Our daughter loved to have bedtime stories when she was small. She had her favorites, which we read over and over again, to the point of boredom for me. Just to amuse myself, I would sometimes skip a section, or change a detail. "Dad! That’s not how it goes. Read it right." And so I had to go back to the printed text.

The sameness of the story was important for her, as was the constant repetition. My boredom with the stories was no reason to mess with something that gave her comfort—which was the main reason for the bedtime story.

We have gathered tonight to do something of the same thing—to hear a story that many of us have heard every Christmas since our childhood, to sing familiar carols, and to light a candle for the Christ child.

It is a very familiar story. But it is also a story that people never tire of hearing. The story line is simple: Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem, the child is born and laid in a manger, the angel proclaims the birth to the shepherds, who then go to see the baby.

Think how many thousands (millions, even!) of depictions have there been of this story, in song, in picture, in drama, in poetry, in essays, in retold stories. Some of it has been great art, some, well, not so great. But every one reminds us of the story of the birth of Jesus. Hearing the story, singing the songs, viewing the art—all these give us the comfort of knowing that God fulfills his promises, especially the great promise of a Saviour for all humankind.

Families have stories that we tell and re-tell. These are the ones that form us as families. "Do you remember when…?" We remember—reminding ourselves of the story—and our identity as family is strengthened and deepened.

The Christian family says, "Do you remember when Jesus was born?" We remember—reminding ourselves of the story—and our identity as the family of God is strengthened and deepened.

The Christmas story is one that people love and revere, and hearing it does help to strengthen our faith and build up the family of God. But let us never forget that it is the story of a birth. It is a beginning, not an end in itself.

Perhaps there were other families caught up in the registration ordered by the emperor, families with their own stories of difficult travels. Perhaps other babies were born on the road. We know nothing of them, but we remember this family because this baby came to die on a cross, and to rise again. We remember this baby’s birth because of his death.

We come to Christmas observances to celebrate a birth, and that is indeed right and proper, and a joyous thing. But let us leave this place tonight in knowledge that the story—for the baby, and for each of us—has really only just begun.

Tonight from this place, like the shepherds we will return to the place we came from. But because of this night and because of what has here been proclaimed, by God’s grace that place will be transformed. Having encountered the Incarnate Word of God in the child of Bethlehem, having welcomed him into our hearts and into our homes, may we become more faithful in worship, more dedicated in prayer, and more generous in our lives.

We have heard the story again. Our hearts have been stirred again by the fulfillment of God’s promises. May we go from this place with our words and deeds proclaiming to a darkened world the love of our God who gave us his Son, so that we might believe and have eternal life.

May it be so.

This homily is shorter than usual, because tomorrow's service will begin with a Sunday School presentation.

Text: Luke 1.26-38

In case you hadn’t noticed, we are in the midst of a federal election. I used to follow every election campaign avidly, but it’s now much harder for me to get excited about these things. What’s more, I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in feeling this way.

It’s a shame, because there is so much at stake in any election, but what we hear from so many people is distrust of politicians. I suspect that this comes partly from over-familiarity. In the days of John A. Macdonald or even Mackenzie King, people didn’t see and hear their political leaders every day as we do. One of the facts of political life is that people often have to backtrack, and we then perceive them as having broken promises.

Everyone makes promises from time to time. And almost everyone finds it necessary occasionally to break promises. It even happens to parents:
"Can we go to the zoo on Sunday?"
"Sure," I said…and then it poured rain all day Sunday.
"Sorry, sweetie, we can’t go today."
"But you promised!"

As we become adults, we learn to distrust people’s promises. We become cautious, even suspicious. We want things spelled out in painstaking detail.

People may be less than totally trustworthy, but there is one who is good for every promise. God promised that his love for us would never end. God promised that he would be victorious. God promised that he would send a Saviour, the incarnation of God’s love, the conqueror of sin and death.

The fulfillment of God’s promise began with another promise, as the angel told Mary that she would bear a son. "He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High…"

Today we remember how God’s victory began—not with armies and thunder and lightning, but with a young woman, in a village in Galilee, hearing a promise of new life within her. We hear her astonishment at the angel’s words, and we hear her humble acceptance of the great trust God has placed in her.

And we give thanks—for God’s promises, for the fulfillment of those promises, and for the Virgin Mary, through whom the great promise came to be.

A strange man appeared in the wilderness, calling people to repent and to be baptized. People were excited and huge crowds flocked to him. Some, perhaps, were just thrill seekers. But most likely the majority went because they sincerely hoped he would be The Messiah.

In one respect, 1^st century Judea was not much different from 21^st century Canada, or any other country: crowds make leaders nervous. In 30 AD that was especially true for crowds gathered around someone who might or might not be sent by God, and who might or might not upset the Jewish leaders’ religious or political apple cart. Therefore, they sent a delegation to ask this strange man "Who are you?" John the Baptist firmly ‘confessed, "I am not the Messiah."’

Twice more they questioned him, and twice more he denied being who they thought he might be—he was not Elijah, he was not "the prophet," he was not anyone expected by various groups of Jews.

In effect, John said, "Whoever it is you are looking for, it’s not me."

John declared to them that his role was solely to bear witness to the one who was to come, who indeed had already come, but who stood unknown in their midst.

John stood as a herald to the coming Messiah, as a signpost to the coming of the Kingdom.

Signposts are valuable, especially if you’re on an unknown road, which you have never traveled before. The children in the back seat call out "Are we there yet," and we can tell them to watch for the signs. Then we see it: the sign says "Centreville 30 km" and we say to the children "Almost there. Just twenty minutes or so…" The sign has told us what is coming, and give us the assurance that we are on the right road. That’s comforting knowledge.

Imagine yourself lost in that strange district, looking for a place you’ve never visited before. You’re driving down a lonely road, wondering if you’re even headed in the right direction, and getting more anxious by the minute. Then you see that sign—"Centreville 30 km." Anxiety vanishes, and you feel the joy of knowing that your destination is near, just down this road—maybe closer than you thought. The signpost has turned our anxiety into joy. We greet it with cries of delight, but just as John was not the Messiah, the signpost is not the destination. You are still on the road, still driving down that unknown road, still looking for the place you’re headed to. Nonetheless, there is joy in knowing that this road will shortly lead us to your goal.

John brought a message of hope to the people of Judea, a people who longed for the coming of God’s Kingdom, and for the long-awaited Messiah who would bring that Kingdom into being. John pointed ahead, telling them that they were on the right road, and that the journey ahead was shorter than they thought.

People responded to John by repenting and accepting baptism in token of repentance, preparing themselves for the Lord’s coming. Final preparations are in order when the signposts to the Kingdom are in view. As the airline pilot says "Now on final approach. Please fasten your seatbelts, and return seats and trays to the upright position."

My friends, the signs are in view. There are signposts to the Kingdom all around us, if we just take the time to look. So let us look, and see…

• Let us see people striving to live lives of faithful devotion to Christ, whether gathered to sing God’s praises, or alone in their homes.
• Let us see people reaching out to others in love, in the name of Christ.
• Let us see the scriptures, the principal written record of God’s ongoing relationship with the human race.
• Let us see people in our fellowship and beyond, working for the good of all.
• Let us look around today, and see signposts to the kingdom here in our very midst—and let us rejoice!

But let us always remember: this is not the kingdom of God. Not yet! The kingdom was ushered in through the birth, death, and resurrection of Christ, but we still await its coming in its fullness. The church stands like John the Baptist as the herald of that kingdom, calling people to repentance, to baptism, and onward to life in the kingdom.

Our calling as church is to proclaim the kingdom, to celebrate the kingdom, and to model the kingdom—living the life of that kingdom to the best of our ability, and by the grace of God.

So let us remember in this Advent season that we are called to stand—both individually and as a church—as signposts to the coming Kingdom of Christ.

Let us seek to be people who give joy and hope to others, as we joyfully and joyously live into the hope that God has set before us.

And let us lift our voices in praise of the one who came at Bethlehem, the one who comes to us daily, the one who will come again at the last day.

The signpost says, "God’s Kingdom—any time now."

Thanks be to God.