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Written by Kathy Loftman from The Village Church.

When I think of favorite Christmas hymns, I usually think of those with a melody that I enjoy playing on my flute. However, the request stressed the lyrics, so I decided to choose a hymn that I enjoy both the lyrics as well as haunting melody. “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” is a theologically rich carol based on its use of the O Antiphons, liturgical prayers based on Old Testament prophecies of the Messiah’s coming, which have been sung as part of the Advent liturgy, originating in the 8^th and 9^th century. Each verse addresses Christ with a different title from scripture, building a deep theological case for His awaited arrival and His role in liberating people from sin and death. The carol is not only a song of longing but also an expression of hope and assurance that God will fulfill His promises.  Each verse of the hymn invokes a different messianic title for Jesus.  Emmanuel [He is “God with us.”]  Rod of Jesse [He is a descendant of Jesse (King David’s father), who will bring freedom from Satan and death.] Dayspring [He is the dawn that will “cheer us” and put “death’s dark shadows” to flight.]  Key of David [He holds the power to open the “heavenly home” and “close the path to misery.”] Lord of Might (Adonai) [He has always been with His people, revealing Himself with “majesty and awe.] Wisdom from on High [He is the personification of God’s wisdom, which “orders all things mightily” in the cosmos], and Desire of Nations [He is the one who can bind “all peoples in one heart and mind,” bringing an end to strife and ushering in God’s peace.] The original Latin chants contained a hidden acrostic. The first letter of each title—Sapientia, Adonai, Radix Jesse, Clavis David, Oriens, Rex Gentium, Emmanuel—spells “SARCORE.” When read backward, this forms the Latin phrase “Ero cras,” meaning “I shall be with you tomorrow.”  The carol’s mood and structure reflect key theological themes of exile, longing, and already but not yet.  The initial verse describes Israel as “captive” and “mourning in lonely exile.” This reflects the historical Babylonian exile but also the spiritual state of all people separated from God by sin. The hymn captures the deep longing of God’s people throughout history as they waited for their promised Messiah. It is a humble, serious call for a savior, not a festive, celebratory one. The constant refrain, “Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel,” injects a powerful note of hope into the mournful verses. It reminds Christians that while Christ has already come, we still live in a fallen world and await His promised return to make all things new. 

O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel that mourns in lonely exile here until the Son of God appear.  Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to you, O Israel.

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Written by Lola Childs from The Village Church.

 The prophecy of Isaiah 7:14 means “God with us” and that is what hope sounds like. Our trip to Lahore, West Pakistan in 1960 had a noble purpose. My father, a civil engineer, was to build 12 inter-river link canals for water supply. My mother was to assist nurses in caring for malnourished babies. I was between 5 and 8 years of age when we moved there. I befriended a neighbor Pakistani girl and attended a Pakistani kindergarten. Experiences there were mixed—with occasional blessings and much shock. Our front door would open to a beggar with a bloody rag stuffed in an empty nasal cavity or in an ear opening. Sin, in a radical Muslim country, was punishable by removal of appendages. How fortunate we were to know God who forgives. Once, as we drove into the Old City looking very white, about ten men surrounded, lifted, and moved our car out of the way. Other unmentioned traumas would have devastating effects UNTIL the calls to prayer were drowned out by my turntable. I played the smooth, resonant Harry Belefonte 1958 rendition of “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” and the lyrics (below) moved me. Jesus is the hope of this life and the next. Isaiah foretold it. Immanuel means God [is] with us.

I heard the bells on Christmas day, their old familiar carols play. And wild and sweet, the words repeat of peace on earth, good will to men. I thought, as now this day had come, the belfries of all Christendom had rung so long the unbroken song of peace on earth, good will to men. And in despair I bowed my head. There is no peace on earth, I said. For hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, good will to men. Then pealed the bells more loud and deep. God is not dead nor doth He sleep. The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, with peace on earth, good will to men.

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Written by Laura Metzger from The Village Church.

 I am always drawn to the modern carol “Mary, Did You Know?”  There’s something about the lyrics that capture both the beauty and mystery of the Christmas story. The questions posed in the song remind me that Christmas isn’t just about a baby in a manger. It’s about God Himself stepping into our world. This tiny, fragile child was the Savior of all humanity — the same one who would walk on water, heal the sick, calm the storm, and conquer death. Mary knew her baby was special, chosen, and holy — but could she have truly grasped that she was holding the Creator of the Universe in her arms? For me, this song rekindles the sacred wonder and awe that began in a manger and still changes lives today.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy is the Lord of all creation? Mary, did you know that your baby boy will one day rule the nations? Did you know that your baby boy was heaven’s perfect Lamb? And the sleeping Child you’re holdin’ is the Great I Am!

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Written by Rev. Dr. Jack Baca, Senior Pastor of The Village Church.

One of my favorite Christmas carols includes a line that is perhaps one of the most outrageously ambitious and even preposterous statements I’ve ever seen or was ever written. And I believe it is true. The carol is “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Both the text and tune were written in 1868, not long after the American Civil War had ended. The text was penned by Phillips Brooks, a famous preacher of the time, who now is known more for his little poem-turned-carol than for any of his sermons. (Hmmm…I’ll have to ponder that fact for a while!) He wrote it in December for use by the Sunday School kids of Holy Trinity Episcopal Church in Philadelphia. It was aimed at children and does a great job of incorporating both simple images of Christmas like stars, angels, and a quaint little town, along with astounding affirmations of deep truth. I’ll let you ruminate on the “deep and dreamless sleep” parts, but please don’t miss the last line of the first stanza: “The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.” Really? How could that be? How could the hopes of the whole human race of past, present, and future, be addressed in one child? How could the fears of that same race be comprehended and answered in the boy born to Mary? How could a kid with a common name like “Jesus” be the solution for even just one person…for just me…or just you? But he is. Not “was” or “will be” but “is.” None of us fully understand what we confess to believe, but still we believe it. Beyond our understanding, there lies our faith, faith that itself is born of the gift of the Spirit. I believe in Jesus. I believe Jesus. I believe what my preacher colleague from the past so daringly and beautifully wrote, that in Jesus, the Christ, we meet the Divine Response to the world’s hopes and fears. Maybe that is why I can never sing those words without tears forming in my eyes.

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie! Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by. Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light; the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

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Today’s devotion is from the Transforming Mission website, launched by contemporary pastor Tim Bias and Sara Thomas, a regional missional specialist.

Being a follower of Jesus is more than a private belief—it’s a mission.  God’s mission began with sending Jesus into the world in love. Now, as Jesus’ followers, we are sent—filled with that same love—to care for our neighbors, serve those in need, and yes, even love our enemies. This isn’t a church program or a personal initiative. It’s God’s mission, and we are empowered by the Holy Spirit to live it out every day. Being sent means reflecting God’s love through small acts of care and kindness—at work, at home, in your community, even in difficult spaces. It’s letting your life speak so that others are drawn to the source of your joy, peace, and compassion. Today, ask yourself: Who around me needs to experience God’s love? How can I make that visible through my words, actions, and presence?

Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you. [John 20:21-22]

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Written by Ken Boa, a contemporary author and founder of Reflections Ministry.

True mercy reflects the heart of God. And if justice were our standard, none of us would see salvation. We pray for mercy because we need it—and in praying for it, we learn to show it. When we live as the meek, we acknowledge to others that we are sinners. When we live as the merciful, we extend compassion because we recognize that others are, too. The Bible doesn’t paint a sentimental picture of humanity. It tells the truth about the human condition. We are not basically good people who occasionally mess up—we are deeply flawed, and our sin has alienated us from God and from one another. But here is the wonder of the gospel: God Himself provides the solution. He underwrites the cost of our redemption. He makes a way for us to be restored. And having received that grace, we are called to show the same mercy to others.

The LORD is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. [Psalm 103:8]

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Written by Debbie McDaniel, a contemporary writer.

Dear God, thank you for your amazing power and work in our lives. Thank you for your goodness and for your blessings over us. Thank you for your great love and care. Thank you for your sacrifice so that we might have freedom and life. Forgive us when we don’t thank you enough for who you are, for all you do, and for all you’ve given. Help us to set our eyes and our hearts on you afresh. Renew our spirits, fill us with your peace and joy. We love you, and we need you, this day and every day. We give you praise and thanks, for You alone are worthy! In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever. [1 Chronicles 16:34]

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Written by Dietrich Bonhoffer (1906-1945), a German Lutheran pastor, theologian, and Nazi dissident., This is an excerpt from his book “Life Together.”

We are silent at the beginning of the day because God should have the first word, and we are silent before going to sleep because the last word also belongs to God.

One of those days Jesus went out to a mountainside to pray, and spent the night praying to God.  [Luke 6:12]

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Written by Richard Foster, a contemporary theologian and author.

Like the recurring stitch pattern in a quilt, so prayer threads its way throughout Jesus’ life. We need that same thread of prayer to re-integrate the fragmented parts of our lives and bring us into the wholeness God offers.

Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. [1 Thessalonians 5:23]

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Written by Grace Pouch, a contemporary writer and teacher of spiritual renewal.

In the second and third century, Christians adopted a new metaphor for the Church—the Boat. Boats had long been associated with salvation in the minds of God’s people (think of Noah’s ark and Moses’s basket). In the Gospels, Jesus turns the boat into an intimate classroom where his disciples witness miracles, learn to obey him, and face his question: Why are you afraid? As a symbol, the Boat carries these Biblical stories of faith, doubt, desperation, and deliverance. It’s no wonder that early Christians—whose communities were rocked by persecution, political upheaval, and doctrinal disputes—identified with the sinking apostles who cried, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” (Mark 4:38). The Boat image both validated their struggle and affirmed Christ’s presence with them in the storm and his power over it. We need this symbol more than ever. Every generation has to wrestle with the “not yet” of God’s final deliverance, but the storms right now feel especially fierce. Historically, there have been periodic groundswells of an anti-Christ spirit in the world. Coldhearted people, high on their own power, churn up tidal waves of cruelty. An unholy thirst for greatness drives people to fabricate false gospels of salvation. (I’m thinking of Marc Andreessen’s claim that “AI Will Save the World” and Bryan Johnson’s perverse initiative, Don’t Die). Every day brings a new wave of suffering—to us, or to others whom we feel powerless to help. I confess, what I want right now is for Jesus to calm the storm. And I pray for this. But I also pray that Jesus will show me—show all of us—how to stay together, pull together, and grow our “little faith” into a more mature dependence upon him. Calm but not complacent. Assured of his ultimate victory, but also engaged with God on earth here and now. 

A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. [Mark 4:37]

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