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During World War II, as Allied soldiers liberated Nazi-occupied France, they encountered people hiding in fear, unaware that the war was over. In one instance, American soldiers entered a four-story tenement and found frightened villagers barricaded in a room. Despite assurances that they were free, the villagers refused to budge.
One soldier, Jones, tried to explain in French, but his helmet, gun, and commanding tone only heightened their fear. They didn’t see a liberator—they saw another soldier, like the ones they’d been hiding from. Then another soldier, Smith, took a different approach. He handed his weapon to Jones, removed his helmet, and sat on the floor with the villagers in silence. After several minutes, he whispered, “We’re free. I’m American. The war is over.” Slowly, the villagers began to trust him, stood up, and followed him to freedom.
This story illustrates a profound truth: liberation isn’t just about declaring freedom—it’s about embodying it. This is what the Gospel of John emphasizes when it says, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” John doesn’t begin with nativity scenes or genealogies. Instead, he zooms out to the beginning of time, framing Jesus as the eternal Word, the Creator of the universe, who chose to take on human form and move into our “neighborhood.”
The theological term for this is kenosis, a Greek word meaning self-emptying. It’s the idea that God willingly set aside divine power to experience life as we do, not from a distance but up close, as one of us. It’s a radical act of humility and presence.
This self-emptying didn’t start with Jesus’ birth. Throughout history, God repeatedly reached out to humanity, not with displays of dominance but with gestures of intimacy and sacrifice. Jesus wasn’t a disruptor or a departure from God’s plan—he was the culmination of it. By becoming human, Jesus demonstrated what God had been showing all along: love doesn’t shout from above; it comes alongside.
This Christmas, we’re reminded that incarnation—being fully present with others—isn’t just a divine act but a human calling. Like Smith, we’re invited to sit with people where they are, to listen, to connect without judgment or agendas.
In today’s hyperconnected yet increasingly isolated world, this message feels urgent. We have thousands of contacts on our phones but fewer meaningful connections. We text instead of calling and scroll instead of sitting together. It’s ironic that the tools meant to bring us closer often leave us feeling more alone.
Jesus’ life teaches us to look up from our devices and into the eyes of those around us. True freedom comes from relationships—not rules, systems, or institutions. When we embody the presence of Christ, we remind others (and ourselves) that we’re not alone.
So, as we celebrate Christmas, let’s commit to being present—not just for an hour on Sunday but every day. Let’s dwell among one another, sharing the freedom and love that Jesus modeled. After all, the greatest gift we can give is ourselves.
Amen.