"What Christ does not assume, He does not heal" Christmas Day 2025

25. December 2025

Christmas Day

John 1:1-14

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth (Jn 1:14).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Christmas Day is joy with strength. Not the thin joy of “everything is fine,” nor the forced cheer of a Hallmark ending, but the deep, steady gladness that something real has happened in the real world—something that changes what it means to be human.

John opens the Gospel like a bell ringing across time: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1). Before Mary, before Bethlehem, before time itself, the Son is God—fully, eternally, and unshakeably. Then John says the line that makes angels sing and devils tremble: “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14).

That sentence is not poetry; it’s a claim. The eternal Word took on our humanity. Not as a disguise. Not as a temporary role. Not like God “visiting” the human condition for a weekend. Flesh. A body that can be held. A mouth that cries. Hands that learn to grasp. A mind that grows in wisdom. A heart that knows sorrow. A man who can bleed.

And that’s exactly why Christmas Day is a day of joy: God has not saved us from a distance. He has come near—near enough to be touched, near enough to carry our burdens from the inside, near enough to heal what we could never repair. If you’ve ever felt that God is far, that faith is too abstract, that your life is too messy for holy things—Christmas announces the opposite. God has stepped into the mess.

Hebrews says it plainly: “Inasmuch then as the children have partaken of flesh and blood, He Himself likewise shared in the same” (Hebrews 2:14). He didn’t hover above our weakness. He entered it. He shared it. He took it on. And why? Hebrews doesn’t say, “so that He might offer tips for a better life.” It says: “…that through death He might destroy him who had the power of death, that is, the devil” (Hebrews 2:14). That’s a Christmas word you don’t hear often enough: destroy. Jesus comes as a baby because He came to fight—and to win—not with an army, but with His own body and blood.

This is why the Church has always insisted: what Christ does not assume, He does not heal. He doesn’t save by pretending to be human; He saves by becoming human. And not a partial humanity either—He takes the whole human condition.

That’s where we can rejoice more deeply. We refuse a “half-Christ” who only touches the surface of our lives. We can press into the truth that salvation isn’t merely a legal trick or a divine wave of the hand. We don’t just have isolated bad actions; we have a wounded nature. We don’t merely stumble occasionally; we are bent inward. Our loves get disordered. Our desires get tangled. Our will—our choosing, our wanting—doesn’t stay straight.

And if Christ is going to save you, He must enter where you are actually broken. Not only your skin and bones, but the place inside where you say “I want” and “I won’t.” He must assume even the human will—and heal it.

Hebrews pushes in that direction: “Therefore, in all things He had to be made like His brethren” (Hebrews 2:17). In all things. That’s breathtaking. It means the Son of God did not only borrow a body; He truly became man. He takes a real human mind. A real human heart. A real human will.

And this is not a cold doctrinal detail. This is comfort. Because it means Jesus doesn’t save you by bypassing your humanity. He saves you by restoring it. Now, when we talk about Christ’s human obedience, it can sound like we’re turning Christianity into a self-improvement program. But that’s not what we’re doing, and it’s not what Hebrews teaches.

Listen to Hebrews: Christ became man “to make propitiation for the sins of the people” (Hebrews 2:17). That’s sacrifice language. That’s atonement language. That’s “He did what we could not do.” Jesus’ obedience is not first a template for you to imitate; it is a gift given for you to receive. His life is righteousness for sinners. His death is payment for sinners. His resurrection is victory for sinners.

So when we say Christ heals the human will, we are not saying, “Try harder and become holy.” We’re saying: the Son of God entered the very arena of our collapse and won for us—so that His victory becomes ours, and His life begins to remake us.

You can see that human will in its most exposed moment in Gethsemane: “Nevertheless not My will, but Yours, be done” (Luke 22:42). That’s not theatre. That is the incarnate Son, with a real human will, embracing the Father’s will in the face of suffering. He doesn’t dodge the bitter cup; He drinks it. He doesn’t avoid obedience; He fulfills it. And Christmas Day is where that obedience begins—because the Word becomes flesh so that the flesh may be redeemed all the way through.

John tells us how we get in on this: “But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God… who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God” (John 1:12–13). That is wonderfully humbling and wonderfully freeing. You don’t become God’s child by heritage, or grit, or personal spiritual intensity. You become God’s child because God gives birth from above—because God gives His Son, and you receive Him.

And then John adds a line that should settle anxious hearts: “And of His fullness we have all received, and grace for grace” (John 1:16). Received. That’s the posture of Christmas. Open hands, not clenched fists.

This is also why our liturgy is so concrete. If God saves by becoming flesh, then God loves to deliver salvation in tangible ways—outside of you, toward you, for you. Not vague spirituality. Not a private feeling you must manufacture to prove you’re sincere. God speaks promises that can be heard. God joins His Word to water that can be felt. God puts His gifts on your tongue.

That’s not a distraction from the Incarnation. It’s the logic of the Incarnation continuing in the Church. The same Word who became flesh still comes to sinners through means. “Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God” (Romans 10:17). And Christ doesn’t merely inspire faith; He creates it, sustains it, and strengthens it with His own gifts.

Hebrews also names something most people feel but rarely say: “through fear of death [we] were all [our] lifetime subject to bondage” (Hebrews 2:15). That fear shows up in a hundred disguises. Sometimes it looks like frantic control. Sometimes it looks like a constant distraction. Sometimes it looks like anger—because anger feels strong when we feel vulnerable. Sometimes it looks like numbing out. Our world has learned to keep busy and entertained, partly because silence lets the fear leak in.

Christmas meets that fear in the most unexpected way: not with denial, not with a motivational speech, but with a baby. A child who will grow into a man who will die—and in dying will break death. As Hebrews says, “For in that He Himself has suffered, being tempted, He is able to aid those who are tempted” (Hebrews 2:18). Notice the word: aid. Help. Not “be impressed.” Not “stand at a distance.” Help. The Incarnation means your temptations and weaknesses are not invisible to Him. He is not indifferent. He is not shocked. He has entered our human struggle, and He stands as the merciful One who actually helps sinners.

Now, let’s be honest: we do sometimes try to keep Jesus manageable. We prefer a Christ who comforts us but doesn’t disrupt us. We like the parts of Christianity that feel uplifting, and we sometimes sidestep the parts that expose our pride or confront our idols. We can treat the Church like a vendor—“give me what I like”—instead of receiving Christ as Lord. We can reduce faith to morality or identity, rather than life from the living God.

Christmas Day does not scold you for that; it simply outgrows it. It gives you something better. It says: the true Christ is not less than comforting, but He is more than comforting. He has not come to be an accessory to your life. He has come to be your life.

And that is exactly why this day is for everyone. If you’re visiting and you’re unsure what you think about Christianity, here’s the center: “The Word became flesh” (John 1:14). Christianity is not first about you climbing up to God; it’s about God coming down to you—down into history, down into flesh, down into suffering, down into death—so He can raise you into life.

If you’ve been in the pew for decades, here’s the same center in a different tone: don’t let Christmas become nostalgia. Don’t let it become only the comfort of familiar hymns and family routines. Those are good gifts. But the point is Christ Himself—the living Lord who comes not merely to warm your heart but to save you, body and soul.

So what is the simple claim of Christmas Day? The Word became flesh so that nothing human would be left unredeemed. Not only the “spiritual” parts of you. You. Your body. Your mind. Your will. Your suffering. Your death. Christ has entered the whole human condition so that He can heal the whole human condition.

And the joy of that is not shallow. It is sturdy and strong. It can carry you through grief. It can hold you in anxiety. It can steady you when life feels fragile and fast because your salvation does not rest on your ability to keep it together. It rests on the One who took flesh, took your place, took your sin, took your death—and now gives you Himself.

So yes, today we sing. We sing because God has come near. We sing because the light has entered the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it. We sing because our humanity—so often treated as disposable—has been honored, assumed, and redeemed by God Himself. Rejoice, not with forced cheer, but with confidence: the Word became flesh. God is not far. God is not guessing. God is with you. And He has come too close to let you go.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin