"The Holy Presence of Emmanuel" - 12/15/25

"Our cat joined our family in 2023 when my daughters found her as a tiny kitten at an animal rescue. She reminds me of something important. As you all know, cats have no skills. She doesn’t do tricks. She doesn't solve problems. She can't give advice. Her only ministry is proximity. When someone in our house is sad or sick, she silently shows up. She sits there. Purrs a little. Stays close. And somehow, it helps. I think animals remember something we've forgotten: sometimes the most powerful thing you can offer another person is simply being there. ..."  - from my sermon, “The Gift of Presence,” preached at Vincent UMC on December 14, 2025 


Scripture
“The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel (which means ‘God with us’).” - Matthew 1:23  NIV


Reflection
There is a kind of gift that arrives without noise. It does not solve a problem or explain a mystery. It simply enters the room, settles nearby, and stays.

In a world that measures value by usefulness, presence can look like almost nothing. It produces no immediate result. It offers no clever advice. And yet the human heart knows its weight. A quiet companion, steady and close, can become the difference between despair and endurance. The soul does not always need answers first. Sometimes it needs to be seen.

This is part of the tenderness in the name Emmanuel (“God with us”). The promise is not only that God exists, but that God comes near enough to share ordinary life. The Scriptures trace a long movement of divine closeness: God walking in a garden, calling Abraham, speaking from fire, dwelling among the people. Advent gathers that story into a single, breathtaking truth: the leaning-in becomes incarnation.

Jesus is found again and again in everyday places, not at a distance. Dinner tables. Roads and shorelines. Homes crowded with need. Funerals where grief has no shortcuts. God’s nearness is not reserved for holy buildings. It enters the spaces where life is most honest.

This nearness does not erase pain. Emmanuel does something quieter and deeper: it refuses to let suffering be solitary. The ache may remain, but abandonment does not get the final word. What once felt like an empty room becomes a room shared with God.

And this is why presence can feel holy. To stay near another’s sadness without rushing it away is a form of love. It mirrors Christ’s way of drawing close, attentive and unhurried. In Advent, the heart learns to watch for this gentler miracle: not always the instant change of circumstances, but the steady companionship that carries a person through.

The risen Christ names this as a lasting promise: “I am with you always.” Not only in strong faith, but in thin faith. Not only in joy, but in waiting. Emmanuel is the gift of love that stays.


Prayer
Immanuel, God with us, let holy nearness be known in the ordinary hours of this day. Where loneliness presses in, let companionship arise. Where sorrow lingers, let gentleness remain. Where the heart searches for answers, let Your presence become enough for this moment. Breathe שָׁלוֹם (shalom, peace) into what is strained, and let love take root through faithful staying. Amen.