The world changes
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...