The Long Light of Christmas: When the Light Orients Us

(January 1 - The Holy Name of Jesus)

January 1 arrives carrying a strange mix of hope and pressure.

There is the quiet longing that maybe, just maybe, this could be the year things finally fall into place. And then there is the noise. The subtle (and not-so-subtle) insistence that we should already know who we’re becoming, what we’re fixing, where we’re headed. New year, new you. New plans. New goals. New resolve.

Even when we resist it, the tension lingers: Shouldn’t I be clearer by now? More motivated? More disciplined?

We cross the threshold into a new year with lists forming in our minds: some written down, others just hovering in the background. Resolutions. Intentions. Systems. Strategies. Reinvention. The unspoken assumption beneath all of it is this: who I am is not yet enough for where I want to go.

But on the eighth day of Jesus’ life, long before crowds, miracles, sermons, or signs, Scripture gives us a very different starting point.

“On the eighth day, when it was time to circumcise the child, he was named Jesus, the name the angel had given him before he was conceived.” (Luke 2:21)

No fanfare. No angelic choir this time. No shepherds. No magi. Just faithful obedience, a quiet act, and a name spoken over a child who had done nothing yet to “earn” it.

The Theology of Naming

In Scripture, naming is never incidental.

To name is not simply to label; it is to claim, bless, and locate someone within a story. Names carry meaning, calling, and belonging. From the beginning, God names—and invites humanity to name alongside Him—not as an act of control, but of relationship. Naming says: You are seen. You are known. You belong.

This is why Isaiah’s words land with such tenderness and authority:

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name; you are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1)

Before instruction comes identity. Before movement comes belonging.

Jesus is named before He heals, teaches, suffers, or saves. His identity is declared before His ministry ever begins. He does not spend His life trying to prove the name is deserved; He lives from it.

This is where the theology presses gently but firmly on us: If Jesus, God incarnate, was named and claimed before His public work began, how much more do we need to remember that our identity is not something we achieve but something we receive?

We are image-bearers not because of what we accomplish, but because of who God says we are because of who God created us to be.

Belonging Before Becoming

The blessing God speaks in Numbers echoes this same rhythm:

“The Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you;
the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.”

This is not a reward for effort. It is a posture of presence.

God’s face turns toward His people before they get it right. Before they move forward. Before they even know how. Blessing is not dangled as motivation; it is given as grounding.

And that matters as we stand at the edge of a new year.

Because so many of us are tired—not just physically, but spiritually. Tired of striving. Tired of self-improvement projects that quietly communicate that rest will come later, once we’ve done enough.

This moment in the Christmas story interrupts that narrative.

Before we choose where we are going, God reminds us of who we are.

I keep returning to the image of a lighthouse that I used during this Christmastide series.

Sailors do not follow the light to move faster.
They follow it so they don’t become lost.

A lighthouse doesn’t shout. It doesn’t chase. It doesn’t demand urgency. It simply stands: steady, constant, faithful, offering orientation when the waters feel disorienting.

This is the long light of Christmas.

The Incarnation does not rush us into resolution. It gives us direction without pressure. It reminds us that Emmanuel, God-with-us, is still God-for-us as the calendar turns tomorrow.

The light does not ask, How quickly can you get there?
It asks, Do you know where you are?

Entering the Year Named

As this new year begins, perhaps the invitation is not to reinvent yourself, but to remember yourself.

To remember that you are named.
That you are claimed.
That you are held.

Before goals. Before plans. Before effort. (Even before Words of the Year – which will be in my post tomorrow evening.)

You are not behind. You are not lost. You are not undefined.

You are already known.

Photo by Alex Moliski on Unsplash