Second Sunday after Christmas (Year 1, NL)

If all it took was a star to compel a person to Bethlehem, the Magi would arrive to see a multitude.

Two new books on immigration complement each other well. And where Todd Miller’s falls short, Deirdre Cornell’s shines most brightly.

I know of a congregation that, for many years, provided a “living nativity pageant” in its community. The church is in the center of town and has an expansive front lawn. On a certain December Sunday afternoon each year, it would fill that lawn with live sheep and goats and donkeys, costumed shepherds and wise men, a gaggle of angels, an innkeeper, a manger, and, of course, the holy family.

The Magi's alien exoticism is an intrinsic part of Matthew's story.

The frankincense gift needs to be taped back together. So does the stable wall.

I don't much like the days and weeks after Christmas. Christmas takes so long to get here, with preparations and anticipation building from mid-November on. And then, sometime during the day of December 25, it all collapses.

At some point I picked up the idea that wiser Christians ask fewer questions. That somehow they pick up “the answers” somewhere along the way. More mature Christians could always find The Answer in the Bible, no matter how remote the question might be. And, speaking of questions, that’s one thing real Christians wouldn’t have. Or at least, I wouldn’t know it if they did.

I’ve always approached the slaughter of the innocents as a text that demands to be preached whether it’s in the lectionary year or not. Maybe that’s my privileged life talking there—that is, my life where all my children survived childhood without a serious threat. A life where weddings and baby showers are more frequent than funerals. A life where the stability of a home and regular meals were a given.

God loves the creation. In response the creation sings praise and adoration to God.

James Cowan's book follows the Holy Family's path through Egypt. It is anchored in numerous conversations with monks, nuns, guides and fellow pilgrims.

Like millions of others, I was a devoted Dave Brubeck fan—ever since I first heard his music in the 1950s.

Sometimes we grow weary of the same texts as they come up year after year. We may even suggest that maybe this year we should not do the Christmas pageant, but a different story instead.

Bad idea.