Waiting with Mary

A Sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church

22^nd December 2024

 

Luke 1.26-38, 46-55
1 Samuel 2.1-10
 
In case you hadn’t noticed, Christmas is nearly upon us!
 
Even in the most tardy of festive households,
          the tree has been decorated by now;
Our carol services are over,
          and the final Christmas countdown has well and truly begun.
 
For many of us, particularly for the younger members of our families,
          the anticipation is almost too much to bear.
 
We can’t wait for Christmas Day, for the celebrations,
          the family gatherings, and the joy of marking Christ’s birth.
 
And yet, the church calendar tells us something else.
          We are still in Advent—still in the season of waiting.
 
Advent is a time that resists the rush to the celebrations of Christmas.
          It asks us to pause, to reflect, and to sit with the tension of waiting.
 
It reminds us that the story of salvation didn’t arrive
          fully formed in a single moment,
          but rather unfolded in God’s time.
 
But waiting isn’t easy,
          especially when our culture urges us to move faster and faster.
 
Yet Advent invites us to embrace the waiting as holy time
          —a time to prepare our hearts, to listen for God’s call,
          and to watch for signs of God’s work in the world.
 
As we look to Mary and Hannah today,
          we find two women who knew what it meant to wait.
 
And their stories remind us that waiting is not passive,
          but active and hopeful.
 
It is a time to trust in God’s promises,
          to prepare for the new things God is doing,
          and to live in the light of the hope that Christ brings.
 
So, even as the world rushes towards Christmas,
          let us take a moment today
                   to pause and wait with Mary and Hannah,
          allowing their faith to guide us in this season of expectation.
 
Hannah’s prayer from the pages of the Hebrew Bible
          is clearly echoed in the themes of Mary’s Magnificat.
 
And through the words of their songs, their poetry, their prayerful utternaces,
          we encounter two women, two ordinary individuals
          whose lives were dramatically shaped by God’s intervention.
 
Hannah’s longing for a child and her joyous thanksgiving
          resonate with Mary’s story of unexpected motherhood.
 
Together, they invite us to reflect on the challenges and hopes
          that accompany a life shaped by faith.
 
But Mary and Hannah’s stories are not fairy tales of easy triumph.
          They are accounts of real human struggle, resilience, and trust in God.
 
Mary’s Magnificat and Hannah’s prayer sing of a world turned upside down
          —a vision of justice and liberation
that begins not in the halls of power
          but in the lives of the humble and the vulnerable.
 
And their faith inspires us to wait with hope,
          even in times of uncertainty.
 
From religious icons to school nativity plays,
          the image of Mary is universally familiar.
She is revered in Christianity and Islam
          and often portrayed as serene and holy.
 
Yet Luke’s Gospel invites us to meet Mary as she truly was
          —a young, poor, Jewish girl
          whose life was upended by God’s extraordinary call.
 
Likewise, Hannah’s prayer of exaltation
          comes after years of sorrow and struggle,
showing us that God’s transformative work
          often begins in the most unexpected places.
 
Mary lived under the shadow of Roman occupation,
          an era marked by oppression and uncertainty.
 
Like millions of young women today
          —from Palestinian refugees awaiting justice
          to teenagers in conflict zones like Sudan—
Mary’s story begins in a context of instability and vulnerability.
 
She was an ordinary girl facing extraordinary circumstances.
          And yet, God chose her to bear the Messiah,
          showing that divine action often arises in the least expected places.
 
Hannah’s context was similarly challenging.
          As a childless woman in ancient Israel,
                   she faced societal shame and personal anguish.
 
Her prayer in the temple reflects her deep pain and longing.
          Yet, when God answered her prayer,
she responded not with possessiveness
          but with gratitude and dedication,
offering her son Samuel back to God.
 
Both women’s stories remind us
          that God’s promises often emerge
          from human vulnerability and struggle.
 
As we gather on the cusp of 2025,
          the cry of the Magnificat still resounds
          in the protests against injustice and inequality in our time.
 
From the cost-of-living crisis in the UK
          to the global outcry for climate justice,
the themes of Mary’s song feel as urgent as ever.
 
“He has brought down the powerful… and lifted up the lowly.”
          This is not just an ancient hope; it is a call to action.
 
Similarly, Hannah’s prayer proclaims God’s justice
          in lifting the needy from the ash heap
          and breaking the bows of the mighty.
 
Their songs challenge us to look at our world and ask:
          where do we see the hungry being filled,
          and where do we see the proud being brought low?
 
Both women’s contexts also speak
          to our shared human experience of waiting.
 
Hannah waited through years of heartbreak
          before God’s promise was fulfilled in her life,
while Mary faced the long, uncertain journey
          of raising the Messiah.
 
Waiting on God’s promises is a thread that connects us to their stories
          and invites us to trust in God’s faithfulness
          even when the path ahead seems unclear.
 
But when the angel greeted Mary,
          her response was not instant jubilation.
She was “perplexed” and deeply troubled.
 
Her fears were real—pregnancy out of wedlock in her culture
          carried severe risks.
She faced the prospect of rejection by Joseph,
          condemnation by her community,
          and the practical difficulties of raising a child in poverty.
 
Yet Mary’s response,
          “Let it be with me according to your word,”
          demonstrates her openness to radical trust in God.
 
Hannah’s story similarly reflects this dynamic of fear and faith.
 
For years she endured the pain of childlessness,
          a condition that brought her exclusion and shame.
Yet her heartfelt prayer at the temple
          demonstrates her unwavering trust in God.
 
When her prayer was answered,
          she responded not with possessiveness but with gratitude,
          dedicating her son Samuel to God’s service.
 
Both women show us that courage is not the absence of fear
          but the willingness to trust in God’s faithfulness.
 
Their stories invite us to reflect on our own fears and uncertainties.
          Have we ever faced a moment when God’s call seemed overwhelming?
          Have we struggled to trust in God’s plans for our lives?
 
Like Mary and Hannah, we are invited to respond with faith,
          even when the path ahead is unclear.
 
Their story reminds us that God often calls us to step into the unknown,
          trusting that we are part of something far greater than ourselves.
 
And Advent reminds us that such faith often involves waiting.
 
Mary’s journey was not a quick triumph.
          She waited for her child to grow, watched him face rejection,
          and stood by the cross as he was crucified.
 
Her life teaches us that God’s promises
          are fulfilled in God’s time, not ours.
 
Hannah also knew the pain of waiting.
          Her years of longing for a child seemed endless,
          and yet she continued to trust in God.
 
When her prayer was answered,
          it was not just a personal victory
but a moment that contributed to the larger story of God’s work in Israel.
 
Today, we wait for justice:
          for an end to the war in Ukraine,
                   for meaningful climate action,
          for systemic change to address wealth inequality.
 
And can we, like Mary and Hannah, learn to wait in hope,
          trusting that the God who began a good work
          will bring it to completion?
 
Such waiting is not passive, of course.
 
Like Mary, we prepare our hearts and our communities for God’s action.
 
This may involve advocacy, prayer, or acts of service,
          but it also involves a deep trust
          that God is at work in ways we cannot understand.
 
How might we, in our waiting,
          cultivate the kind of faith that sustains us through uncertainty
          and allows us to hold on to hope?
 
How might we see our periods of waiting
          as opportunities to grow in trust,
rather than simply as obstacles to be endured?
 
The story of Mary’s miraculous pregnancy
          reminds us that salvation, however it comes to us,
          is always God’s initiative.
 
In our culture of achievement, where value is so often tied to productivity,
          Mary’s story subverts this narrative.
 
It is not our efforts that bring God’s kingdom to birth in the world,
          but God’s gracious action.
 
Similarly, Hannah’s story also highlights God’s initiative.
 
Despite her deep longing for a child,
          it was ultimately God who acted in God’s time,
          transforming her sorrow into joy.
 
This does not mean passivity, for Mary, Hannah, or us...
          Instead, it calls us to align ourselves with God’s purposes.
 
Like Mary and Hannah, we say, “Here am I,”
          ready to participate in the unfolding of God’s justice and peace.
 
Our part is to trust and to act in response to God’s initiative.
 
Think of the ways in which these stories
          remind us of our dependence on God
          —not as a crutch but as a source of strength.
 
How might we reframe our own efforts,
          seeing them not as attempts to earn God’s favour
          but as responses to God’s call?
 
When we trust that God is the one who initiates and sustains,
          we can find freedom from the pressures
          of perfectionism and self-reliance.
 
The songs of Mary and Hannah resonate across the millennia,
          not merely as words on a page
but as melodies that echo
          through the lives of those who hear them.
 
Music has a unique power to embed truths within us.
          When set to rhythm and melody, words become more than speech
                    —they sing their way into our souls,
          shaping the way we think, act, and believe.
 
Hannah’s prayer and Mary’s Magnificat
          are not just declarations of faith;
they are acts of creation,
          singing the reality of God’s justice into being.
 
Through their music, these women gave voice
          to the transformative work of God,
a work that continues to resonate in the lives of the faithful today.
 
Their songs are not static relics of the past.
          They are living, breathing invitations for us to join in their melody
                    —to allow their faith to write itself into our lives,
          so that our actions, words, and hopes
                   begin to echo their trust in God.
 
When we sing their songs,
          we are reminded that faith is not confined to moments of worship.
 
It carries into every part of our lives,
          giving shape to the prayers we pray, the actions we take,
          and the hopes we nurture.
 
Their music lingers in time,
          reminding us that the rhythm of God’s justice
                   is one that calls us to dance, to act,
                   and to sing in harmony with God’s purposes.
 
The hymns and songs we sing in church
          do more than lift our spirits;
rather they root us in a tradition
          that proclaims hope, justice, and love.
 
They challenge us to live lives
          that embody the truths we sing.
 
As Mary’s Magnificat and Hannah’s prayer
          have sung themselves into being through centuries of faithful living,
so too are we invited to continue the song
          —to let its melody inspire the way we speak, serve, and hope.
 
How might we allow the songs of faith to echo in our lives?
          How might the melodies of Hannah and Mary inspire us
          to create harmonies of justice and hope in the world today?
 
Through their voices, may we find courage to sing our own songs of faith,
          carrying their truths forward into the world.
 
So, as we wait with Mary and Hannah this Advent,
          let us embrace their faith and courage.
 
Like Hannah, who trusted God through years of longing,
          and like Mary, who responded to God’s call
          with a resounding “Yes,”
we too are invited to trust in God’s promises.
 
Their stories remind us that God’s work
          often begins in moments of human vulnerability
          and grows into something transformative.
 
As Mary sang:
          My soul magnifies the Lord,
          and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour.
 
So may we be bearers of God’s justice, peace, and love,
          trusting that the God who called Mary and Hannah calls us too,
to be part of the salvation of the world.
 
Amen.
 

Rebuilding with Vision

A sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church

15 December 2024

Isaiah 9.6-7; 61.1-11
Luke 4:16-21
 
This week, as we draw to a close
            our journey through the prophetic literature of the Old Testament,
we come to Isaiah 61,
            a passage bursting with hope and renewal.
 
It feels particularly poignant to read these words in this Advent season,
            as we reflect on what it means to wait in expectation
            and prepare for the coming of Christ.
 
But Advent is also a time for recognising
            that we are a people in need of restoration
—a people called to participate in the rebuilding of God’s world.
 
Isaiah 61 is set in the post-exilic period,
            after the Israelites returned from Babylon.
 
The return was supposed to be the fulfilment of their hopes,
            the moment when everything was made right.
 
But the reality was far from what they had dreamed.
            The city was in ruins, the temple destroyed, and the community fractured.
It wasn’t just the physical rebuilding that was daunting;
            it was the task of reimagining what their life together could be.
 
And Isaiah’s vision speaks directly to this moment of despair.
 
He proclaims good news to the oppressed, the binding up the broken-hearted,
            and he declares liberty for the captives.
 
He acknowledges the pain and loss
            but also casts a vision for a renewed society
            where God’s justice and righteousness flourish.
 
This context resonates deeply with our own.
 
The year 2024 finds us living in a world grappling with political turmoil,
            economic inequality, and the ongoing consequences of climate change.
 
In recent months, we've witnessed the resurgence of populism and nationalism,
            with divisions growing both within and between nations.
 
Economic uncertainties have left many feeling vulnerable,
            while the cost-of-living crisis continues to weigh heavily on families.
 
In such a world, the call to rebuild can feel overwhelming.
            Like the Israelites, we may find ourselves wondering where to begin.
 
But Isaiah reminds us that rebuilding begins with a vision
            —a vision that centres the vulnerable,
                        recognises the brokenness of the world,
            and proclaims God’s promise of restoration.
 
Isaiah’s vision also offers a profound blueprint for such rebuilding.
 
First, it centres the marginalised.
He begins by speaking directly to the oppressed,
            the broken-hearted, and the captives.
 
In doing so, he reminds us that any vision of renewal
            must start with those on the margins of society.
 
This is a consistent theme throughout Scripture:
            God’s work of restoration always begins with the least, the lost, and the last.
 
Second, Isaiah’s vision is one of transformation.
He speaks of exchanging ashes for a garland,
            mourning for the oil of gladness,
                        and a faint spirit for a mantle of praise.
 
This is not about superficial fixes or returning to the status quo.
            It is about deep, systemic change
            —a reordering of society that reflects God’s justice and righteousness.
 
And third, Isaiah’s vision is grounded in hope.
Even as he acknowledges the pain and loss of the present,
            he dares to look forward to a future
            where righteousness springs up like a garden in full bloom.
 
This hope is not naïve or wishful thinking;
            it is a bold proclamation that God is at work, even in the midst of despair.
 
As we reflect on this vision,
            we can draw inspiration from our own history as a church.
 
Bloomsbury has faced its share of challenges over the years,
            yet time and again, it has risen to the task of renewal.
 
During the Second World War, when attendance dropped to just a handful,
            the church became a sanctuary for service personnel passing through London.
 
After the war, faced with the stark reality
            that the old way of being a church could not continue,
the congregation embraced the challenge of starting afresh.
 
That resilience is a reminder to us today
            that the people of God are no strangers to the work of rebuilding.
 
Whether it is the literal rebuilding of a city after exile
            or the metaphorical rebuilding of a community after trauma,
the call remains the same:
            to participate in God’s work of restoration with courage and faith.
 
So what does this look like for us as we look now to 2025?
            How do we embody Isaiah’s vision in our own time and context?
 
One area where this vision feels particularly urgent is housing.
 
The housing crisis in the UK has reached critical levels,
            with thousands of people unable to afford a place to call home.
 
Through our work with Citizens UK,
            we have seen how communities can come together
                        to advocate for affordable housing
            and challenge policies that perpetuate inequality.
 
This is Isaiah’s vision in action
            —a society where the vulnerable are not forgotten
            but are placed at the centre of our rebuilding efforts.
 
Another pressing issue is the environment.
 
The climate crisis is not just a future threat;
            it is a present reality that demands urgent action.
 
Isaiah’s image of righteousness springing up like a garden
            is a powerful reminder that our relationship with the earth
            is part of God’s vision for restoration.
 
As a church, we are called to be stewards of creation,
            advocating for policies that protect the planet
            and living in ways that reflect our commitment to sustainability.
 
And then there is the task of rebuilding community.
 
In a world increasingly defined by division and isolation,
            the church has a unique role to play as a place of welcome and belonging.
 
This is not just about what happens within our walls;
            it is about how we engage with our neighbours,
                        build bridges across differences,
            and work together for the common good.
 
As we reflect on Isaiah’s vision
            for a world transformed by justice and healing,
we see its fullest expression in the life and ministry of Jesus.
 
In Luke 4:16-21, at the very beginning of his public ministry,
            Jesus stands in the synagogue, takes the scroll of Isaiah, and reads:
 
"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”
 
Then, he declares, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”
 
This moment is profound.
            Jesus does not merely announce Isaiah’s vision; he embodies it.
 
In his ministry, we see what it means to bring good news to the poor,
            to bind up the broken-hearted, and to set captives free.
 
Jesus heals the sick, welcomes the outcast,
            feeds the hungry, and challenges systems of oppression.
 
Through him, Isaiah’s proclamation becomes tangible, practical, and immediate.
 
But note what else Jesus does:
            he locates the fulfilment of Isaiah’s vision in the present.
“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”
            Not tomorrow, not in some distant future, but today.
 
Jesus calls us to see that God’s work of justice and restoration
            is not something we wait passively for;
it is something we participate in actively, here and now.
 
In our context, this call is just as urgent.
 
Isaiah’s vision, as fulfilled in Christ, challenges us
            to confront the injustices of our world with the same boldness.
 
Who are the poor and broken-hearted in our society today?
            Who are the captives yearning for liberation?
Whether it is families trapped in cycles of poverty due to rising living costs,
            refugees seeking safety and belonging,
or communities facing the devastating impacts of climate change,
            Isaiah’s—and Jesus’—words compel us to respond.
 
This response must go beyond charity
            to embrace systemic change.
 
Jesus’ proclamation invites us to imagine and build a world
            where the oppressed are truly free
            and the structures of injustice are dismantled.
 
It calls us to ask hard questions
            about how our churches, communities, and nations
            reflect—or fail to reflect—God’s justice.
 
As followers of Christ, we are not only recipients of this good news;
            we are also its bearers.
 
The Spirit of the Lord is upon us, too,
            anointing us to continue Jesus’ mission of liberation, healing, and restoration.
 
This mission requires courage, creativity,
            and a deep commitment to the values of the kingdom of God.
 
At the heart of all this is the need for a clear vision.
 
Just as Isaiah’s words gave the Israelites a framework
            for imagining a renewed society,
so we too need a vision to guide us.
 
At Bloomsbury, we have already articulated this vision
            in our values, mission, and vision statements.
These are not just words on a website; they are a call to action,
            a reminder of who we are and what we are called to do.
 
As we look to the future, let us keep this vision before us.
            Let us commit ourselves to the work of justice, compassion, and hope.
Let us dare to believe that God is not finished with us
            —that the Spirit of the Lord is upon us,
anointing us to proclaim good news,
            to bind up the broken-hearted, and to rebuild the ancient ruins.
 
So as we gather this Advent,
            we hold together the tension of what is and what will be.
 
We acknowledge the darkness of the world,
            but we also proclaim the light of Christ.
 
We lament the brokenness of our communities,
            but we also commit ourselves to the work of restoration.
 
Isaiah’s vision calls us to live in hope
            —not a passive hope that waits for God to act,
            but an active hope that participates in God’s work of renewal.
 
It is a hope that dares to believe that the future can be different,
            that the present does not define what is possible,
and that God’s promises are as true today
            as they were thousands of years ago.
 
And as we consider the hope that Advent invites us to,
            it is vital to recognise the role of prayer in nurturing this hope
            and equipping us for the work of justice and restoration.
 
Prayer is not merely a private act of devotion;
            it is a generative practice that opens us to the presence of God,
                        deepens our attentiveness to others,
            and cultivates the courage and compassion needed to act in the world.
 
Such prayer begins with attentiveness.
 
In prayer, we turn our gaze toward God,
            seeking not only to speak but to listen.
 
This attentiveness to the divine
            reshapes our understanding of ourselves and the world.
 
It reminds us that we are part of something larger than ourselves
            —a story of redemption and renewal in which God invites us to participate.
 
But prayer also calls us to be attentive to others.
 
Isaiah’s vision centres the poor, the broken-hearted, and the oppressed,
            reminding us that God’s work of restoration is deeply relational.
 
In prayer, we bring before God the needs of our neighbours,
            our communities, and the wider world.
 
This practice cultivates empathy and compassion,
            expanding our capacity to see and respond to the suffering of others.
 
Such devotional spirituality is not a withdrawal from the world
            but a source of strength for engaging with it.
 
As we sit in the presence of God,
            we are reminded of the power of the Spirit to transform and renew.
 
This encounter with divine grace
            gives us the courage to face the challenges of our time
—to stand against injustice, to advocate for the vulnerable,
            and to work for the flourishing of all creation.
 
We see this in the example of Jesus,
            who often withdrew to pray, even in the midst of his ministry.
 
Those moments of solitude and communion with God
            sustained him for the demanding task of healing, teaching,
            and confronting systems of oppression.
 
In the same way, our prayer life can become the wellspring
            from which we draw the strength and clarity to act.
 
In our interconnected world, prayer also broadens our perspective,
            reminding us of our shared humanity.
 
As we pray for the global community,
            we become more aware of the injustices that cross borders
            —climate change, economic inequality, and the plight of refugees.
 
This awareness challenges us to move beyond parochial concerns
            and to embrace a vision of justice and peace that is truly global.
 
Advent therefore invites us into a posture of waiting and watchfulness,
            and prayer is the practice that sustains this posture.
 
As we wait for the light of Christ to break into the darkness,
            prayer keeps us grounded in hope.
 
It shapes us into people who not only long for a better world
            but are ready to work for it,
            confident in the knowledge that God’s Spirit is with us.
 
So may this Advent be a time of renewed devotion,
            as we open our hearts to God and to one another.
 
May our prayers lead us to act with courage, compassion,
            and unwavering hope in the promises of God.
 
May we, like the exiles of old,
            embrace this vision with courage and faith.
 
May we commit ourselves to the work of rebuilding,
            trusting that God’s Spirit is with us every step of the way.
 
And may we, in this Advent season, proclaim the good news
            that Christ comes to bring light to the darkness,
            hope to the despairing, and life to the world.
 
Amen.
 

Knitivity: "A Holy Yarn of Love"

Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church

8th December 2024

Human Cast:
·       Narrator 1
·       Narrator 2
·       Reader/Prayer
 
Knitted Cast:
·       Mary
·       Joseph
·       Baby Jesus in the manger
·       Two Shepherds
·       Two Sheep
·       Three Wise Men

Narrator 1:
Welcome, everyone, to our Knitivity!
This morning, we’ll unravel the story of Christmas stitch by stitch.
 
You’ll help bring it to life as we meet our delightful cast of knitted characters.
As we follow the threads of the story, we’ll hear the words of Scripture and watch as this woolly wonder comes together. Let’s start with the Gospel of Luke, which introduces two key figures: Mary and Joseph.

Reading: Luke 1:26–35, 38
(The Annunciation: Gabriel appears to Mary)
The Birth of Jesus Foretold
²⁶ In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, ²⁷ to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. ²⁸ And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” ²⁹ But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. ³⁰ The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. ³¹ And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. ³² He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. ³³ He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” ³⁴ Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” ³⁵ The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born^[c] will be holy; he will be called Son of God.
³⁸ Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

Narrator 2:
Here we have Mary, a young woman chosen by God to carry an extraordinary gift.
(Encourage the person with Mary to bring her to the front.)
 
Narrator 1:
And Joseph, a carpenter from Nazareth, was soon to be her husband. When he heard the news, he felt a little… tied up in knots. But an angel appeared to him too, and he knew he had to stay by Mary’s side.
(Encourage the person with Joseph to bring him to join Mary.)
 
Narrator 2:
Together, they travelled to Bethlehem, threading their way through the crowds, weaving their way towards an inn where the innkeeper let them snuggle down with the animals in the table. The city was bursting at the seams! And when they arrived, they discovered…

Reading: Luke 2:6–7
(Mary gives birth to Jesus and lays him in a manger.)
While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. ⁷ And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no place in the guest room.

Narrator 1:
And here he is—Baby Jesus, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.
(Invite the Baby Jesus figure and the manger to be placed at the front.)
 
Narrator 2:
This humble manger reminds us that sometimes, the greatest treasures come in the simplest of packages.
And so, the scene begins to take shape: Mary, Joseph, and Jesus—the first stitches of the Christmas story.
(Pause briefly to allow reflection.)

 
Reading: Luke 2:8–14
(The shepherds hear the angels proclaiming the good news.)
The Shepherds and the Angels
⁸ Now in that same region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. ⁹ Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. ¹⁰ But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: ¹¹ to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹² This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” ¹³ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,
¹⁴ “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
    and on earth peace among those whom he favours!”

Narrator 1:
Now, let’s add some shepherds to our Knitivity.
(Invite the two shepherds to brought forward.)
 
Narrator 2:
They were out in the fields, minding their own sheepy business, when suddenly, the sky lit up! Angels appeared, singing a song that was woolly wonderful: "Glory to God in the highest!"
(Encourage the congregation to imagine the scene, perhaps with a soft "baa" or two from the audience.)
 
Narrator 1:
The shepherds quickly rounded up their flocks, including these two lovely sheep.
(The sheep figures are brought forward to join the shepherds.)
 
Narrator 2:
And off they went, faster than you can say “woolly jumpers,” to see this miraculous child.
 
Reading: Matthew 2:1–2, 9–11
(The wise men follow the star and offer gifts.)
The Visit of the Magi
2 In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, magi from the east came to Jerusalem, ² asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star in the east^[ and have come to pay him homage.”
⁹ When they had heard the king, they set out, and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen in the east,^[a] until it stopped over the place where the child was. ¹⁰ When they saw that the star had stopped,^[b] they were overwhelmed with joy. ¹¹ On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

Narrator 1:
Meanwhile, far to the east, three wise men—or perhaps we should call them knit-wits—had seen a bright star in the sky.
(Encourage the three wise men to be brought forward.)
 
Narrator 2:
They followed the star, traveling for miles and miles. Surely they must have felt a bit unravelled along the way! But they pressed on, bringing gifts to honour the newborn King: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
 
Narrator 1:
And so, they arrived at the stable, completing our nativity scene. Let’s take a moment to admire the tapestry of this story, carefully woven together by God’s love.
(Pause to let the entire scene come together: Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus in the manger, the shepherds, the sheep, and the wise men.)
 
Narrator 2:
This Knitivity reminds us that the Christmas story is one of humble beginnings, of ordinary people called into extraordinary roles, and of God’s love knit into the fabric of our lives.
 
Narrator 1:
Just as each stitch in our knitted figures was crafted with care, so too are we made by God, each of us part of a beautiful pattern of love and hope.
Just like knitting, God’s love takes patience, care, and a willingness to bring together all the strands of life.
 
Narrator 2:
May this story stay with us, a thread that ties us to each other and to the miracle of Christmas; and may your Christmas be as warm and cozy as a hand-knitted blanket.
Let us close in prayer.

Closing Prayer:
Loving God,
We thank you for the gift of this day,
for the story of Christmas,
and for your Son, Jesus,
who came into our world,
wrapped in love like a blanket of wool.
 
Help us to remember that,
just as each stitch in our knitted figures was made with care,
so too are we made by your hands,
each of us a part of your perfect design.
 
May we carry the warmth of your love with us,
weaving peace, joy, and kindness into every day,
as we follow the light of Christ,
our Savior, and Shepherd.
 
In Jesus’ name we pray,
Amen.

 
Hymn
Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
the little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head;
the stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay,
the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.
 
Be near us, Lord Jesus, in a world full of pain,
Where hatred and sorrow so often remain.
Teach us to bring kindness, to care for the least,
And knit us together in love’s holy feast.
 
The earth groans in sorrow, yet your light still shines,
Through humble beginnings, your justice aligns.
Empower your people to bring hope anew,
And weave us as threads in the work you will do.         
                v.1 John T McFarland (1851-1913) #157
 

 
Reflection: Holy Love in a Troubled World
As we look at our completed Knitivity, it’s tempting to imagine that the Christmas story is a soft and sentimental tale, full of warm stables, twinkling stars, and joyful shepherds.
 
But the world into which Jesus was born was anything but peaceful or idyllic. It was a world of violence, oppression, and uncertainty.
 
Mary and Joseph lived under Roman rule, where the wealthy and powerful exploited the poor and vulnerable.
 
The trip to Bethlehem wasn’t a romantic journey—it was a forced migration, imposed by an occupying empire for the purposes of taxation.
 
Jesus was born in a stable not because of its charm, but because there was no place for him elsewhere.
 
From his very first moments, his life reflected the marginalisation and vulnerability of so many in our world today.
 
And yet, into that world—so broken, so divided—God came.
 
Not in power or privilege, but as a fragile baby, vulnerable to hunger, cold, and violence.
 
God came into the mess of human existence not to escape it, but to redeem it from within.
 
Facing Our World Today
Today, we still live in a world marked by violence, selfishness, and environmental crisis.
 
Wars displace families, just as they displaced Mary and Joseph.
 
Greed drives inequality, hoarding resources while others go without.
 
Our planet groans under the weight of our misuse, with ecosystems unravelling like a threadbare garment.
 
And yet, the story of Christmas reminds us that hope is not absent, even here.
 
Just as Jesus was born into a world of chaos and pain, so too can new hope and new life emerge in our time.
 
But hope doesn’t come passively. Mary and Joseph responded to God’s call with courage.
 
The shepherds left their flocks to witness the good news.
 
The wise men travelled far, offering gifts in humility.
 
Christmas is not just about receiving the gift of God’s love; it’s about participating in it—becoming agents of hope, justice, and change in the world.
 
What Does This Mean for Us?
As we face the challenges of our time, the Knitivity offers us some powerful themes to hold onto:
 
1.     Vulnerability is Strength: 

Just as God chose to come into the world in the vulnerability of a child, we are called to embrace the strength found in humility and compassion.
 
Real change begins when we are willing to confront the pain and brokenness around us.
 
2.     Community is Essential: 

The Christmas story isn’t just about individuals—it’s about people coming together.
 
Mary and Joseph, shepherds and wise men, all gathered around Jesus.
 
In a world of division, we must weave stronger communities, caring for one another and working together for justice.
 
3.     Creation Matters: 

Jesus was laid in a manger—a feeding trough for animals—and his first visitors were shepherds.
 
This story reminds us that God’s care extends to all creation.
 
As we face a climate crisis, we are called to protect and nurture the earth, honouring it as God’s gift.
 
4.     There is Always Hope: 

The star the wise men followed still shines, calling us to believe that even in the darkest times, light will break through.
 
But like the wise men, we must act.
 
Hope is not passive—it calls us to live differently, to challenge systems of greed and violence, and to bring God’s peace to a world that desperately needs it.

 
Conclusion
The Christmas story is not escapism—it’s resistance.
 
It’s a declaration that even in a world of darkness, God’s light cannot be extinguished.
 
It’s an invitation to join God’s work of restoration, to be threads of hope woven into the fabric of a broken world.
 
So as we leave our service this morning, let’s carry the lessons of the Knitivity with us.
 
Let’s remember the vulnerability of Jesus, the courage of Mary and Joseph,
            the faith of the shepherds, and the persistence of the wise men.
 
And let’s commit ourselves to be people of hope
            —living, loving, and working for a world
where peace, justice, and joy reign,
            just as they did that holy night in Bethlehem.
 
Amen.