January 4, 2026 John 1: 10-18 The Light We Missed, the Privilege We Are Given

There’s a quiet feeling in Winnipeg in early January. The holiday rush is over. The days are still short, the nights long. It’s a good time to look inward and to look ahead. We make plans. We set goals. We naturally look up and forward, hoping for a better year.

But today, John’s Gospel asks us to look differently. It tells us about a light that came into the world’s darkness— a light that most people missed. This New Year’s message isn’t about looking further ahead, but about learning to see what is already right here. Listen again to the astonishing claim: “He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.” (v.10,11)

Think about that. The architect walks onto the construction site, and the workers don’t recognize them. The source of all life and love embodied in Jesus of Nazareth walked the dusty roads of Galilee and Judea, and the world… His own people, who had prayed for centuries for God’s arrival, looked right past him. Why? I believe there’s a human, psychological reason woven right into it. We have a chronic habit of jumping over what is proximate, humble, and ordinary in our search for what is spectacular, grand, and “important.” We don’t seek happiness in the simple contentment of a shared meal; we chase the elusive dream of a perfect life. We often don’t encounter the divine in the quiet kindness of a stranger; we expect it in thunderous revelation. But God came quietly. As a baby. In a stable. To a poor family. There was no grand announcement. Just the ordinary, vulnerable beginning of a new life. The religious leaders were looking for a powerful king to save them. They missed the baby in the manger because he didn’t look the way they expected. They missed the miracle in the manger because they were looking for the wrong kind of light.

And this isn’t just history. This has always been God’s way. The Word that became flesh did not leave us. God, in Spirit, through community, in the whispered echoes of Christ’s love, still dwells among us. Where? Not first in places of power. But where God has always chosen to be: in the places of need, in the hearts of the overlooked, in the solidarity of suffering.

God is present in the ICU waiting room, where a family waits in silence. God whispers, “You are not alone.” God is in the heart of someone who feels useless after retirement, and in the friend who calls just to listen. God says, “Your worth is not in what you do. It is in who you are.” God’s address is still “With us.” Especially among the least, the lost, and the lonely. The challenge is never God’s absence. The problem is that we are looking for God in the wrong places.

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January 4, 2026 John 1: 10-18

The Light We Missed, the Privilege We Are Given

And here, right here, is where the story turns. It turns on the most hopeful word in Scripture: “But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.” (v.12) Despite the world’s blindness… But. Despite the rejection… But. Some saw. Some welcomed. Some opened the door. How? By receiving. The Greek word, λαμβάνω (lambanō), means to take hold of, to welcome, to accept as a gift. It is reaching out to the offered hand in the dark. It is the decision to trust that this humble, unassuming person from Nazareth is, in fact, the lens through which all of life and God makes sense. This right—this privilege of becoming God’s children—is not a reward. It is not a promotion we earn through moral achievement or theological correctness. It is a free gift of pure grace. It is given, not taken. Every one of us here lives because of this unearned love.

And this grace does something radical to our perspective. When you know your core identity—“beloved child of God”—is a gift, it changes your heart. You stop feeling the anxious need to climb higher than others. You stop seeing life as a ladder where you must get to the top, no matter who you step on.Grace turns your eyes. You start looking down and sideways. You start to see the people on the ladder with you. You notice the people under the ladder. Your world becomes bigger—not just about getting ahead, but about walking together.

This reminds me of the story Hope for the Flowers. The caterpillars, Stripe and Yellow, believe meaning and purpose are found only at the top of a huge caterpillar pillar. But true meaning comes when yellow caterpillar has the courage to stop climbing, to come down, and to become something new. Grace gives us that courage. It gives us the courage to stop the endless climb for a “higher” worldly privilege, and to discover the holy privilege already bestowed upon us.

So what is this “privilege of becoming children of God”? Our culture has poisoned this word. Privilege means VIP access. It means moving up and away from the crowd. It means more comfort, more security, more insulation from life’s harshness. But the privilege Jesus reveals—and embodies—is the privilege of moving toward need. It is the privilege of proximity to pain, not insulation from it. It is the privilege of solidarity, not superiority. It is the privilege of the towel and basin, not the throne and scepter. It is the privilege of a heart so aligned with God’s that it breaks for what breaks God’s heart: injustice, poverty, loneliness. It is the privilege of finding the sacred not in sequestered sanctuaries alone, but in the face of the stranger, the cry of the poor, the vulnerability of the sick. This is the upside-down economy of God’s kingdom. The greatest privilege is to serve. Our strength is found in kindness. We find our life by giving it away.

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January 4, 2026 John 1: 10-18

The Light We Missed, the Privilege We Are Given

For us, this is central to our faith. Our work for social justice, for caring for the earth, for building welcoming community—this is not merely political activism. It is the lived-out, corporate expression of receiving this grace and living into this holy privilege. We don’t “help the poor” from a position of charity. We seek justice with the poor because in their faces we are trained to see Christ, our brother. We don’t “care for the earth” as its owners. We advocate for creation as its grateful stewards and fellow creatures. Our faith gets its hands dirty in the real world.

So as we begin 2026, with our lists of goals and quiet hopes, what might it look like to let this truth shape our year? Let me suggest three simple things:

1.The Daily Pause: Once each day, stop. Breathe. Ask: “God, where are you already present in my ordinary, proximate world today that I am in danger of missing?” Train your eyes to look for grace in the texture of the everyday: in a steaming cup of tea, in the patience of a cashier, in the stubborn resilience of the prairie grass in the snow.

2.The Posture of Reception: Learn to say “Welcome” before you ask “Why?” When you notice pain, need, or difference—within yourself or in others—try not to see it first as a problem to fix or something to avoid. Instead, receive it as a place where God may already be present. Let your first response be listening, openness, and compassionate presence, rather than quick judgment or solutions.

3.The Practice of Downward Privilege: Intentionally choose one way this season to exercise your kingdom privilege. It might be: Listening deeply to someone you usually advise. Advocating about an issue that affects vulnerable people in our city. Stepping back so someone else’s voice can be heard. Thanking and truly seeing the people in

“invisible” service roles. Letting go of one small comfort to make room for someone else. My friends, the Light has come. It shone in the darkness of a stable long ago. It shines now in the darkness of our world’s grief and our personal winters. The world missed it then because it was looking for a conquering hero. Let us not miss it now because we are looking only for personal success or spiritual spectacle. In 2026, may we have the courage to receive the grace that is always offered. And in receiving it, may we embrace our true, costly, and glorious privilege: the privilege of being God’s children. Not looking down on anyone, but looking for God in everyone, and bending low to love and serve this world that God already loves beyond measure.

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