The Bumpy Road
Revd Sophie Ferguson
Sunday 21 December 2025
Let me begin by talking about POTHOLES. Perhaps not the most festive subject, and perhaps not what you might be expecting in the final days of Advent, but nevertheless, relevant to today’s readings.
Many of us will have arrived here this morning having navigated several rather precarious potholes. They have become an unwelcome feature of daily life and a very popular topic of British conversation, alongside the weather.
The pothole problem has become such an issue on UK roads that it is now referred to as the pothole plague. Of course, in good humour, the general public have taken to creating amusing scenes around these sizeable breaks in the road filled with water: lifeguards standing by, toy boats swirling around, a fisherman with rod and chair — even the fun game of “puddle or pothole” has been born and potholes top trumps!
Potholes are often unexpected. They jar the journey, demand sudden adjustments, and in the worst cases can cause real damage.
Today, we arrive having been on a journey — a journey through Advent. And now, with only a few days remaining until Christmas, I wonder if your journey has been a smooth one?
There can be immense pressure coming from many directions to ensure one has a perfect Christmas: the perfect wreath on the door, the perfect tree, Christmas dinner, presents, family and extended family gathered around the table, all in good health. Like a well-surfaced road, easy to travel, leading ultimately to a glorious and perfect destination.
If you are local to Salisbury, it is small enough that you often meet people you know — in the shops, at the Charter Market, perhaps at the doctor’s or dentist’s. And often, in greeting one another, we say, How are you? or What are you doing for Christmas?
But the truth is that for many people, the answers to those questions are full of life’s difficulties.
As I walked into a shop to do my very own Christmas shopping in quite a gleeful mood as we had been singing joyful carols in a school service that morning and it had been a wonderful occasion, this particular shop had some huge banners on the windows saying (CLOSING DOWN), this particular lady shared that her staff will be made redundant just before Christmas, many of who are reliant on their 9-5 job to support their families, and in that difficult conversation with this particular lady, I was struck by the rather obvious but harsh realities for many people as they approach the winter months.
There may be illness, family tensions, mounting stress as the school term ends and the year draws to a close, bereavements — and the list goes on. For many, this time of year is a road marked by interruptions, jolts, and unexpected turns when you least expect or want them. And there is always a growing sense of yearning for peace and calm in the midst of it all.
Our fractured world and societies are yearning for calm too. This time last weekend, we heard of the devastation caused by acts of terror against our Jewish brothers and sisters in Australia. There are ongoing wars and violence fuelled by greed, threats to social security, global health challenges, concerns about our climate, migration, again, the list goes on. We long for a smooth road.
And yet here we are, in Advent, living in anticipation of the days to come. Where are we in the midst of it all, in the longing and the waiting? Can we see a light breaking through?
In Isaiah chapter 7, which we heard this morning, the prophet is speaking into a particular moment when the road ahead looked deeply unstable. Judah’s King Ahaz faced political crisis and military threat, yet Isaiah tells him not to fear the future.
Isaiah invites him to trust: “Ask the Lord your God for a sign.”
Ahaz refuses, saying he does not want to put the Lord to the test. But God gives a sign anyway — a promise that God will be present going forward:
“The young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.”
God-with-us.
The “young woman” in Isaiah’s prophecy, who would give birth to a child, signalled that the threat from Assyria would pass before the child grew up. This famous prophecy has long been a point of division: many Christians see it as a messianic prophecy pointing to Christ, while others understand it as referring to a child born in Isaiah’s own time, perhaps Isaiah’s or Ahaz’s child.
But this morning I want to suggest that more than ever, we need to be a Church that thinks on what unites us, rather than what separates us. In the words of the late Jewish Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, who often spoke of how different faiths might coexist, he said:
“For though my faith is not yours and your faith is not mine, if we are free to light our own flame, together we can banish some of the darkness of the world.”
Rather than claiming this prophecy from Isaiah as exclusively and emphatically belonging to the Christian faith this morning, I would rather echo Rabbi Sacks and say that this prophecy is a light that shines too brightly to be contained.
So what does this prophecy of Immanuel, God with us, illuminate within us today?
This prophecy is illuminated and retold to this day in countless nativity plays across the world, and it is picked up again in the Gospel reading from Saint Matthew that we heard this morning. Matthew tells us of the angel appearing to Joseph the Carpenter. Joseph hears those life-changing words: “Do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife… she will bear a son.” Matthew then draws a clear line back to Isaiah’s promise: “They shall name him Immanuel.” God-with-us.
Returning again to potholes, Joseph’s life hits a rather large metaphorical one. A sudden, shocking jolt in his life’s journey. He discovers that Mary is pregnant, and the child is not his. This is not a minor inconvenience; it is a complete upheaval. His plans collapse. Everything he knows, his life, his faith, his ethics is challenged by an angel in a dream, inviting him to play a key role in a much larger story.
Joseph is described as righteous, meaning he lives according to the law. His instinct is to minimise harm to dismiss Mary quietly, to avoid public disgrace. To withdraw carefully and respectfully from the place of risk.
And it is precisely there, in that moment of fear and disorientation, that God speaks and Joseph bravely does what the Lord asks of him.
What might God be speaking into our world today, in our yearning for peace amid disorientation and disruption?
What does Immanuel mean now for the poorest of the poor, for those facing unspeakable troubles, or for those of us who feel the weight of the darkness around us? Where are the bumps in the road for you, where you need to know that God’s presence is with you this Christmas?
Advent reminds us that there is always a longing for something more. We live in the now and the not yet. We will continue to experience jolts and unexpected bumps in the road. And yet we are invited to celebrate the Christ child, who came into our world as the Light in the Darkness.
The one we await did not arrive by the smoothest route. Christ was born into uncertainty, vulnerability, and social risk and continues to enter a world where roads are rough, lives are fragile, and faithfulness is rarely comfortable.
In these final days of Advent, the waiting becomes more focused. We are close now, not only to Christmas, but to the very heart of what this season is about: the presence of God among us.
The invitation is not to pretend the road is smooth, nor to place pressure on ourselves that the days ahead must be perfect, but simply be open to the invitation that is always before us. Like Joseph, to recognise the light of Christ that begins to shine and break through even the most impenetrable darkness. The world needs light more than ever and we are to reflect it.
The sign God gives us was not and is not a sign or promise that we will avoid life’s greatest potholes, but an everlasting promise that God’s presence is with us when those challenges come.
A child.
A name.
A promise.
Immanuel.
King of the Nations
Amen.