Thursday, December 18, 2025

There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. Galations 3:28

I am writing this the day after conservative activist Charlie Kirk was killed in Utah.  

Let me write what should be obvious to all of us and especially to those of us who strive to be followers of Jesus:  violence is never the answer, violence has always and forever will only lead to more violence.  

Kirk’s death is tragic because he was a human being, a child of God.  Period.  Every life that is stolen by violence is tragic.  Which is not to say that I agreed with Kirk on pretty much anything, or with his understanding of Christianity. 

I have felt recently, and yet even more so today, after reading too many news stories and watching too many videos, that there is only one side or the other, only poles of thought set far apart with a vast chasm of danger in between.

And then there is this biblical passage.  For those clothed with Christ in baptism, Paul writes, “there is no longer Jew or Greek…slave or free…male or female.”  We, all of us, are heirs to God’s promise that we are one in Christ. 

In the juxtaposition of what I am feeling and seeing today and what Paul writes, I am full of angst; I don’t know what to say.  

But then I remember the season for which this devotion is being written.  Advent.  

Advent is expectation, a rumor unleashed but unconfirmed.  It is girded in anticipation, its garments a hopeful, bright blue.  But it walks in the gray before the dawn, in the darkness prior to the sun’s arrival.  Urgent, with eager longing, Advent leans forward toward the promise that the Lord will come.  And then?  No longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female. 

On this day when I am weary with waiting, and my hope diminished, this promise nudges me to lean forward toward the living flame of Christ, far away as it may sometimes seem.  Not one side or the other.  One.  In Christ.  A chasm bridged by love that itself suffered the ultimate violence but Godly resurrection resumed.

In Advent we grope about in familiar darkness but, by God, we are clothed in a royal, hopeful blue.  Our words may fail us, our fears may stalk us, our hearts will grieve, but we wait, ever watching, for the light that lives and enlivens us, we who dwell in shadow and doubt.

Come, Lord Jesus.  Come.  Open our eyes to your light, open our hearts with your love, open our hands with your compassion, that especially amid the darkness of our days, we might find that we are all one in you.  Amen.

The Rev. Richard (Rick) Summy is Program Director of Love Revolution, a ministry of the Southeastern Pennsylvania Synod of the ELCA.