Christmas Day 2025, St Paul’s Cathedral
Hebrews 1:1–4 and John 1:1–14
The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Words from R.S Thomas’ Bright Field
I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the
pearl of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realise now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying
on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.
There are times when, hurried and distracted, we fail to recognise God’s presence in the world. Like R. S. Thomas, who, seeing the sun break through the clouds to “illuminate a small field for a while,” fleetingly admired it but quickly moved on. Yet that was the pearl of great price, the one field that held the treasure.
And then there are moments when the light breaks in with such clarity that it rearranges the very landscape of our human lives.
The birth of Christ is one of those moments.
The writer to the Hebrews tells us that after generations of speaking through prophets and signs, God now speaks through a Son, the exact imprint of God’s very being and the radiance of divine glory. And John declares that in this child the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. The moment in history that changed everything is made possible through an unassuming human family and the birth of a child.
Today we will sing the hymn Joy to the World. Its opening invitation, “Let earth receive her King” rings out with a confidence that can feel almost startling in uncertain times. The hymn proclaims joy as something active and expectant. It is not passive pleasure. It is the readiness of creation to open itself to God’s arrival. The joy it names does not ignore hardship. It announces that even in a troubled world there is a reason to rejoice because the Lord has come. This bold proclamation helps to frame what today is truly about.
Real joy is not the cheerful brightness of a seasonal card. It is not the thin optimism we sometimes cling to when the world feels fragile. It is not hurrying on to a receding future, nor hankering after an imagined past. It is a joy that can look despair directly in the eye and refuse to surrender. It is a joy that steps toward shadows with the compassion and steadiness of God.
To see this joy more clearly we return to Bethlehem.
We are familiar with the image of Mary and Joseph wandering from door to door, refused by innkeepers. Yet the story contains a gentler and more generous truth. In her book ‘Journey to the Manger’[1], Dr Paula Gooder, Canon Chancellor of this Cathedral, reflects on the word often translated as inn which refers not to a public hotel but to the guest room within a family home. At the time of the census, the guest rooms were already full. Even so, the household that received Mary and Joseph made room for them in the midst of their own living space. They opened their home to a tired and vulnerable couple and took them into the place where daily life unfolded and where animals were sheltered on cold nights. It was cramped and imperfect, but it was a generous welcome.
Bethlehem’s welcome was an act of people stretching beyond their comfort. It was hospitality offered not because life was easy and orderly but because compassion outweighed convenience. Jesus was not rejected. He simply arrived in a world already crowded, and people made space where they could.
Joy entered the world through a community willing to be interrupted.
That same kind of joy is needed in our own nation at this moment. For we live with our own layers of shadow. These do not need to be denied or exaggerated. They simply need to be met with truth and hope.
The Incarnation is God’s way of stepping into crowded situations, strained systems and fragile lives. Jesus is born where things seem least prepared for him. The cluttered room. The family already stretched. The world uncertain of what will come next.
Joy is born exactly where despair expects to triumph.
As joy breaks through in our lives it gives us the opportunity to become people who make room. Room in our homes. Room in our churches. Room in our public conversations and in the attitudes we hold. The joy asks us to allow our lives to be interrupted by the needs of others, just as the people of Bethlehem were interrupted.
This insight matters because our own society carries uncertainties that can wear us down. Many feel the weight of economic pressure. Some feel pushed to the margins. Our national conversations about immigration continue to divide us, when our common humanity should unite us. Families struggle to find secure housing. The complexities of assisted dying challenge our understanding of what it means to live and die well. And many people experience the hardship and injustice of inequality. These issues do not define the whole of our life together, yet they can leave us wondering whether the world is fraying at the edges.
We who are Christians then hold fast to joy as an act of resistance. The kind of joy that does not minimise suffering but meets it with courage. The kind of joy that refuses to accept injustice as inevitable. The kind of joy that mirrors the God who becomes one of us so that we might become more like God.
Christmas does not ask us to ignore any of this. It invites us to see that God chooses to be born precisely into a world like ours. A world of limited resources and crowded homes. A world of political tension and uncertainty. A world where people do their best to offer kindness even when they feel stretched. God does not wait for perfect conditions. God arrives in the midst of the incomplete.
Joy roots us again in the truth that God has made his home among us. When we sing Joy to the World at the end of this service, may it not be a conclusion but our commissioning. May its confidence become our own.
As the light breaks through may we know that it is the pearl of great price, the one field that had treasure in it and May the joy of Christ be born anew in us today, steady enough to sustain us and generous enough to overflow into the lives of those around us. A joy courageous in hope, generous in welcome, and confident in the Gospel.
Amen.
[1] cf. Dr Paula Gooder, Journey to the Manger: Exploring the Birth of Jesus (Biblical Explorations), 2015