Fig Tree or Footpaths, We Are Worthy; Luke 2:8-20

 

Rev. George Miller

Dec 25, 2025

Luke 2:8-20

 

One of the best sermons I ever heard was based on John 1:43-51.  Jesus is calling the 1^st disciples, one of them is Nathanael, who has been sitting under a fig tree, alone.

 

The preacher spoke about how Jesus is there for us those moments when we think no one else is; those times of solitude, reflection.

 

This message heard 20 years ago is so powerful that it shapes and speaks to the reading for today.

 

Here we have this beloved scene told so often about the shepherds in the field who have angels appear and go on a journey to Bethlehem to see the Holy Family, sharing what they have been told.

 

How it ties into Nathaniel under the fig tree is manyfold.  First, the shepherds are in a countryside location, about 2 miles away from where the miracle of Baby Jesus has taken place. 

 

Like Nathaniel, all alone under the fig tree, they are not surrounded by buildings or highways, St. Louis Bread Companies or Schnucks, but by rolling limestone hills, shallow valleys, and clumps of hardy grass.

 

The fact that the angel of the Lord stands before them and angels appear is amazing.  It means that among the footpaths worn out by their walking, the caves used for shelter, and the few trees spread out amongst the scrub, that God saw them, God knew they were there, and God felt they were worthy of receiving such Good News.

 

Second, the shepherds are not in the middle of mainstream activities. They’re not shopping with the masses or enjoying a movie or a musical at the MUNY.

 

Like Nathaniel under the fig tree, the shepherds are relatively alone.  They are spread out.  They are, in some ways…invisible. 

 

The shepherds are among the class of people that go unseen, the way we may not pay attention to the people who take our garbage or collect the chopping carts.

 

Yet God sees them, God does not allow their unappreciated social status or solitude to get in the way from bringing them great joy, opening the heavens to them, and making them visible to the Blessed Child.

 

Third, just like Nathaniel, we do not know why God chooses them.

 

The angels could have first come to Ceasar Augustus or to Governor Quirinius.  But they don’t.  Instead of appearing to head politicians, they appear to the people.

 

The angels could have come to Zechariah the Priest and his wife Elizabeth.  But they don’t.  Instead of appearing in the Temple or to the Levites, they appear to everyday workers in the field.

 

The angels could have appeared to those who owned the fields, owned the herds.  But they don’t.  Instead of appearing to the captains of industry, the angels appear to the overworked, underpaid employees hoping to earn their daily bread.

 

Today’s story is one for any of us who has ever had that moment in which we are by ourself, we’re experiencing a dark night, we’re not amongst the crowds and cool kids, and we wonder “Do we matter?”  “Does anyone care?”  “Does God know about me?’

 

“Do I make a difference.”

 

In other words, today’s story is for anyone who knows what it is like to sit under a fig tree, alone.

 

And the answer is “Yes.”

 

Yes we matter.   Yes, God cares.  Yes, God knows about you. 

 

We journey back to Bethlehem, reminded how magnificent the Christmas message is.

 

God loved the world so much that even after the Commandments, the prophets, the miracles, God did not stop. God chooses to come to us in flesh, wrapped with the same skin we have, to dwell amongst us.

 

One miracle of Christmas is that God could have arrived to us in numerous ways, from a mansion to a King’s quarters, as the son of a prominent star to the child of the world’s richest person.

 

Instead God chose to come to us humble, mild, vulnerable, with parents that could have easily been overlooked, born in a place where city officials could have kicked them out.

 

And that when God did appear in the fragile body of a child who had to be nursed, swaddled and given rest, it was to those who were alone, on the outskirts of town, simply trying to make it another day who the angels appeared to.

 

It was to those solitary individuals of the night in which the choir of heaven appeared and sung “Glory to God in the Highest and peace among those he favors.” 

 

That night that Christ was born, peace was given to those who had experienced the least amount of peace.

 

Glory was shown to those who were looking out at scrubs and thorny bushes.

 

The miracle of Christmas is how even those that the world may have forgotten were among the first to see and be told.

 

And how this miracle continues today, for anyone here, for anyone who may feel like they are sitting under that fig tree, alone, who has faced that long night, or was feeling far from the crowd.

 

Today’s tale is a celebration of the ways that God acts and reaches out to each and everyone one of us, all of us, even when we feel like we may be forgotten or are by ourselves.

 

We gives thanks for the birth of Baby Jesus, and how this glorious news is made known to all, no matter who we are and no matter what we are facing.

 

 Amen.

Remember Your Hill; Ezekiel 37:1-14

 

Rev. George Miller

Dec 7, 2025

Ezekiel 37:1-14

 

There is a memory I have; one that has always carried me through.

 

Growing up on Long Island, when it snowed, we went to a hill off the Long Island Expressway.

 

This was in the 70’s and 80’s at a time when folks didn’t worry so much about safety.  Whole families would be there, and their dogs, a truck selling hot cocoa, and cars driving by. 

 

Without a care, we’d walk up that snow-covered hill, place our sleds down, and whooshed down the hill at incredible speeds, careful not to end up in the service road.

 

Then you did it again and again.  Up and down; whoosh and stop.  Dogs running free.  Hot cocoa waiting for you at the bottom of the hill.  Parents taking photos.

 

Everyone wearing snow suits, being cold and sweating at the same time; snowflakes sticking to your skin, the sky filled with the sounds of laughter and glee.

 

Some used the round shaped snow saucers with the handles on the side. Or the Flexible Flyer with the rope you held onto and metal cross bar you steered with your feet. 

 

The toboggans long and slender, meant to hold multiple kiddos, so fast, impossible to steer, leading to tip-over, wipe outs, and “watch-out!” when you hit a bump.

 

I remember how we all became imaginary engineers, creating chains of sleds, holding onto one another like trains going downhill.

 

Heaven: nature sisters brothers mothers fathers friends strangers neighbors dogs snowflakes hot cocoa all coming together to make a memory, creating a sense of hope and peace when remembered.

 

A memory when things were just right, even if the danger of fast cars was nearby and the walk up that hill could seem so arduous.

 

But that woosh, that journey down that hill was so worth it.

 

One of the key phrases of the Bible is “remember”, appearing nearly 300 times

 

Psalm 77 speaks of remembering  how the Lord lead the people through the Red Sea, designed to give us hope when we come across a seemingly unsolvable situation.

 

Psalm 119:52 says “I remember your instructions…O LORD, and find comfort in them,” bringing a sense of peace into our existence when things seem unsteady.

 

Hope and peace are two of the Advent candles we lit today.  Hope gives us a path to walk upon as we journey Back to Bethlehem;  Peace provides the rhythm and pace.

 

Hope and peace are like hills we set our eyes upon that let us know we are closer to reexperiencing Emmanuel; the miracle of God taking flesh and being among us.

 

Though today’s reading places us in a valley of dry bones, we are going to talk about hills. 

 

Ezekiel speaks to the people of Judah who were kidnapped and living in Babylon. 

 

They came from a land of hills and vineyards, their Temple sat upon a mountain that sparkled in the sun. 

 

Now, where they live, everything is flat.  Devoid of purple and red grapes, and silvery green grapes. 

 

Instead of hills that are alive with life, they are seeing flat, treeless horizons.  And their hearts mourn.

 

So before discussing the dry bones, Ezekiel talks of mountains. In chapter 36, he does his best to fill them with hope and peace.

 

“Guess what!” he says to them.  “God has a message for the hills and waterways.  God has a word of hope and peace for the mountains and valleys of Isreal,.”

 

Oh, what it must have been like for the kidnapped people of Isreal to hear these words of restoration!

 

“One day, the mountains that you miss, the hills that now lay bare, will grow again.  There will be branches, and fruit.”

 

Ezekiel shares this hope-filled, peaceful vision of one day the people journeying back.

 

God will be with you.  Your land will flourish, your families grow; God will reunite the nations.

 

God says “I will gather you from throughout the world; clean you with water.  A new heart and spirit will dwell inside you.  I will feed you with grain of the field and fruit of the tree, and your sins will no longer have a hold over you.”

 

The final image is of the people being an expanding flock; beloved sheep of the Lord.

 

Upon reading Ezekiel 36, all I can think of is Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

 

It’s like Ezekiel is saying “Remember your future.” 

 

Remember your future so that you can exist during this moment and you can find glimmers of hope and peace in this time and place.

 

It becomes a perfect lead-in to the image of dry bones gathered in the valley; bones that come from lost dreams and difficult times.

 

After being told to speak to the mountains and remind folk that one day the hills will be alive, Ezekiel speaks life into what has been seen as death; to bravely imagine that God’s breath can resurrect what was lost.

 

It is good to be reminded that the God who parted the waters of the Red Sea is the same God who can raise what is dry and despondent.

 

To Remember.  A grand thing to do as we journey back to Bethlehem.

 

Today, take a moment and think about a hill in your life.

 

Think about a hill where you experienced joy, you experienced peace.  Think of a hill that when you recall it, it gives you hope.

 

Could be a hill you’ve been to; a hill you’ve visited with family, a date, a vacation.  It can be small it can be big.

 

In the back of your bulletin, name that hill.  Jot down the memory.  Maybe you want to draw an image, create a hashtag, design a meme.

 

Now, we are invited to gently tear that spot from the page, treating it like the treasure it is.

 

You are invited to carry that hill moment with you as we journey back to Bethlehem, a reminder of how good life can be.

 

Let this image of that that hill be a way for you a way to think about what Jesus means for us, and what we expect to find when we make our way to the manger.

 

A memory of hope; a memory of peace.  May the mountains shout may the rivers sing.  May the hills come alive knowing that soon Jesus Christ will be born.    

 

Amen.