Sermon for the Patronal at St John’s – December 28th 2025

There’s a new word to describe these days between Christmas and New Year. It’s called ‘Betwixmas’. What is describes is the strangeness of these days where there is a lull between celebrations. Where you don’t quite know what to do, what to eat, where to go, whether you’ve had enough of the tree and the decorations, and indeed your family or friends if you have visitors. Betwixmas seems quite a good word to describe this slightly funny feeling of liminal time which doesn’t feel altogether very comfortable. It’s the crash after the feast, or the restless lull, or even something of a lament as we finally have some time to reflect over the past year and some of the things which have brought us sorrow or grief.

Well we too, in our lectionary are plunged from the joy of the nativity suddenly into the terror of the exodus of the holy family. Though this isn’t just a lull, this is a serious, rapid response escape in fear of their lives. Joseph has his second encounter with an angel and this time the imperative leaves no space for ambiguity: he must flee immediately, journeying 90 miles to the Egyptian border where the family will be safe from King Herod. However, I think we sometimes imagine Bethlehem as the ‘little town’ as the carols says, bustling with people coming for the census. But by the account in Matthew’s Gospel, time and place look slightly different to what we might imagine.

According to Matthew we see Mary, Joseph and Jesus remaining in Bethlehem, presumably in more suitable accommodation, waiting for the arrival of the Wise Men from the East, who came perhaps even up to two years after Jesus was born. And so by this time they had settled into Bethlehem as their new home, Bethlehem being a village where Jesus would have been one of perhaps up to 30 young boys under 2. Sometimes we see these images of the slaying of the Holy Innocents where there are hundreds of children being killed, but in actual fact it would have been on a much smaller scale. It doesn’t detract from the utter horror of what happens but it does sharpen the focus. Herod had worked with precision to narrow his focus of attack. Herod knew exactly where his threat lay, and in one night destroyed an entire generation, out of fear and jealously. The 30 boys – all known and loved. Like the entire a whole preschool class wiped out. Mothers wailing. A village in shock and devastation.

The killing of the holy innocents is not the first and by no means the last genocide that we see either in Scripture or in world history. But it reminds us of the seriousness of the Incarnation, the darkness of the world that Jesus came to dwell in, and the raging battle that continues in the spiritual realms. It should be no surprise that surrounding Jesus’ entire life was vulnerability, threat, opposition and attack. The Light of the World drew immense darkness around Him and yet never was that light overcome. Because through the fragility of his circumstance we see the power of God. Though the total uncertainty of their lives we see the complete trust in God. Saint Matthew is at pains to show both of these extremes – we feel the palpable fear and yet the unwavering faithfulness of God.

I wonder what God wants to say to us today through this reading? I sense something really matters about the specificity of the detail – recognising the actuality of the truth of this horrific threat over the village in the hills. Something of the urgency of the response to the angels warning – now is the time to go, now is the time to lose certainty in order to find faith. I also wonder how we respond to God’s call into this exodus time, this season that, for all of us, will feel bumpy and unclear and confusing. And yet out of Egypt God calls his Son, and for us too can we recognise that a season of exile can protect us, draw us closer to God and to one another, make us more agile and responsive to the call of God?

In uncertain times I think we may find ourselves more ready to let go of the earthly things that we may cling to, and instead free our hearts and minds and hands to cling to Christ. Reach out of our darkness into his Light. Reach out, knowing our weakness and seeking His strength.

You’ve heard me banging on about ‘The Great Unravelling’ for some time now but I do believe that is the season we’re in – in the church, as in wider society. I sense that things will get worse before they get better. Big things that we thought were solid and secure will crumble, there will be deaths and endings in many ways. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if, in these uncertain times, the Church stood as a beacon of Hope, of light in the darkness. We who believe not just in death but also in resurrection? We who trust that heaven and earth will pass away but the Word of God will never pass away. We who know through our own lives and testimony that God goes with us – before us, beside us, behind us. God never leaves us and never forsakes us. We may see all that we know and love turn to dust, and yet in His Kingdom we are promised an eternity of love and joy and peace.

Perhaps like Joseph and Mary and Jesus we will find ourselves in a season of exile, in a strange unknown land where language and surroundings are unfamiliar. But I pray that like them we can know the unfailing, unwavering, endless love of God.

Perhaps my favourite line in all our carols is from ‘It came upon a midnight clear’ where we sing ‘when men at war with man hear not the love song which they bring, oh hush the noise ye men of strive and hear the angels sing’.

May we hear the angels sing. May we know in these uncertain times that God is light. That God is love. That God is with us as we travel on.

Amen