Sermon: “Light for the darkest week” (Fourth Sunday of Advent, 21 December 2025)

A sermon preached 21 December 2025, at Immanuel Lutheran Church, Buderim, Qld, Australia. See YouTube here.

This last week has been labelled “the darkness week in recent Australian history.” What happened at Bondi on 14 December 2025 was evil and shouldn't have happened. We pray for wisdom that our leaders can, to the best of their ability, find ways to prevent similar violence in the future.

The events at Bondi last weekend seem to fly in the face of everything we have been longing for this Advent. We’ve been saying, “Maybe this Christmas … there’ll be hope, peace, joy.” And then last weekend happens! So perhaps the reality feels more like, “Maybe this Christmas … there’ll be violence and division.”

For many of us, these events have been scary. And it’s okay to be afraid. Fear is a natural response to a world that feels like it’s breaking. When we see violence in places we consider “safe” — where we picnic with family or meet friends for a swim — our sense of security is shattered. This week I took my family out, and my wife and I commented how there was a prickle of fear that the same thing might happen to us. Security is a gift we cherish, and right now, it feels like that gift has been stolen. When we feel this way, we naturally ask, “Where is God?”

I’ve heard phrases this week like, “This just doesn’t happen in Australia,” (but it did!) and, “I feel disillusioned.” So I been wondering if we have lulled ourselves into a false understanding of the world? We like to picture the world as inherently friendly, certain, and calm. We build up an illusion that people are generally “good” and that we are safe as long as we follow the rules. Terror events shatter this illusion.

But I’m going to suggest that periods of disillusionment have an important place in our spiritual journey. To be disillusioned means you are no longer being tricked by the illusion. It means you are being confronted with the truth. And the truth is that the world is dark and broken, and left to ourselves, humanity is twisted.

While the shattering of our safety is painful, it forces us to stop looking for security in fences or walls, and start looking for it in the only One who can actually save us. One news columnist wrote the following, “This is a time when I lament not having a greater faith. I lament, because believing in humanity – in [hu]mankind’s capacity for kindness – has let us down so acutely. Something else, something higher, is needed.”

In our pain and disillusionment, we naturally look for someone to blame. Have you noticed the finger-pointing this week? Many have asked: “Whose fault is it? Who’s to blame?” We point the finger at immigration, politicians, security agencies, or social media being used to radicalise. We seem to always look for a scapegoat. But often, our blame takes a darker turn. We start to point at “the other” — people of different races, religions, or backgrounds.

We do this because it makes us feel safe. If the “badness” is out there, in “them,” then we can tell ourselves that we are the “good” ones. But this “othering” is often based on fear rather than truth. We might blame “the outsider” for the violence we see, yet the truth often tells another story. For example, did you know that statistically speaking those who come to Australian shores seeking a new life are often the most law-abiding among us? Statistics from the ABS reveal that people born overseas are actually half as likely to be in prison as those born here in Australia. 30% of Australia’s population are born overseas, but only 14% of prisoners are born overseas, half the expected number!

When we blame “the immigrant,” we aren’t just being unkind — we are being untruthful. These events reveal that the darkness of the human condition doesn’t respect borders — darkness isn’t just “over there” in someone else, it’s here, in us. So our blame isn’t always based on facts; our blame is corrupted by our fear.

This is an age-old human condition. In Genesis, when the first humans disobeyed God and ate the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil, they immediately began the blame game. Who did Adam point to? “It’s not my fault, it’s ‘this woman’ you gave me!” And who did Eve point to? The snake. Everyone pointing at someone else. We want to be the judge of who is “good” and who is “evil.” We want to be the ones who decide who belongs and who should be cast out. We want to be God. This is a fundamental definition of sin: wanting to play God.

Jesus once stood in the middle of a blame game. A woman caught in adultery was brought before him. The crowd had already decided she was “the other,” the “sinner,” the one who deserved to be removed to make society “pure” again. They pointed their collective finger at her.

But Jesus shattered their illusion that they were the “good guys.” He said: “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone” (John 8:7). One by one, the stones dropped. Jesus forced them to see that the darkness they saw in “the other” was the same kind of darkness residing in them.

We may not pick up a physical weapon, but when we are scared, we often weaponize our words. We use “semiautomatic mouths” or “high calibre thumbs” on social media to fire off belittling comments about people we want to blame, or those who don’t look like us.

We see this same struggle in today’s Gospel reading. Here is Joseph, happily betrothed to Mary. But his world is shattered when he finds out Mary is pregnant. Joseph was a “righteous man,” so his first instinct was “to divorce her quietly.” He wanted to distance himself from what looked like a “problem.” He wanted to protect his reputation from the shame of the other. He was afraid and uncertain.

But God’s solution wasn’t to exclude the source of the trouble. Rescue came from outside of Joseph. An angel appeared and said the most important words we might hear this week: “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid.” The angel is saying, “Don’t give in to fear, don’t let fear grip your heart and dictate your decisions.” God’s message to Joseph — and to us — is that the answer to our darkness isn’t fear. The answer to darkness isn’t to make “the other” submit to your way or to push them away. The answer is Immanuel: God with us. Hear the angel again, “Don’t be afraid, for God is with you.”

Many think that Christmas is all tinsel and bonbons; but this story penetrates to our heart of darkness. Christmas means that God is willing to enter into our pain and disillusionment. He doesn’t stay at a safe distance from “bad people.” He becomes one of us; he is born to you.

So where is God in the horror of Bondi? He is right here, in our history, in our pain, and in our darkness. In fact, Christmas is all about God allowing himself to be located in our history, in real places. Where is God? There! He’s there in the manger. [Point to manger]. God, the Almighty spirit who transcends all matter, allowed himself to be located in a baby laid in a manger, and eventually as a man nailed on a cross. On that cross, the world pointed its finger at Jesus and called him a criminal and a sinner. [Point to cross]. He took the blame for all of us, becoming the scapegoat so that we would stop blaming each other.

God embraces all people in Christ — the victims, the grieving, and even the perpetrators. He tells us that everyone is made in his image and is precious to him. You are precious to God. And that means that everyone you meet is precious to God. Jesus was born not to condemn the world, but to save it.

So maybe this Christmas there will be love. But it won’t start by us pointing the finger. It won’t even start by us trying to be better or kinder. Love starts with God’s action. It starts with a God who isn’t afraid of the “other,” but who becomes the “other” to rescue us. At Christmas love comes down to make a new way, by changing us through unconditional grace.

So this week, here’s a few practical things we might try.

(1) Be a peacemaker. One of the titles given to the newborn Jesus that we’ll hear on Christmas Eve is “Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6). Jesus is born as the Prince of Peace, and you are called to be his ambassador (2 Corinthians 5:20). You are an ambassador for the Prince of Peace. So be a peacemaker, not a fearmonger. When you hear a friend or family member spiralling into fear or blaming “the outsider,” don’t meet them with judgement or condemnation. Meet them with the angel’s words: “Do not be afraid.” Fear won’t fix our broken world. Rather share the truth of our common human condition, that no one has the right to throw the first stone. Remind them that true security isn’t found in walls or excluding others, but found in the God who embraces everyone, including us.

(2) Look for “Immanuel moments.” God is with us, if only we would have eyes to see. If every person is created in God’s image, then we get a reflection of God in every person we meet. (It’s true the image has been fractured by sin, but we still see through a mirror dimly). So this week, go out of your way to offer a smile, a “G’day,” or a small act of kindness to someone who might feel like an “other” right now — a person of a different faith, a migrant neighbour, or someone the world tells you to fear. For God is in that other person, they are made in his image. When we embrace the stranger, we encounter God with us.

As you go from here, you will likely still feel the echoes of last weekend’s tragedy. You may still feel that prickle of fear in a crowd. When that happens, remember the angel’s words: “Do not be afraid.” Know that love has come down at Christmas.

How will you respond to your fear? Will you join the blame game? Will you become scared of “the other”? Or will you allow the love of Christ to overwhelm your heart, and fill you with his Spirit of love, patience, kindness, goodness, and self-control?

May you know the peace of Immanuel — the God who is with us in our darkness. May we find ways to embrace our neighbours as God has embraced us. God did not exclude us, but was incarnate in our flesh. He let us point the finger at him in the manger and on the cross. The God of love has come down at Christmas to make this world new. Hear the angel’s words, “Do not be afraid.” Amen.