1:1–2a). The author emphasizes the contrast between the “old” way God spoke and the way God speaks to “us” in this recent period. Hebrews is also about identity formation.⁴ The emphasis on us draws a boundary around the author and audience as the proper recipients of God’s speech. The temporal contrast sets the stage for the author to laud Jesus’ superiority in the next several verses—“Jesus’ superiority over all else,” as Eisenbaum puts it.⁵

Especially in Christmas liturgies, Christian theology tends to perpetuate supersessionist readings of Jewish Scriptures when it assumes Jesus obviously perfects the tradition’s prophecies and covenants.

A less unique Christmas celebration

The opening of Hebrews sets up Jesus as unique and singular in ways that pave over Jewish traditions. In an article about Mark, Katherine Shaner writes, “Liberation is never effective if singularly credited and enforced; empire is. The singular Jesus then becomes emperor Jesus, even with the insistence that this Jesus is included.”⁶ A liberative approach to the opening of Hebrews calls for finding ways to celebrate Christ’s coming without making him uniquely special. Christ—and his birth—can be just as special and celebratory among many different traditions and leaders.

While celebrating the meaningfulness of Hebrews’ poetic language, it is possible to warn against the author’s superior approach. Doing so makes room to call attention to the ongoing ways Christian texts and traditions have become unique in the world. In the West, Christmas takes a unique status among religious holidays, shutting down much of the world so that many people can assume they can celebrate the holiday with their loved ones without interference. Many folks assume they will have time off at Christmas. They do not have to celebrate this special day while balancing the regular demands of life.

What might it mean to read Hebrews in ways that consider Jesus as something other than unique? How might this impact your Christmas homily or liturgy? Asking these questions challenges our usual celebrations, but it opens us to more liberative options. It makes room for difference, in our congregations and in the wider world.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for December 25, 2023.
2. Pamela Eisenbaum, “Hebrews,” in The Jewish Annotated New Testament, 2nd ed., ed. Amy-Jill Levine and Marc Zvi Brettler (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), 460–462.
3. Eisenbaum, “Hebrews,” 462.
4. See Jennifer T. Kaalund, Reading Hebrews and 1 Peter with the African American Great Migration: Diaspora, Place, and Identity (London: T&T Clark, 2020).
5. Eisenbaum, “Hebrews,” 461.
6. Katherine A. Shaner, “The Danger of Singular Saviors: Vulnerability, Political Power, and Jesus’s Disturbance in the Temple (Mark 11:15–19),” Journal of Biblical Literature 140 (2021): 160.