Dear Sisters and Brothers,

Each year at Christmas, we return to a truth so profound that even the heavens bent low to behold it: God became one of us. In the Vigil Gospel for Christmas, Matthew reminds us that the Child born of the Virgin shall be called Emmanuel—a name that means “God is with us.” Not above us, not distant from us, not watching from the sidelines of history, but with us—choosing to walk the very roads we walk.

In my Igbo culture, a child represents hope that has taken flesh, a future carried in tiny hands, the assurance that God has not stopped speaking into our world. The birth of a child tells a family: life continues; God has visited again.

At Christmas, heaven speaks this same message— not to one family, but to the whole human family.

Where is God? God is with us.
How is God with us? As one of us.

Christ comes with us in sorrow, entering every place where tears fall quietly in the night.

He stands with us in joy, celebrating every small victory that reminds us we’re still alive inside.

He is with us in sickness, sharing the weight we cannot share even with those we love.

He is with us in strength and weakness, in moments when faith feels unshakeable and in moments when it feels like embers barely holding on.

He is with us on the mountain, when blessings overflow, and with us in the valley, when nothing makes sense and we wonder if God still sees us.

Many of us arrive at Christmas carrying both gratitude and grief. Some are celebrating new beginnings; others are managing diagnoses, broken relationships, financial burdens, or the ache of those no longer physically with us. Some are full of faith; others are praying through quiet doubts they have never spoken aloud.

But this is the miracle of Emmanuel: God does not wait for us to be whole before He draws near. He draws near to make us whole.

In the genealogy proclaimed at the Vigil Mass, Matthew lists names—many of them complicated, flawed, painful reminders of human struggle. Yet from that very lineage, the Savior comes. God writes redemption through ordinary people with imperfect stories.

And so, Christmas reminds us: Nothing in your life disqualifies you from God’s presence.
Not your sorrow.
Not your questions.
Not your past.
Not your fear.
Not your weakness.

If anything, these are the very places where Emmanuel desires to dwell.

As we welcome the Christ Child this year, may we recognize the quiet, steady ways God is still with us: in the laughter of children, in the courage of the sick, in the faith of our elders, in the generosity of strangers, in the beauty of worship, and in the resilience of our parish community.

May the presence of Emmanuel bring light where there is heaviness, clarity where there is confusion, and peace where the heart longs to rest.

From my heart to yours, I wish you and your family a blessed, grace-filled Christmas.

May Emmanuel walk with you—in every season, every question, every joy, and every valley.

Merry Christmas,
Rev. Emmanuel Ihemedu, PhD
Pastor, St. John Paul the Great Parish

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