A message prepared by Matthew B. Ciske for
West Richmond Friends Meeting
December 7, 2025
Scripture: Psalms 130:5-8 and Luke 2:8-20
Good morning, Friends, how truly wonderful it is to be with you on this chilly December Sunday.
A TV staple of my childhood, I still watch A Charlie Brown Christmas every year. Is that special a part of your past or current Christmas tradition?
Charlie Brown wasn’t just having a blue Christmas; he was having a blue Christmas season.
Advent is sometimes viewed as the liturgical sprint to Christmas, a fast, four-week countdown to the Big Day. In many traditions, there are candles, carols, and what a friend refers to as the “smells and bells.” And secular society will do little to disabuse us of this. As soon as Halloween is over, we are surrounded by songs like Little Saint Nick, synchronized lawn light displays, and boozy office holiday parties.
This time of year is not merry and bright for all; not for all people and not for all congregations. It evokes strong memories, and feelings of anxiety, sadness, and exclusion for many of us.
In the letter to the Hebrews traditionally attributed to Paul, the author wrote:
“And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit for some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”
As we support those in our community who are grieving or struggling, we must first show up and be present, making space and time for them.
Liminal is a word that has snuck into my world this year. It means that space between spaces or that time between times.
This liminal space between spaces can be occupied by different, and sometimes conflicting, feelings: excitement, dread, hope, fear, confidence, unease. It is entirely possible to experience multiple different emotions at the same time.
These liminal times are complicated.
We, as individuals, may find ourselves in liminal spaces, marked by changes in relationships, jobs and livelihoods, housing, or social location.
Our Meeting is in a liminal time, following the departure of Brian Young, and as the implementation of the recommendations outlined in the Challenges and Opportunities Report is underway. I know that Brian’s contributions to the life of West Richmond Friends are many, and I hope to learn from his legacy and gain your support in the same way he did.
The City of Richmond and the Quaker institutions within it occupy liminal spaces, making difficult choices as they work to balance financial survival with fairness and dignity.
Our world is in a liminal time, between the first coming of Christ and the second. A world that is, at the same instant, beautiful and broken.
In recent months, we have heard messages about the power of lament: a passionate expression of anger, grief, sorrow, unhappiness, or regret. We lament as we mourn, that process of adapting to a significant loss. Not all losses relate to physical death; there’s also illness, disability, injustice, oppression, loss of housing, war, and many others that are painful, nonetheless.
The first verse of our closing hymn today invites a mourning Israel to rejoice in the coming of the Son of God, prophesied by Isaiah to be called Emmanuel, God is with us.
The Israelites of Jesus’ day were living under Roman rule, marking the fifth significant period of exile or external control in 1,500 years that began with two centuries in Egypt and a 40-year return home, followed by almost one hundred years in Babylon, a quarter century in Persia and Media, and more than two hundred years under Greek control. The Psalmist in today’s Advent Scripture speaks to Israel’s longing for redemption by the Lord.
Life in Israel was tough. Heavy taxes burdened the working class and farmers; acts of political cruelty were the norm. A small elite held power and wealth. Families were rigidly patriarchal. Tensions between religious sects were high. Rome’s road-building projects, which connected Judea to other parts of the empire, brought intercultural tensions even as travel and trade became easier. This sounds modernly familiar.
Mary and Joseph travelled to Bethlehem to be counted in the census. The journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem spans approximately 70 to 90 miles, depending on the route one takes, traversing hills, valleys, and deserts. Traveling on foot, even if aided by a donkey, would have been grueling. The census itself must have reminded the Jewish people of their Roman controllers, even as that burden and disruption prepared the world for the fulfillment of Micah’s prophecy that the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem. There is a pattern in the Old Testament of God moving foreign rulers to act in ways that facilitate the realization of prophecy.
In mid-November, Nathan shared a message with us about the power of accompaniment. Charlie Brown wasn’t alone: he was accompanied by Linus, the quiet kid who carried a security blanket. Linus showed up and was present on the stage, where he set down that blanket for a moment, and recited the beginning of the passage from the Gospel of Luke that we heard today.
It is tempting to follow Lucy’s lead when she gave struggling Charlie Brown a list of activities and tasks to distract him from his angst. Or for one to shift into “helper mode” as Charlie Brown did by helping write Sally’s letter to Santa. There was pressure to “be okay” and follow along with traditions, such as picking out the ideal tree and directing the Christmas play.
There is something positive to be said for observing or reimagining traditions that bring comfort. And there is also nothing wrong with stepping back and saying “no” or “not right now.”
The newborn Jesus wasn’t alone either: he was accompanied in his first hours, as he was throughout his life on earth, by those from the margins: shepherds, foreigners, people experiencing poverty, and a handful of stable animals. They showed up and were present.
The encounter between the shepherds and the angels was one of significant initial terror and substantial immediate faith. The shepherds did not pepper the angels with questions about the message; instead, they decided to travel at once to Bethlehem and see the newborn child. Upon arrival, they were filled with joy and shared their testimony about the good news. When the shepherds returned to their flocks, they engaged in worship and praise. Today’s Scripture reminds us that faith is for everyone, that it can overcome fear, and that it is strengthened by the power of action, shared joy, and testimony.
Something at the end of today’s Scripture caught my eye: how Mary treasured the words of the shepherds and pondered them in her heart. Mary not only heard their words of amazement and wonder, but she also listened to them. That Mary listened in this way is recorded in two other places in Luke’s Gospel: when Mary learned from the Angel Gabriel that she was with child, and again when she and Joseph found a young Jesus asking questions of religious leaders at the Temple. This kind of active listening and introspection is a sign of deep faith and is the work of being present with others.
As we support those in our community who are grieving or struggling, we must first show up and be present, making space and time for them.
We can name and acknowledge the loss, admit that we may not know what to say, focus on empathy and validation, and respect the boundaries of those we care about. These actions can be encounters with the Divine.
In the Psalm we heard this morning, the soul of the Psalmist is waiting for and hoping in the Lord. This, Friends, is what Advent is about: celebration of Jesus’ birth and waiting and preparation for His Second Coming.
Two hundred ninety-eight years before the first airing of A Charlie Brown Christmas, Isaac Pennington wrote to the Friends in Amsterdam:
“So watch your hearts and ways; and watch one over another, in that which is gentle and tender, and knows it can neither preserve itself, nor help another out of the snare; but the Lord must be waited upon, to do this in and for us all.”
As a Christian Quaker community, we seek to discover God’s truth, proclaim God’s love, and live our faith. As we enter a period of expectant worship, I pray that we, Friends, may be companions in hope, peace, joy, and love as we engage this holy season of waiting and anticipation.
Matthew Ciske 