Hope in the Manger

One of my earliest Christmas memories was not a particularly good one.  I was raised by a single immigrant parent whose family of origin didn’t celebrate Christmas. Sure there was gift giving and maybe even a tree but there was no Santa and certainly no talk of Jesus.

I don’t know exactly how old I was but I remember my first awareness of Santa. I remember how excited the kids at school were that Santa was coming. I saw the cartoons, Santa was a big jolly stranger who came magically down a chimney, out through the fireplace, and left presents under the Christmas tree.  It was too good to be true and yet, I remember the hope and excitement I felt that Santa would be coming to my house too.  And then panic hit. We didn’t have a fireplace!

So on Christmas Eve, after leaving a plate of cookies, a box of Smarties (an extra special treat for Santa because this would be his first visit to my house), a glass of milk and a carrot for Rudolph, I unlocked the front door so that Santa could still get in despite the absence of a fireplace. Of course I didn’t tell my mother any of this. She didn’t see the goodies I left out because I hid it on a small table beside the tree.  And as my mom did every night, she locked the front door.

When I got up on Christmas morning there were no presents under the tree other than the ones that were there the night before. The cookies, milk and carrot were still there. Even the Smarties were still there! I ran to the door and sure enough it was locked!  How could she do this to me?  How could my mother lock Santa out of the house?

I was miserable. My mother was confused. It was not a nice Christmas.

I suppose it was easier to blame my mom for my profound disappointment, but what was a kid who wanted more presents to do?

At whatever tender age I was at the time, I learned the truth about Santa. I also learned that when we put our hope in the wrong things we are often disappointed, even hurt.

Years later, I would come to understand that Christmas was never meant to carry the weight I had placed on it as a child. Santa could never deliver the kind of hope my heart was really longing for. That kind of hope doesn’t come wrapped in shiny paper or depend on chimneys, unlocked doors, or perfect circumstances.

Scripture tells us that “the people walking in darkness have seen a great light” (Isaiah 9:2). That light came not with spectacle or fanfare, but quietly—in the cry of a newborn laid in a manger. God chose to meet the world not with power, but with presence. Not with excess, but with love.

The babe in the manger reminds us that real hope is near, accessible, and faithful. This hope does not disappoint us or disappear when life is hard. It is steady. It is compassionate. It is Emmanuel—God with us (Matthew 1:23).

At Christmas, and in every season, we are invited to place our hope not in what might let us down, but in the One who never will. Our hope is found in Jesus—born in humility, given in love, and still holding us close today.

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If you are still wondering where you might belong this Christmas Eve, you are warmly invited to join us at Amberlea for our Family Christmas Eve Service at 7:00 pm. It is a service for all ages—full of hope, story, song, and the gentle reminder that God is with us.

Additional parking is available along Strouds Lane and across the street at the Amberlea Shopping Center, and yes—there is room at the inn 😉. Come as you are. Bring your questions, your hopes, your weariness, and your joy. You will be welcomed, held close, and reminded once again that our hope is found in the babe in the manger.

We would love to celebrate Christmas with you.

Merry Christmas!!

The gift Jesus actually wants

December is a season of lists. Shopping lists. To-do lists. Wish lists. Somewhere between the wrapping paper, delivery deadlines, and trying to make everything feel just right, it’s easy to forget what—or rather who—this season is really about.

Here’s a surprising truth: North Americans spend nearly a trillion dollars on Christmas every year, and most of it is forgotten by February. We’ve become very good at giving gifts… but not always very good at giving ourselves.

That’s what makes the story of the Wisemen so meaningful. In our Nativity Story video this week, the modern Wisemen arrive at the manger expecting piles of presents for the baby Jesus and instead find—nothing. No gifts. No bows. No receipts. They are horrified. And a quiet reminder from Mary that cuts straight to the heart: “It’s Jesus who is the gift. What he wants is your heart.”

The original Magi understood this. They didn’t travel hundreds of miles through danger and uncertainty just to drop off a few items and head home. They came to worship. Their gifts weren’t obligations; they were expressions of recognition. They saw Jesus for who He truly was—and it changed the direction of their lives.

That’s the question Advent gently places before us:
Do we recognize Jesus as our greatest treasure—or just one more stop on an already crowded calendar?

Authentic worship isn’t about perfection or performance. Scripture reminds us that God isn’t after flawless behaviour or religious checklists. God says simply, “Give me your heart.” Not the polished version. Not the Instagram-ready version. Your real heart—messy, hopeful, tired, searching.

And when God has our hearts, something beautiful happens. Gratitude begins to overflow. We become more generous with our time, our words, our forgiveness, our love. Not because we’re trying to earn God’s approval, but because we already have it. As Paul says, “Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!”

The Magi went home by a different route—not just to avoid Herod, but because an encounter with Jesus always changes the way we move through the world.

So as Christmas draws near, before you wrap another gift or attend another gathering, pause and ask yourself:
What would it look like to give Jesus the gift He actually wants?

This Christmas, don’t just give Him your schedule or your good intentions.
Give Him your heart.

When the shepherd comes looking

Have you ever had one of those days where everything should feel peaceful and holy… but instead it feels like a circus?
Well, welcome to Week 2 of A Nativity Story. Check it out (video starts 12:25).

This week’s video gave us quite the scene: Mary and Joseph quietly admiring baby Jesus… when suddenly—chaos.
Eli the sheep has wandered off again, the mischievous elf is up to no good, and poor baby Jesus gets jolted awake.

And honestly?
It feels a little too real.

Life rarely looks like a serene nativity set.
Most of us are more like Eli—wandering, noisy, a bit unpredictable, and occasionally causing a commotion right when things were supposed to be calm.

But here’s the part that gets me every time: the shepherd comes back holding Eli on his shoulders and says,
“You know I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, little guy.”

And Joseph pauses, looks out at us, and says,
“This month… we get to remind everyone that Jesus has come to gather His flock… even the loud ones… and carry them close to His heart.”

That’s the whole gospel right there.
Jesus doesn’t wait for us to get our act together, quiet down, or wander back on our own.
He comes looking.
He lifts us up.
He brings us into one flock.
And then?
He holds us close. Really close.

I love that.

Most of us have been “the loud sheep” more than once.
We’ve taken the scenic route through life.
We’ve lost our footing, felt overwhelmed, or wandered farther than we ever meant to go.

But our Shepherd never shrugs and says, “Oh well.”
Instead, He searches until He finds us.
He scoops us up—not with frustration, but with affection.
And He carries us right next to His heart, where we can finally hear His steady, loving rhythm again.

Maybe this Christmas you feel a little lost.
Or tired.
Or like you should be doing better spiritually than you are.

Let me gently say this:
You are not meant to walk alone.
You can be carried.
You are loved—right through the wandering.

Christmas is the story of a Shepherd who became a sheep… so that every sheep could come home.

So this week, take a deep breath.
Picture yourself—like little Eli—resting on His shoulders.
Let yourself be gathered, lifted, united, and held close.

And may His heartbeat become the rhythm of your Christmas season.

Blessings and grace, friends.
You are dearly loved by the Shepherd who knows your name.