St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL
Luke 2:1-20
Nights like tonight
are a feast for the senses, aren’t they?
There’s so much to see—
the soft glow of candles,
the shimmer of lights
twinkling on your neighbor’s house
as you drive home tonight.
There are all the familiar scents of the season—
peppermint,
and pine,
and pastries fresh from the oven.
And of course, there’s so much to savor—
the richness of dinners and desserts,
and the simple, sacred delight of Holy Communion.
But tonight is about more than what we
see,
or smell,
or taste.
Tonight is also a night for hearing.
And I don’t just mean the triumphant sounds
of organs, and trumpets, and choirs . . .
but something quieter,
something softer.
Listen closely,
or you might miss it.
Tonight is about the sound
of God’s footsteps drawing near.
From the garden to this holy night, God has never stopped walking toward us.
* * *
Maybe you’ve never thought about it this way before,
but the story of scripture—
the whole story of scripture—
is a story about footsteps,
and it all begins long ago in the Garden of Eden,
where the first humans hear
God walking in the cool of the day.
Can you imagine?
God strolling through the garden,
right there among Adam and Eve,
close enough to hear his footsteps.
But we all know what happens next.
That first, beautiful closeness is shattered.
A choice is made,
a relationship is broken,
and humanity finds itself
far from the sound of God’s steps.
But here’s the thing:
God never stopped walking.
From that day to this one,
God has still, always been moving toward us—
through prophets,
through promises,
through signs and wonders and whispers—
all of it leading to this very night.
This night,
when the distance closes,
and the sound of God’s footsteps
is no longer faint or far away.
This night,
when God doesn’t just walk with us;
God walks as one of us . . .
not with a booming voice
or the stride of a king,
but as a baby.
God came among us with tiny feet,
barely strong enough to wiggle.
Feet that would someday press against the ground
as he crawled on hands and knees.
Feet that would wobble and toddle,
then grow strong enough to run and skip and play.
Feet that would walk beside us,
stand with us,
and carry the weight of this world for us.
This, y’all, this is the God we worship:
not one who stayed distant,
but one who walked right into our lives.
A God whose footsteps
are not just divine,
but are human, too.
And that is how we know—
deep down—
that God understands us.
Because God hasn’t just walked toward us.
God has walked with us,
as one of us.
* * *
But let’s talk about footsteps in general for a moment.
For you see, in some ways,
footsteps are a whole form of communication
unto themselves.
When someone is coming toward you,
you can often tell—
just by the sound of their steps—
what’s about to happen.
There’s the hurried stomp of a child
running to give you a hug.
There’s the cautious shuffle of a friend
who comes to sit with you in grief.
There’s the steady rhythm of someone you love
walking beside you
in a moment of peace.
The sound of footsteps always tells a story.
And the footsteps of God
tell the best story of all.
Because when God walks toward you,
it’s not with anger.
It’s not with judgment.
It’s not with condemnation.
It’s with love.
God’s footsteps
are the footsteps of a parent
running to embrace a wayward child.
They’re the footsteps of a healer
coming to bind up what is broken.
They’re the footsteps of a friend
sitting down beside you
and saying,
“I’m here.”
That, my friends, is what Christmas is:
the sound of God’s footsteps,
drawing close to us again,
and whispering,
“You are mine.
You always have been.”
But . . . it doesn’t stop there,
for you see,
Christmas isn’t just about hearing God’s footsteps.
It’s about following them.
Because the God who draws near to us
is the God who calls us
to draw near to others.
The God who walks toward us with love
calls us to walk toward others
with a love just the same.
Turns out,
Christmas does not end here tonight.
It begins.
It begins when we take the story we hear tonight
and turn it into steps.
Steps of kindness.
Steps of forgiveness.
Steps of compassion,
and courage,
and love.
* * *
Friends, this is what we celebrate tonight:
From the very first garden
to this holy night,
God has never stopped walking toward us.
Christmas is the fulfillment of that journey.
The distance is gone.
The relationship is restored.
And the same God
who walked with Adam and Eve in the cool of the day
now walks with us
in the person of Jesus Christ.
So as you leave here tonight,
listen.
Listen for the sound of those footsteps—
in your heart,
in your life,
in the quiet moments when you least expect it.
And when you hear them,
be not afraid.
Because that sound you hear
is the sound of love itself
walking right beside you.
Merry Christmas,
and amen.