Sermon for Christmas Eve, Year A (12-24-25)
But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.
On this holy night we hear several accounts of someone who saw something that changed everything.
We hear of shepherds - the ones in their society who were seldom considered or remembered who saw the heavenly hosts, God's messengers. Who were the first to hear of the big thing God was doing in our reality. The first, not the last. A clear reminder that the Almighty is especially concerned with the least among us. So much so that this forgotten, lowly group would take the news of God's rescue plan into the world. Something that changes everything.
And we hear of Mary, the new mother who of course does know what God is up to. And in the midst of the shepherds telling her what they'd seen - in their exclamation of the Supremely Good News that the Messiah had indeed come as had been foretold and that it was her baby boy; in the midst of all this commotion and all that the shepherds were saying, Luke tells us that Mary "treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart."
This matters because Christmas is full of words. Familiar words. Beautiful words. Words we hear every year: “Do not be afraid, good news of great joy, glory to God in the highest.” We hear them so often that they can slide right past us. But Mary shows us another way of receiving the story—not rushing to the next task, not reducing it to a lesson or a slogan, but letting it sink in.
To ponder something is to turn it over and over in your heart and mind, to weigh it, to live with unanswered questions. Mary is not piecing together a neat explanation of what God is doing. She is sitting with mystery. How could the tiny, vulnerable infant at her breast be Savior of the world? How could angels speak first not to kings or priests, but to shepherds? How could glory look like this?
Mary has no answers to any of these questions. But she takes it all in, and holds it there, and ponders all this in her heart. And the mystery is no less real.The workings of salvation are no less in motion just because she can't quite figure it all out. This is the faith of the Mother of God.
Faith, Luke suggests, is not just about what we proclaim. It is also about what we hold. What we ponder. And what we hope to be true even in the absence of proof. In a world that moves fast, that demands instant reactions and immediate clarity - Mary invites us into a slower, deeper faith. To treasure is to resist distraction. To ponder is to refuse shallow certainty. It is to say, “I don’t fully understand what God is doing, but I will keep my heart open to it.”
This Christmas story does not end with Mary speaking or explaining or even proclaiming - but with her pondering. And perhaps that is where it invites us, too. Not to rush past the mystery of God-with-us, not to domesticate it or even try to figure it out, but simply to carry it with us into the year ahead. To consider what incarnate grace could look like - be like - in our lives and in this hurting, angry, fearful world we're living in.
The angels departed. The shepherds will returned to their fields. The night will grew quiet again. And we will take down our trees and go back to work. And pay off credit cards, and make (and break) New Years resolutions. And get back to "normal life". But the Word made flesh will remain. And like Mary, we are called to treasure these words, to ponder them in our hearts, trusting that God is still at work—often quietly, often unexpectedly—bringing glory out of humility and offering salvation out of what - and who - the world overlooks.
"Ponder anew what the Almighty can do!" the old hymn proclaims. If this is your fifth Christmas or 95th Christmas God is here, with you. It is a right and good and joyful thing to ponder what salvation might mean for you now, this year, this night even.
Hold it there, in your heart. Have faith. And be joyful on this most Holy Night.
Amen
