23 December 2025
O Emmanuel, God with us
Today we stand on the edge of Christmas.
Advent has been steadily narrowing our focus,
moving us from promise to preparation,
from longing to nearness.
The last O Antiphon:
Emmanuel, God-with-us.
Not God-above-us.
Not God-against-us.
But God-with-us.
The first reading from the prophet Malachi was written in a time of spiritual fatigue.
The people had returned from exile.
The Temple had been rebuilt.
Worship had resumed.
And yet something felt hollow.
Faith had become routine.
Justice was compromised.
Hearts were divided.
So God speaks through Malachi with both warning and hope:
“Lo, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me.”
For a Jewish listener,
this would have been electric language.
God Himself is coming.
Not symbolically.
Not through intermediaries.
The Lord is drawing near to His Temple!
But before He arrives,
a messenger must prepare the people…
and not the roads,
but their hearts.
Malachi describes what the coming of God will be like:
refining fire,
cleansing soap.
These are not images of destruction,
but, once again, of purification.
God’s presence exposes what is false
so that what is true can remain.
Emmanuel does not come to condemn His people,
but to restore them…
not to bring judgment or condemnation,
but redemption.
And then Malachi names the messenger: Elijah.
Not literally returned,
but one who will come in his spirit
—turning hearts,
reconciling families,
preparing the way for the Lord who comes close.
That prophecy leads directly into today’s Gospel.
Elizabeth gives birth.
The child is circumcised.
And when the moment comes to name him,
the family expects tradition to prevail.
He should be called Zechariah.
That would make sense.
That would be normal.
But Elizabeth says no.
“He will be called John.”
John—Yohanan—means “God is gracious.”
This is not a family name.
It is a theological declaration.
When Zechariah confirms the name in writing,
his tongue is loosened.
Silence gives way to praise.
Fear spreads among the neighbors.
And Luke tells us that people begin to ask the right question:
“What, then, will this child be?”
This is the turning point.
John’s birth is not the arrival of Emmanuel,
but it is the unmistakable sign
that God is now acting in history again.
Centuries of silence are broken.
God is no longer distant.
He is not merely remembered.
He is intervening.
He is drawing near.
And this is the heart of Emmanuel.
God does not remain outside our story.
He enters it.
He speaks names into it.
He changes its direction from within.
Notice something important:
Emmanuel does not arrive with spectacle.
He comes quietly.
Through pregnancy. Through birth. Through family life.
Through obedience to God’s word
rather than social expectation.
This is how God chooses to be with us.
John’s mission will be to point away from himself.
He is not Emmanuel,
but he prepares the way
so that Emmanuel can be recognized.
He will call people to repentance
not to shame them,
but to help them receive God-with-us without fear.
That is what Advent has been training us to do.
To let go of what no longer fits.
To allow God to interrupt our expectations.
To trust that His closeness is mercy, not threat.
As we prepare to celebrate Christmas,
let our prayer be:
“O Emmanuel, come and save us.”
Not because God is far away.
But because He is close enough to change us.
The God who comes at Christmas
does not erase our humanity.
He shares it.
He enters our homes, our families, our wounds, our hopes.
And that is the miracle we are about to celebrate:
God is not merely for us.
He is with us.
And He always will be.