Daily Archives: January 5, 2026

Rise and Shine

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A Sermon for the Salem United Church of Christ of Harrisburg, PA

by Rev. James Eaton, Interim Pastor ©2026

Epiphany Sunday • January 4, 2026

Matthew 2:1-12

Among the figures that populated my grandmother’s nativity scene, none were more impressive than the Three Kings. Made of carved wood and painted in bright colors, the Kings sat on camels linked together by gold colored chains, and they had little treasure boxes that fitted behind them, boxes which opened and could be made to contain real treasures: bits of gold from the chocolate coins my grandfather gave us or some other thing that became a treasure just by being secret. I never cared much about the cattle or the sheep or, for that matter, the fat little shepherd boys, but my brother and I played with the Kings until their chains broke and one of the camels lost a leg. We didn’t care: even legless, they seemed to contain the real mystery of the nativity just as they contained our treasures. 

We weren’t alone in our fascination. The emphasis we put on Christmas is unique to our culture; Eastern Christianity, most European Christians and the rest of the world spend far more time on the celebration of Epiphany than on Christmas. It is their moment for gift giving and reflecting on God’s gift of presence in Jesus Christ. Too often for us, Epiphany comes as an afterthought to Christmas: a time to finish vacuuming the pine needles and get back to normal. Today I want to call you out from the normal to a story that promises to let your heart swell with joy.

Perhaps it’s best to begin by putting the creche figures back, letting go of the stories that people have made up, and seeing what Matthew tells us about the Magi. Magi means “Wise Ones”—and that’s what they are; only later did a legend grow up that named them and called them kings. The Magi are astrologers: watchers of the sky who look for meaning in the stars, relating patterns in the planets to prophecies. One night they see some conjunction, some stellar event in a region of the sky called the House of the Hebrews and their prophetic books tell them that there is a special king expected in the land of Judah. So they go: packing up, joining a caravan, just as settlers once crossed this continent by wagon train. They take the ancient caravan route, the route that Abraham would have traveled, the route traveled by merchants and slaves and conquerors and people for thousands of years and about a year or so later they come to Jerusalem. There they pay a courtesy call on the reigning monarch, Herod. How disturbed he must have been to hear that a king—another king!—has been born. 

This story challenges us with these two great images of reaction to Jesus: Herod on the one hand and the Gentile Magi, the outsiders, on the other. What the Magi see as a great possibility, Herod sees only as a great threat. Herod, Matthew tells us, was disturbed; he tells the Magi to find the child and report back. When they outwit him and slip away, he’s enraged and has all the boys born in Bethlehem killed. Herod can think only of securing his own position, even though it means violence. The conflict that will bring Jesus to the cross is already in motion right here, right from the beginning: cross and crown are at war.

This story asks us the same question the old spiritual asks: Which side are you on? Put another way, What light lights your life? The word ‘Epiphany’ means manifestation or showing forth, as a light shines. The light in which we walk, the light that lights our lives, does show and it does make a difference. We know this about color and light: sit in a red room, psychologists tells us, and you somehow become more aggressive. The same is true of your life: the light in which you see things is a matter of decision. One camp song says, “I have decided to follow Jesus”. What have you decided? What do you decide-day to day?

The story also asks: what journey are you willing to make? This is a time when many make New Year’s resolutions. In two weeks, we’ll hold our Annual Meeting and look forward to a new year as a church. This is a time of transition as we look for a new settled pastor here. What new mission will we undertake together? This is a pleasant place to come on Sunday, but Christ’s call is not to get together with friends and feel better; it is to heal and help. How can we do that in new ways? We are so blessed in this church; how we will make that blessing a star shining more brightly? We have a wonderful history here at Salem: Epiphany asks us to pack up and move forward to the future, following Christ. 

Finally, the story asks: what purpose drives your journey? Both Herod and the Magi go to Bethlehem. Both go; but only the Magi find Christ. Despite all his violence, Herod misses the baby even as he misses the point. Real authority can never come from coercion; real authority comes from God who seeks faithful and voluntary obedience. Only a journey which remembers that its purpose is to follow wherever the light of God leads finds its way to the Christ child.

Today we begin the year, and we celebrate Epiphany—the showing forth of God’s light—with communion. We often speak of this as the commemoration of the last supper. Today I ask you to remember that in the resurrection this last supper became a kind of breakfast for the spirit: the first meal of the disciple’s journey, the first meal of the church before we began to work in the world. This work is ours, and it continues. Though we may pause, though we may stumble, nevertheless, we keep on, remembering to walk in the light, and lighting the paths of others, so that, as Isaiah said, “Your heart will throb and swell with joy.” This is the promise of this meal, this is the hope of this moment: that our journey may lead us to such joy and may be a means of joy to others as well. Sometimes we have walked in darkness: but today, today and hence forward, let us walk in the light. Rise and shine: your time has come.

Amen

Ya’all Come

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A Sermon for the Salem United Church of Christ or Harrisburg, PA

by Rev. James Eaton, Pastor

Christmas Eve • December 24, 2025

Luke 2:1-20

Since the beginning of December, we’ve been on an Advent journey, visiting the places the built the hope of God’s coming. The candles of the Advent Wreath mark the steps we’ve taken and the spirit of the time is captured by the ancient Advent carol, “O come, O come Emmanuel”. Emmanuel: God with us. Since ancient times, since the prophet Isaiah, our people have hoped and prayed for Emmanuel to come, for God to come. Christmas is that moment and it is the moment in which we stop wondering when God will come and ask whether we will come. For Christmas Eve is all about coming to Christ.

Mary and Joseph are coming. Imagine the journey they’ve made. There is the physical journey: eight and a half months pregnant and riding on a jouncing donkey, day after day. Many of us have made Christmas journeys, we know what that’s like, how the traffic is more frustrating, breakdowns more heart breaking. 

Their journey is also emotional and spiritual. From the moment the angel first comes to Mary, telling her, as angels do, not to fear, through the announcement of the child to come, Mary has been on a journey of her own. Her body has changed from the lithe girl she was to a woman round and carrying God’s purpose. Perhaps her spirit has changed as well. She sings a song of brave resistance to the culture of plunder so much a part of her time that concludes, Joseph also has had to make a journey, from his traditional expectations to embracing the new way in which God has chosen to come to the world. Mary and Joseph have come a long way to this Christmas moment.

Others are traveling as well. Somewhere out East, a group of high-powered astronomers, the ones we call Wise Men or sages are already traveling, perhaps with a caravan. They’re not sure of the destination. They have no address to plug into the GPS, no point from which they can measure the distance when someone says, “How much longer?” They’ll go to Jerusalem and ask the way to the birth of the baby. And there, the politicians will have to confess: they have no idea what’s going on. Still, even if they don’t know where they are going, the wise ones are coming.

The shepherds are coming. Just like Mary, an angel has told them not to fear and promised them a good time in Bethlehem—“tidings of great joy”. What would be tidings of great joy to you? We run past this part but think: there must have been something powerfully enticing to get the shepherds moving. What would it take to move you? Would it need the word “free” in front of it? Would simply real joy be enough? The shepherds are walking at night, in the darkness we never experience in the city, the darkness you only get out in the Appalachian Mountains or the Adirondacks or on Lake Michigan or somewhere lamps are never lit. I’m sure they’re scared, aren’t we all when we walk in darkness? But they’re coming.

All these are coming to a special light. We all know there is a legend of a star that shone brilliantly over the stable. But we don’t have to believe every legendary detail to know this is true, true in the way wall deep things are true, true because it has happened to us. Aren’t we here, hoping to see the light of Christmas? That’s why we gather tonight, to sing the songs of Christmas but even more to light the lights, the candles that symbolize that light.

Christmas is God’s invitation, and it’s marked with a phrase Jacquelyn taught me, something from her Texas childhood: the phrase, “Ya’all come”. Christmas isn’t meant to be just a moment when Mary and Joseph come, when just the shepherds come, when just the wise ones come. It is “ya’ll come.” We are meant to one to the children of God, the ones our country cages, the ones who will wake up to a present tomorrow you gave through the Christmas missions here. We are meant to come to the children of God, and who are these children? The ones hiding in darkness from bombs; the ones who appear to be adults but feel lost, everyone who wanders in darkness, as scripture says. 

Ya’all come: come to Christmas, come to the light of Christmas, For when we together come to Christmas, when we light the candles of Christmas we are really saying what God says at Christmas: the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. Here is your invitation: ya’ll come, come and light the candles of Christmas.

Amen

What’s In a Name?

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A Sermon for the Salem United Church of Christ of Harrisburg, PA

by Rev. James Eaton, Interim Pastor ©2025

Fourth Sunday in Advent/A • December 21, 2025

Isaiah 7:1-10 • Romans 1:1-7 • Matthew 1:18-25

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet; / So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, / Retain that dear perfection which he owes / Without that title.

Juliet has a problem: she’s fallen in love, deep, hopeless, the way adolescent girls do, with a boy who’s from a family her family hates. She famously points out that it’s his name that’s the problem, not he himself. So, just like a favorite football player, traded to a new team, putting on a New Jersey, she suggests he simply get rid of the name.

Names are the first things we get, and they often reveal something about who we are. Romeo’s last name is Montague, and he’s the enemy of the Capulets, Juliet is a Capulet, and the families are enemies. Names often carry meaning, honoring someone like a grandparent or a friend. I was named after my dad’s best friend when I was born. He played trumpet in the University of Michigan band. Later, they had a disagreement, so I haven’t seen the man I’m named after since I was about six. Some names show affection or are private. Jacquelyn is from Texas, and when we became a couple, she brought that southern spirit home. She calls me “Preacher man,” and no one else is allowed to use that name, and no one does. It’s her private name. All three of today’s scripture readings encourage us to name our savior. They challenge us with different names and invite us to experience him in various ways.

To understand the section from Isaiah, we need a bit of background. King Ahaz’s Judah is caught between Egypt to the south and Assyria to the east. Some local kings have allied with the Egyptians and want Ahaz to join them, so the kings of Damascus and Samaria are at war with him, fighting around Jerusalem. He’s unsure of what to do, and when he turns to the prophet Isaiah, he’s told to rely on God. Isaiah invites him to ask for a sign from God, but Ahaz refuses. So, Isaiah tells him what sign will be given: a child who will be named Immanuel. ‘Immanuel’ means God with us; it comes from the Hebrew word for God—El—and the Hebrew for ‘with us’. Isaiah is teaching Ahaz this fundamental fact: God’s permanent presence. He wants him to make a difficult choice: to rely on God when Ahaz only sees the armies of his opponents. 

Isn’t it interesting how we all approach tough decisions? What’s the first thing we do? Do we crunch the numbers, jot down the pros and cons, or maybe just rely on a well-worn saying or some online advice? What if we really considered God’s presence in that moment? What if we turned to God in prayer, asking for less of a direct answer and more of God’s hope? What if we called God Immanuel? How would that shift our perspective? How would it transform our church?

I used to go to a gathering of clergy every April and I had a lot of friends who were older ministers. One year, a discussion leader asked us to talk about what we actually did during the week. For me then, it was mostly researching the scripture, preparing a sermon, so I said that; most of the people in the group said the same. One of us, a man I had come to respect a great deal, said, “Every morning I go in the office, look at the calls, say hi to my secretary and then I take the church directory in the sanctuary and I sit and pray for each person in the church.” I was stunned. I certainly prayed for people but usually just the ones who were in the hospital or sick or had asked for prayer. I’d like to say I went home and started doing this and I did for a couple of days but then things got in the way and it slipped away. Years later when I faced a difficult conflict at the beginning of COVID, though, I was so frustrated that I began to do it again. It didn’t solve the conflict but it did quiet me so I stopped being angry. I began to be less angry and more able to be a real pastor. I regularly do that now: I pray for each of you, I pray for our church. I see it as my most important job. I wonder: what if every day, every one of us simply asked God to help us be a more faithful, vibrant, loving church?

I’m eager to move on to Matthew and his account of the advent. He begins with a genealogy that traces 14 generations from Abraham to Joseph. He wants us to understand that this birth is a part of God’s enduring relationship with these people. Some of the names are truly remarkable. Rahab, for instance, was a prostitute who aided the Jews in capturing Jericho; Bathsheba famously had an affair with King David. Ruth, on the other hand, isn’t a Jew; she’s from Moab, which means she comes from a completely different family. Finally, we arrive at Joseph, who is distantly related to King David and, therefore, to God’s promise to David that his line would always be with him. This story is all about Joseph; if you’re interested in Mary, come back on Christmas Eve, when we’ll read Luke’s story, which is all about Mary. 

Joseph and Mary are engaged, which is a much more serious commitment than our engagement today. It’s been publicly recognized, and there might even be a contract. Now, Joseph has discovered that Mary is pregnant and immediately assumes she’s been unfaithful. He’s a good person who follows the Torah, and the Torah in Deuteronomy suggests that he should end the marriage. He knows this will be incredibly difficult for her, and he truly cares about her, so he does what we would do: he takes his time, considers the situation, and comes up with a plan to get out of the marriage without hurting Mary too much. “Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to divorce her quietly.” [Matt 1:20] But then, an angel appears to him in a dream. The angel begins like all angels do, saying, “Don’t be afraid,” but then says something that doesn’t quite make sense: “Don’t be afraid to take Mary as your wife; she’s going to have a child, and you’re going to name the child Jesus.” Well, the angel doesn’t actually say ‘Jesus’; he says ‘Yeshua,’ which is Hebrew for Joshua. Later, it gets translated into Greek, which doesn’t have that ‘sh’ sound, so it becomes Jesus. It’s a name that means, “God saves.” 

So, that’s what he does. Now, there’s the tricky part of Mary being a virgin—or not. Early on, Christians linked the Isaiah passage we read with this one. In Greek and later Latin, a Hebrew word meaning ‘young woman’ was translated as ‘virgin’ because it wasn’t really about the body but more about young women in general. The church really took hold of this. Today, it’s a big deal for some, but a stumbling block for others. If it helps you, that’s great; if it doesn’t, that’s okay too. It’s important to remember that we focus on the biological details here in a way that no one in Jesus’ time would have. They had lots of stories about virgin births. Some people even believed that Emperor Augustus was born of a virgin, and there are other similar stories. It’s a way of saying that in this person, God has come to humanity in a special way. And the reason for this coming, this advent, is specific: salvation.

What does salvation mean? For some, it’s about an emotional experience; for others, it’s a quiet, internal feeling. Generally, it means understanding that God isn’t just everywhere, but with you, personally present. When we feel God present, we often feel a sense of our own inadequacy, our own sinfulness. I know this feeling; I stand here and talk about loving my neighbor, but when that neighbor is driving poorly near me, I can get pretty angry. Still, I know God is with me, present, sometimes disappointed, always forgiving and inviting me to grow up a little, act on what I believe. Calling the baby Jesus is a marker: God is not just present in history, but right here, in this person, and as that person grows up, God is providing a class in how to live a Godly life, even when that life ends in a cross.

This brings us to Paul and his letter to the Romans. Unlike many of Paul’s letters, this time he was writing to a church he hadn’t gathered, to people he didn’t know. The section we read comes from the beginning of the letter. He’s introducing himself, and he does it by calling up names. “Paul, a slave or servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle.” There’s a lot to unpack in this simple sentence. First, he’s added another name to Jesus: Christ. Christ is the Greek word that translates “Messiah.” Messiah means “the anointed one” or “the chosen one,” chosen by God. The job of the Messiah is to redeem God’s children. Now, we already know Matthew has given us a long list of the family of God’s children; Paul is going to explain to the Romans and to us that we also are part of that family, adopted into it. And in that family, there are no distinctions. We’re all invited equally, invited by God, made into one family by God.

He names himself an apostle, someone who has seen the Risen Lord, and then he says that he is a servant or a slave of Jesus Christ. He’s giving us a rule about how we stand in relationship to Jesus: not as equals but as servants and members of the kingdom he preaches. He’s going on and talk about what it means to live as part of that kingdom but right here, right from the beginning, he’s inviting us in.

That’s really what all these names are: doorways into the meaning of Christ for us. So today’s scriptures give us three names, three doorways, into the meaning of Christ for us. We started with Immanuel, God present with us. We went on to Jesus, God saves. Now we are given a new name: Christ, the anointed one, the chosen one of God. You probably have different names too: husband or wife, son or daughter, dad or parent or mom. If you work, you have a title at work. And you have your own private sense of self. What name does God call you? What name will you call God?

Amen.