Unto You

Jesu Juva

Luke 2:1-20                                               

December 24, 2025

Christmas Eve                                      

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        I probably preach sixty or seventy sermons per year. It’s what I’m called to do.  I preach; and God gets the results. But here’s something you may not know—a little secret I’ll share with you: The Christmas Eve sermon is always my favorite. In fact, this sermon is the easiest of them all.

        It’s easy because you, my hearers, are intimately acquainted with the Biblical text from Luke chapter two.  Some of you know it as well as I do.  You’ve heard it, read it, and recited it annually for most of your life. 

In most sermons, I have to explain all the obscure references.  Where is Emmaus?  Where is Bethany?  Where is Galilee?  But Bethlehem?  Everybody knows about Bethlehem—and Nazareth, naturally.  I must also typically explain the cast of characters.  Who is Ahaz?  Who is Isaiah?  Who is Cyrus?  But Mary and Joseph, angels and shepherds? No introduction needed.  The littlest children here tonight may not know who the governor of Wisconsin is; but they know that when Jesus was born Quirinius was Governor of Syria, Caesar Augustus was the most powerful man in the world, and King Herod was one evil dude.  Whether you know it or not, tonight you came prepared to be preached to.  Thank you.

        This sermon has a two-word title.  It might cause some folks to scratch their heads; but it will make perfectly good sense to you.  It’s entitled, Unto You. And with just that obscure title, many of you know exactly where I am headed.

        Unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

        The birth of Jesus has come about—it has come to pass—unto you.  That’s a potent, powerful little phrase.  It was first spoken by the angel to the shepherds.  When those lowly shepherds heard the words unto you, they knew that they were much more than spectators.  They would do far more than casually observe from the sidelines.  The shepherds weren’t just sitting in the audience as the heavens erupted in a blaze of glory.  Because the angel didn’t just say, “A Savior has been born.” The angel added: Unto you.

        Those words have also made their way into your ears.  Those words have come—unto you.  Those words are your invitation into the Christmas account.  Those words make you more than bystanders—more than spectators who just schlepped off to church on a dark December night.  The Babe, the manger, the swaddling clothes—it’s not only a sign.  It’s a sign unto you. When it comes to Christmas, it is all unto you.

        Let’s let the shepherds lead the way.  “Let’s go,” they said, “Let’s go and see!”  And they came with haste.  They found Mary, Joseph, the babe, and the manger.  And they weren’t intruding.  They weren’t imposing on Mary’s post-partem peace.  Because they heard and believed the angel’s words: unto you.  As unto them; so unto you. 

There’s some artwork on the cover of tonight’s program.  This painting illustrates how Christ comes unto you. Of course, it’ a bit too dark to examine this painting in detail, so let me tell you about it.

        At first, it looks like a winter landscape somewhere in the

Bavarian Alps.  But it’s much more than just a landscape.  Oh, sure, there are rocks and trees.  But the trees are ever green—spruce or pine perhaps.  Ascending through the branches of the tallest tree is another tree—the tree of the cross.  It’s a crucifix with our Lord’s arms of love spread wide.  It depicts just how the Savior saved you. The wood of the manger would always give way to the wood of the cross.  Nothing in the world is more unto you than Jesus laying down His life as your sacred substitute.

        Beneath that cross is an audience of one—a human being like us—one who seems so small and insignificant in this grand landscape.  Shepherd-like in insignificance.  This little person is focused intently on the cross of Christ.  Is he praying?  Is he singing?  How did he get there?  There are no horses, no sleigh, no sleigh bells.  What I thought at first were skis scattered on the snow are not skis, but crutches.

        What’s the story with the crutches?  We don’t know.  And yet, we do know.  The crutches remind us of our brokenness and our need for healing.  The crutches remind us that we are sinners living in a sinful world.  We are sinners in need of a Savior.  The crutches remind us of all the “crutches” we use to cope with our fear and despair—all the crutches we lean on instead of leaning on our Lord in faith and trust.

        At Christmas the Word becomes flesh, God becomes man. The Creator becomes a creature.  He came in weakness.  He left behind the power and the glory and made himself small—like the “Tiny Tim” in the painting.  He came with a body like ours that would one day be broken and beaten and bloodied—to redeem us, to love us, to make us His own.  Jesus came unto you to save you. 

In this painting—especially on Christmas Eve—our Savior’s love seems so intensely personal and individual.  This is one reason we’ve dimmed the lights.  It’s not to create a Christmas mood, for heaven’s sake.  But in the darkness all distractions are dimmed.  The world’s chaos is quieted.  And all that remains is the darkness of your sin, and the light of Christ, and the voice of a preacher saying: Unto you. 

        But that solitary person in the painting is also overshadowed by something big. The big rocks in this winter landscape remind me of that time when Peter confessed Jesus to be the Christ, the Son of the Living God.  And Jesus said, On this rock I will build my church.  Jesus doesn’t want followers who are privatized and individualized, but a church full of followers, a body of people loved by God—and loving one another.  It was always meant to be more than just you. 

        Look across the winter landscape.  What’s that off in the distance?  You might miss it for the dingy haze of this fallen world.  But there stands the church of Jesus Christ, pointing the way to heaven.  You decided to celebrate Christmas at church tonight.  Good on you.  God bless us, every one.  But if Christmas is the only time you make your way to church, well, you are missing out.  Because here you can let go of your crutches—and let go of your sins—and lean into the love and forgiveness of Jesus—surrounded by saints and angels unseen.

        The shepherds were given signs to look for: the babe, the swaddling clothes, the manger.  You too have been given signs.  You can embrace the sign of your baptism, eat and drink the sign of His body and blood in bread and wine.  You can hear the signs of God’s promises preached and proclaimed from this pulpit—not just once a year, but maybe sixty or seventy times a year.  It sounds a little extreme I know.  But each one of those sermons is composed with the Lord’s help—and all of them are given: unto you.