Tonight, we gather in the quiet and the darkness – at a time when the world itself seems to pause. Outside, the nights are long, the days are short, and the light is fragile. And it is precisely into that darkness that God chooses to come. Not with thunder or spectacle.Not in a palace or a place of power. But as a child, laid in a manger. St Luke tells us that Mary “gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes.” It is such a simple sentence, almost understated. Yet it contains the most astonishing truth: God has entered our world, not above it, not apart from it, but within it. The first people to hear this good news were shepherds – ordinary, hardworking people, awake in the fields at night. They were not religious elites or powerful leaders. They were simply people doing their job, living their lives, perhaps carrying their own worries and weariness. And it is to them that the angel says, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy for all the people.” That line is for us too. “Do not be afraid.” Not because life is easy. Not because there is nothing to worry about. But because God is with us. The child born tonight does not remove suffering by force. He does something far more profound: he enters it. He shares our vulnerability. He knows hunger and cold, joy and laughter, love and loss. There is no human experience that God now stands outside of. That is why Christmas speaks so powerfully to us, year after year. Because we come here carrying many things: memories of those we miss, worries about health or family, concerns about the world, quiet fears about the future. And into all of that, God says: I am here. I am with you. The manger tells us something important about God. It tells us that God’s greatness is revealed in humility, that love does not need to shout to be strong, and that hope often arrives in the smallest and most unexpected ways. Tonight, as we look at the crib, we are invited not just to admire it, but to receive what it offers: peace for troubled hearts, light for dark places, and hope that does not disappoint. Christmas is not a story we outgrow. It is a truth we grow into. So tonight, let us slow down. Let us be still. Let us allow the silence of this holy night to speak to us. And let us carry this simple, life-changing message with us as we leave: God is with us. Emmanuel.

And because of that, even in the darkest night, the light has come – and it will never be extinguished.