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As I write this, it is about noon, and I am probably one of the only people still at this WeWork site. I have managed to outlast all the techies 👨🏽‍💻 Not sure that is a worthy flex, but truth be told, it's kinda nice having an entire floor all to myself.
As a pastor who has spent most of my professional life serving congregations, I am pretty chill because I am not preparing to lead a worship service in a few hours. I am definitely holding all of my congregational colleagues in prayer as they prepare for all the Christmas Eve activities, both spiritual and logistical. May the holy abound, not only in the liturgy, the prayers, and the proclamation, but also in the chaos of the candle distribution, the congregational choreography, and the unexpected that always makes an appearance. You know this, but let me remind you — all will be well, and Jesus will show up, smooth going or not.
So for all who are doing the work of the church this day: pastors, educators, musicians, staff, volunteers, and everyone else, thank you.
Coming back from Palestine so close to Christmas is pretty surreal. Knowing that the genocide, while slowed, continues in Gaza — and that Christmas has returned in much of Palestine, the thin and tender space between hope and hopelessness has never been more real. While we were there, we experienced just a glimpse of Palestinian life under occupation, where one moment you are strolling through a Christmas market perusing Christmas crafts and the next moment you are avoiding Israeli Occupation Forces as they swarm a car on the street. Startling for Americans, but normal for Palestinians. This was illustrated so well as we visited the Christmas Evangelical Lutheran Church in Bethlehem, where the "Christ in the Rubble" now has a Christmas tree over it. Christmas may be here, but Christ is still in the rubble.
At Christmas Evangelical Lutheran Church in Bethlehem
Also "normal" under apartheid life is not being able to celebrate Christmas as one would want. The picture at the top of this post is of a Nativity Scene that I bought at The Walled Off Hotel. It has the Magi and the Christ child separated by the apartheid wall. If only this were metaphorical. Like Easter, because of the permit and ID system, Palestinian movement is regulated and controlled by the Israeli government. What this means is that if you are a Palestinian Christian and you want to attend Christmas services in Jerusalem, you have to apply for a permit, which will most likely be denied. Do not believe the propaganda that Israel is a place that protects Christians. It is not. For Palestinian Christians, it is a dangerous apartheid state. And yet, while we were there, our colleagues and siblings were finding space to begin welcoming the hope, peace, joy, and love of the Christ child into the world.
I figure that if they can hold this tension, it is the least I can do — and I invite you to do the same.
Let us pray,
God in that tender and tenuous space in between, may we know the hope, peace, joy, and love that is offered in the Christ child.
between the despair of the world and the hope of Christ,
may we embrace possibility.
between the destruction of relationships and the peace of Christ,
may we experience redemption.
between the sorrow of our souls and the joy of Christ,
may we exhale with delight.
between the diminishment of our enemies and the love of Christ,
may we love and be loved beyond our imagination.
For all of this, for us and for all, we pray.
AMEN.
However and with whomever you spend this holiday season, may there be more than glimpses of hope, peace, joy, and love. See you in 2026.
Peace,
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