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Christmas, Hope, worship

A Sermon for Christmas Eve

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

Luke 2:1-14 [15-20]

On Sunday, Advent III, I asked the congregation what they longed for. And the answers shared were individual yet also universal. The kind we all have. The kind we all carry on our hearts such as peace, healing, and acceptance.

Then in the days leading up to Sunday, Advent IV and on Advent IV (the last Sunday in Advent), something happened around here. On Wednesday during our free community meal, one of our regular friends said to me “Pastor, I brought my friend tonight. I told him that it is peaceful here.”

Someone’s longing for peace was and is answered here in this place. We can treasure these words in our hearts.

On Thursday, one of our Wednesday night volunteers said to “Pastor, thank you for allowing me to volunteer here even though I am not a member and do not attend worship.”

Someone’s longing for acceptance was and is answered here in this place. We can treasure these words in our hearts.

On Sunday night, another person who regularly eats with us here said to me and Pastor Josh of the Northern Illinois Synod office, “I fell on hard times and this place has helped me get back on my feet. Thank you.”

Someone’s longing for healing was and is answered here in this place. We can treasure these words in our hearts.

On that same night, on Sunday, Advent IV, I sat outside in my car looking through the Fellowship Hall windows. Watching people eat together, find warm clothes, connect with others, give and receive support. Within our walls, finding peace, acceptance, and healing. And I just cried at the beauty of it all. Cried like the shepherds must have done when witnessing what the world could be and just because a baby had been born to bring the good news to the poor. Good news of great joy.

I also cried, (sobbed really) because of the fragility of it all. Knowing the scene that I witnessed can fall apart so easily.

Tonight, is the night each year we dare to hope that our universal longings for peace, healing, and acceptance for all people in our world are or at least can be fulfilled. And like other universal longings, I think we want them to be fulfilled simply. Not in easy answers per se. But perhaps as answers staring us right in the face.

We long for simplicity and especially this night when we hear once again the story of the birth of yet another poor child, this one in a makeshift birthing center. So much already not in his favor. Yet somehow in his new life we hear a message that all can be well. That the God we hope for, long for is truly among us. Simply among us, incarnate in a baby.

Simplicity answering our longings. Opening up like the sky seems to do on this night for a group of lowly shepherds keeping watch by night. Watching not for peace on earth, but for predatory animals lurking in the shadows. Waiting to take their prey.

But instead of predators, the heavens erupt in celestial beings, and song, and joy. Because the longings of the poor have been seen by God. And God is sending hope, simple hope in human form. So human, Jesus-Emmanual-God-with-Us does not appear fully grown but as a baby. A newborn baby.

Perhaps all these things—a baby born in the night, shepherds feeling seen and heard by night’s sky—is why the hymn, Silent Night, has become an enduring part of our Christmas season each year. Why we always sing it. Why we know its words. Why it speaks to our hearts in universal longing. That in night’s silence, we see the holy. In night’s calm, we find hope in all being well at least for a time. In night’s star and moonlight, we sense peace, healing, and acceptance in the miracle of a baby whose future will be tenuous. Yet brims with the possibilities of a new beginning, a new earth, and a new time for all people.

Peace, healing, and acceptance fulfilled through the unexpected yet ordinary. The Good News simple. It’s application, it’s living, not. Amen. 

The grace of God has appeared in a baby. In tiny human form. Vulnerable. Needy. Alive. Let us care for this grace with love, tenderness, and compassion. Amen. 

Image by Svetlana from Pixabay

Baptism, Death, Faith, Grief

Creation Clothing

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

With each funeral or memorial service, I preside over as an ordained pastor, I speak about our role as the Church (the whole Body of Christ throughout the world). In this rite we give the recently deceased, the loved one, back to God having completed their earthly baptism. No longer needing to be clothed in the one for whom humans could not obliterate. The funeral, while also for the bereaved, is at its core a rite of the Church. And not only or merely the congregation’s or the gathered. But a rite of all of us, together as the Church throughout the world. Giving the recently deceased back to God going on around the world in all times and in all places. Praying without ceasing. As one immense Body of Christ.

How this giving back to God plays out after death, none of us fully know. The closest I get is when witnessing the transition between this life and death (or the next life). What I see when death is expected, is that there is a rhythm in this shift, one of slow peace. Creating an in between time (a space between full life and full death). And this space wears its own clothing. Even in the midst of tears, beeping machines, sterile walls, and suspended time, this space is cloaked in garments of so many human feelings as well as peace. I suspect this peace continues after death as well. I know the human feelings do here on earth.

I’d also like to believe, hope, and pray that in sudden, unpredicted death, there is also this peace. Even if the transition time is quick. Because it seems to me as a regular observer of the in-between, that this transition is part of the process. And as a sudden death griever my thinking here gives me comfort.

The other day I heard a story about someone who was baptized four times. Four times! As if the first one wasn’t good enough. But for whom? Not God so that leaves three sets of humans playing god. Reminding me of Job’s three famous friends–Eliphaz, Bildad, Zophar. The talkers who suck the air out of the ash pit.

Once is all it takes to be given life in Christ on this earth. This life created out of God (Word) and the earthly element of water (unless there is no water and then another earthly element is used like dust or sand.). Something of the earth though as a reminder of both John the Baptist’s actions and words* and also that when God created the universe, God created human beings (our ancestors!) out of an earthly element, dust. Now in baptism, the water with the Word creates new clothing for us with the energy of the Holy Spirit. Creation happening again and again right in front of our eyes. And we are wrapped in Christ, Christ’s teachings, Christ’s healing, Christ’s ways. Christ in action on earth through us. Christ always.

Yet in wearing Christ, we bear a responsibility: To speak and act into what is not Christ while we are here. On earth. And there is a lot that is not Christ in this world that looks like not compassion. Not love. Not right relations with God and others or the earth. Not about the flourishing of all of creation, just a bit of it.

So, let us pray for our earthly Baptism. For feeling God’s lovingness enfolding us. Holding us so that we, each as a tiny bit of the Body of Christ, can be Christ in this imperfect world. An agent of God’s change like Jesus was and is and is to come. In this prayer, asking for what has been allowed to perpetuate that is not God and does not wear God’s garments to be diminished, eradicated. Forever.

God of each new day of your ongoing creation, bring us together, clothed in the saving grace of Jesus. Deliver this holy clothing on the Holy Spirit’s wind, wrapping us as on in you and with you. Reveal to us how to be your people without gender-based violence. Undo in us what humans have created in our name and not yours. Amen.

* “I baptize you with water for repentance, but the one who is coming after me is more powerful than I, and I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. (Matthew 3:11, NRSVUE)

Prayer from “Being Clothed With Christ: A meditation on Ending Gender-based Violence” by Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez in Forgive Us and Transform Us for the Life of the World. ELCA, 2025. 57

IMAGES: Adult Baptism: Image by Ahstubbs from Pixabay. Infant Baptism: Image by Leonardo Espina from Pixabay. Font: Image by WikimediaImages from Pixabay

Uncategorized

Resource Release Announcement!

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

I am excited to be one of the writers for “Forgive Us and Transform Us for the Life of the World,” a new resource from the ELCA. This resource contains stories, poetry, art, and explanations created by ELCA members to help people dig into what sexism and patriarchy are and how people experience them. “Forgive Us and Transform Us for the Life of the World” is free and can be accessed here.

Faith, Hope

The Unbelieved

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

Then the women remembered Jesus’ words, and returning from the tomb they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But these words seemed to the apostles an idle tale, and they did not believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened. (Luke 24: 8-12)

As a pastor, I am often called into the complexities inherent within any family during times of crisis and deep change:

  • The past present in the now,
  • The unacknowledged pain and resentment buried within the family system,
  • The addictions, secrets, and mental health issues,
  • The hopes and dreams still alive, and
  • The love ready to be given despite broken communication and relationships.

My role in caring for people’s spirits is to hold all that is shared, whether verbally or behaviorally, as sacred, even the pain.

My work is to also hold that God is active and acting in the midst of it all. Because of this holy work, I am heartened by a different translation of Psalm 118, verse 24, one we more commonly hear as:

“This is the day the LORD has made. Let us rejoice and be glad,”

The translation I embrace however is:

“This is the day the LORD has acted. Let us rejoice and be glad in the LORD.”

God is always acting! In the midst of busy hospital rooms full of beeping machines, staff flowing in and out, and worry. In the quiet hospice rooms as loved ones sit vigil listening for breath. In the middle of a family’s living room, over the phone or on a video call, in a stuffy prison visitation room. Even in the office hallway of the church I serve—God is always acting in the middle of human chaos gently and insistently steering us toward truths–truths of the past as well as truths of what can or will be next.

In the spiritual care of others, I do not hold truth in the form of diagnosis or treatment plans. My presence is to acknowledge the crap as well as the courage and energy it takes to transition from the known into the unknown. I and anyone providing spiritual care—rabbis, imans, priests, pastors, chaplains, deacons, and lay people—are called to acknowledge what is. Truth that a loved one is dying. Truth that we all will die. Truth that a marriage is asking to end. Truth that a pregnancy is not viable. Truth that an addiction has taken hold within a person impacting a family. Truth that there is pain wreaking havoc within a person that yes can be healed.

And like the women who bring truth to the disciples that Jesus is no longer dead but alive, we who provide spiritual care are not always believed. The truth we hold for all involved is not always welcomed.

We still live in a time in which our sharing of the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Good News that God cannot and will not die, and that justice for all people is still possible on earth if we listen and follow the ways of Jesus is received by many with disbelief, disdain, and contempt. This Good News seems unwelcome in the midst of this devastating race for human power over all else, even life—human and all of creation.

So then, aren’t we all like the women who run from the empty tomb to share the Good News? Our words named as idle. Easily diminished, cast aside, maligned as untruths, gossip, lies. Leaving us to wonder where hope lives? Where is the hope that so many of us find in the un-dying-ness of God! In God who will forever live with us. In God who wants all of humanity to thrive!

I suggest that our hope today is in the one person who couldn’t quite go back to what he was doing after hearing the Good News from the women. The one person who could not fully dismiss their words. The writer of Luke tells us this:

But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.

Perhaps the majority of those who believe that this new way in which we now live in this country, this malicious and contemptuous way of treating others, this way in which human rights and constitutional rights are just for a few and not for the many, will not hear us proclaiming the Good News this day or any day. But we hope and pray and keep watch for the Peters. Those people for whom something we say stirs them into exploratory action. Action leading to truth, God’s truth, and from God’s truth into an experience of amazement. Amazement at their own disbelief! Amazement in their willingness to be swayed by the evils of this world. Yet also amazement in the glory of God’s truth and grace. God always offering new life. God always with us.

The Good News delivered by us, despite the reaction. Delivered by those of us who are willing to still speak the Good News in our words. Wear the Good News on our faces. And bring the Good News into the midst of those who have surrendered to this new reality. To those who have quit believing in truth in order to hide behind lies.

We share the Good News of God, the Good News of Jesus the Christ now in this country with the courage of the women- Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary, and the other women knowing our truth will be diminished and unbelieved but we share because there is always a Peter in the room—someone for whom our words send them toward discovery and truth! Amen.

Let us pray:

We thank you this day O God for being good. For being goodness and mercy. For being love. And for being all these things and more which never, ever die but always live and breathe and ask for us to live and breathe with them and you. Amen.

A version of this piece was first preached at St. Johns Lutheran Church (Rock Island, Illinois) on Easter Sunday, 2025.

Attribution: Micheletb, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons. West rose windows of Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Chartres baie 051