What Christmas preaching teaches about faith and humanity, says Rev. Richard Coles

Rev. Richard Coles, the broadcaster-turned-priest, says preaching to Christmas-only worshippers offers a stark reminder of how faith survives in a world marked by shortage and fear. Even in retirement—he stepped back from the pulpit three years ago—he still sees Christmas as a moment when a sermon must land, be timely, and avoid theatrical cleverness. On a recent stop at a butcher’s, he recalls asking, 'Sick of turkeys yet?' The reply laid bare not overindulgence but supply gaps: 'A few years ago we did 150 turkeys at Christmas,' he said. 'Do you know how many we’ve done this year? Forty-two!'

He notes that many people attend church only once a year, making the Christmas message both crucial and fragile. His own early Christmas sermon—delivered just before theological college while he was a pastoral assistant in a traditional town—started with the star of Bethlehem, and he mused that the star likely references the prophet Micah and the Numbers account, not a pure astronomical event. A stern congregant, a clergy widow, cried out 'Rubbish!' He adds that the balance between what the gospel says and what congregations need is delicate, and the temptation to harangue the newcomers is strong but misguided. 'Feed my sheep,' Jesus tells his disciples, 'don’t irritate them or scare them away or—worst of all—bore them.'

Coles says the Christmas task is as much about sustaining tradition as about breaking new ground. He describes himself as a custodian of tradition, noting how his own holiday menu has shifted—from turkey to rib of beef, goose, capon, or venison when possible. He confesses a touch of defensiveness about changing customs, but argues that, with experience, tradition earns greater value. Sermons, he says, can write themselves when the moment aligns with lived reality. He recounts a recent voyage aboard the Queen Mary 2, sailing from New York to Southampton, where a carol service around a grand Christmas tree became a quiet stage for news: reports of a shooting at Bondi Beach. The service moved naturally into lighting the Hanukkah candle, and the moment crystallized a simple hope: peace on earth, goodwill to all.

That omnipresent tension—between scriptural truth and the unfamiliar, and between church language and everyday life—also emerges in his own rituals. He recalls a Christmas Night at Midnight Mass when, after the service, the nativity scene in the churchyard had been altered: Jesus had been replaced by a plastic velociraptor. Yet even as novelty intrudes, worshippers return year after year to the cradle, drawn by the mystery of God incarnate. He describes Christmas as a hinge between joy and sorrow, a season that persists because its core promise remains compelling, even when the world offers little comfort.

Looking back on decades of Christmas preaching, Coles emphasizes brevity and clarity. He says that sermons should stay close to the reason for the season, mindful of how uncertain congregations’ familiarity with church tradition may be today. The best Christmas moments, he argues, often arise when faith meets real life—household stress, work pressure, and the simple human need for mercy. The aim is not to dazzle but to invite, to anchor hope in a shared story that has endured for two millennia.

In closing, Coles reiterates the core message he has learned: Christmas offers hope, faith and grace in a world that can feel divided and indifferent. He invites readers and worshippers to seek that sense of meaning in a season built on mystery—the belief that a baby’s birth can still illuminate a troubled world. If you come to Christmas worship, he says, you may find something enduring about faith, humanity and the possibility of grace.