Excerpt from last Sunday's sermon on Isaiah 9. Click here for the whole thing.

I’ve been trying to analyse why I get that slight feeling of anti-climax and disappointment despite all the good stuff and come to the conclusion that it is because I and Christians have turned Christmas into much much less than it actually is.

A baby in a manger, children’s activities and nativities, meals and festivities, cards and presents, carols and choirs are all nice, but they are a million miles away from the Christmas story in, for example, Isaiah 9. They are a sentimentalised version that is emotionally appealing but hardly life-changing.

If the birth of Jesus Christ as the Bible presents him is anything it ought to be life-changing. It ought to be world-changing. I want Christmas to change my life. I want it to shape my worldview. I want it to affect my deepest longings. I want it to speak to my heart aches and hurts. I want it to tell me about a God who loves me enough to come for me. And British Christmas basically fails.