Sharing some thoughts

  There’s an old story from Communist Russia about a famous weatherman named Rudolf. He was known far and wide as Rudolf the Red , and his forecasts were legendary. If he said it would rain, it rained. If he said it would snow, it snowed. If he said the sun would shine, you could safely hang your washing out. One evening, despite clear skies, Rudolf announced that a violent storm was coming. His wife disagreed. “There isn’t a cloud within ten miles,” she said. “It’s been the most beautiful day we’ve ever had. It is not going to rain.” But Rudolf insisted. “If I say it will rain, it will rain.” They argued all evening, went to bed cross with each other… and sure enough, overnight the heavens opened and the village flooded. The next morning, as they looked outside, Rudolf’s wife sighed and said, “Alright, you were right again. But how did you know?” Rudolf smiled and said, “You see… Rudolf the Red knows rain, dear .” Christmas is a time for many things—carols, candles, family, f...

  There’s a moment on Christmas Eve when everything seems to hush. The lights dim, the bustle slows, and something in us moves forward. We’ve heard this story so many times—Mary and Joseph, the journey, the stable, the manger—but tonight it feels different. Tonight we’re not just remembering a story; we’re stepping into it. We’re standing on holy ground, in that thin place where heaven bends low to earth. Because Christmas Eve is a threshold. It’s the moment before the dawn breaks. The moment when hope is held in the quiet, like a candle cupped in the hands. It is the stillness before the song begins, the pause before the angels speak, the breath before the world changes forever. And into that quiet, God comes. Not with fanfare. Not with power. Not with the kind of glory we might expect. But with vulnerability. With smallness. With the cry of a newborn child. God who shaped galaxies chooses to be wrapped in cloths. God who spoke creation into being chooses to learn how to spea...