God Moves Into the Neighborhood
God Moves Into the Neighborhood
God Moves Into
the Neighborhood
a sermon by Rev. J. Christy Ramsey
Audio from worship at the 10:00 AM Worship Service December 28, 2025
at St Peter’s Episcopal Church, Carson City, Nevada
edited from a flawless transcription made by edigitaltranscriptions all errors are mine.
John 1:1-18
Sermons also available free on iTunes
When Bette Lynn and I moved, I don’t want anyone to think that we’re breaking up or anything, people go crazy when I talk like this. When Betty Lynn and I moved over to our house at Hanson Drive, across the street was a forlorn vacant sad house. We were 2600; they were 2601. But what a difference. It was vacant. There were some very stubborn tufts of grass among the dirt in the front yard. There were actual tumbleweeds on the porch. There was an eviction notice in Times New Roman font, so you know it’s official, on the door, telling everyone get out, no one belongs here. And of course it was dark all the time. Dark through the nights, dark at Halloween, dark at Christmas, dark for long, empty, vacant, sad. I saw it every time I left the house and every time I came back. And I saw it through our kitchen window. It was like centered, front and centered. And I confess that it did bother God. And I said, “God, could you do something about that? Could a nice family move in?” It’s so sad to see the house just falling apart, dark, abandoned. It’s not good for the neighborhood, either. And it’s certainly not good for my soul. Well, watch what you pray for. But boy, did they move in. Oh, my gosh. The landscaping. The new roof. The painted garage door. The lights for Halloween? Oh, my gosh, you were so scared to come home. And then Christmas, there were airplanes that go, oh, no, that wasn’t the airport, and they move on. So many lights. And they were so active. I can’t count the number of cars, four, five cars coming out, going in, going around. There was even – every weekend there’s a table saw in the driveway, he’s doing some project. You know, activity everywhere. And every weekend and holiday an RV the size of a Supreme Court Justice Land Cruiser shows up in front of the house, blocking everything. And I said, okay, God, you can dial it back a bit. And they would call me at night about 11:00 o’clock, being good neighbors; you know? And they would say, “Hi, Christy. This is your neighbor across the street. Did you know your garage door was open?” I’d go, “No, I didn’t. Thank you very much.” It got so when it rang I picked it up, I said, “Is my garage door open?” They go, “Yes, you did it again.” Okay. Thank you. Eugene Peterson has a paraphrase with John 1. In the 14th verse, where it says in a reading that God came and dwelled among us, he says: “God moved into the neighborhood.” How different that is. God moved into our neighborhood. Because this, John 1, is the Christmas story in the Gospel of John. It talks about God coming to Earth. Now, in Matthew and Luke, we have shepherds and kings that come to see the Baby Jesus. Say come, come, let us go to Bethlehem and see this thing that we have been told. Let us go and follow the star and go see it is God. But in John we don’t go to God. God comes to us. And that is the message to take. We don’t go to God. God comes to us. It is the most epic, the most momentous, the most beautiful border crossing you’ve ever seen. The greatest wall hopped over. The wall between Heaven and Earth. Imagine, if you will, like Philippians, where the Philippians too, where the great Christ hymns talked about how God, Jesus did not count equality with God a thing to be taken to seize, to grab, to say that is mine, mine, mine, but instead throughout all the stuff of his heavenly home, all the privileges, all the power, all the glory, threw it all away and came, jumped the border wall, and came to be an immigrant among us. And not just an immigrant king. There are no kings. But a servant, a doulos in Greek, which is slave. An immigrant that gave up everything in their homeland, all their status, their friends, their money, their heritage, their language, and came to live among us to serve us, to get to know us, that came and stayed, even though he was rejected, even though he was thought a stranger, know that Jesus, he hangs out with those lepers. You know, they’re probably vaccined. He hangs out with loose women. They’re probably piggies. But Jesus hangs out with them. He gave them, gave it all up. He gave up his home country to come and to live, to move into our neighborhood, to be with us as a servant. And we treated him horribly. But still he was here to stay. That story of John is that God came, and God stayed. Not to conquer. Not to take over. Not to be at something sightseeing, oh, well, there’s no politics today. We can go to church. As long as there’s nothing important to talk about, we can go see Jesus, and then we can leave. And leave everything behind. No God came to live with us across the street. And that humongous Land Cruiser comes in, and there’s no missing that he’s here. God. With us. Emanuel. That pesky immigrant that tells us to live a different way. That challenges our assumptions. That is there wherever, when we go out of the house or come in the house, when we look out the window, God is there. He moved in. God is with us. Maybe now and then we get out away. We get a little call that said, “Christy?” “Yeah?” “You forgot to open your heart.” “Oh, sorry. I’ll get that done.” “Christy? Christy? You’re closed up. You’re not welcoming. You’re not loving.” “Well, thanks. Thanks for reminding me. I’m so glad you’re in the neighborhood. Who knows where I would be if that place was still vacant, and tumbleweeds were blowing through where care and concern shine out now.” A Presbyterian minister – I always like to drop that – Mr. Rogers says – have you noticed he says “Will you be my neighbor?” He doesn’t say will you be my friend, will you be my brother, will you be my sister, will you be my companion. He says “neighbor.” And a neighbor is not a friend. Friend is someone that you’re on the same journey with. You’ve got something in common. You’re moving toward a certain place, and sometimes, you know, it could be college, it could children, it could be church, whatever. And as long as you’re on that same journey, you’re with a friend, and you go do things together. But that’s a whole ‘nother sermon. We’re almost there. Let’s quit doing that. But neighbor is someone that’s with you. That’s near you. That’s come to be with you, to abide with you. And you may not like them. You may not have anything in common with them. But you’re going to get along with them because they’re your neighbor. At tech camp we have a lot of kids that come, and I tell them that they’re neighbors now this week. They may be friends, and that’s great. They may make a friend. Every now and then that happens. Sometimes they hang out together. That’s fine. But I said, you know, that’s not an expectation. Expectation you’re a neighbor. You’re a neighbor, and you put up with one another. You help one another. You watch out for one another. You certainly don’t hurt one another. And you are all in this together for each other’s success and to have a good tech camp. You’re neighbors. Someone needs something, you lend it to them. Someone needs help, you give it to them. Someone needs encouragement, you give it to them. Because we’re all in this room together. We’re neighbors. Won’t you be my neighbors. What would this radical hospitality, this neighborliness, this acceptance as Joan Osborne said of one of us, she goes, what if God was just one of us? What if God was just a slob like one of us? What if God was just someone on the bus? A neighbor that came to town with strange ways, and different ways. But we’re all in this together. We’re all going to get through this together. We’re all going to help each other. We’re all going to make sure we’re not going to run away. Christianity is not something you go and see. Christianity is not something you put in your back pocket and bring out when there’s nothing important going on. Oh, my gosh, that’s important. That’s politics. Shut up about religion. When did that start? Religion used to be important. Faith used to be important. People used to say things about how we should live as a people, as a country, treating one another. And people, oh, you, now you’re talking politics. No, I’m talking my faith, and don’t you dare put your politics above my faith. Don’t you dare tell me that because of this vote or that election, that I cannot follow my faith. My faith says that God came to the neighborhood. God immigrated here. And God lives among us. And I’m not kicking him out because he’s different. Because he teaches love and care and compassion instead of profit and self-interest. Don’t tell me that’s politics. That’s faith. That’s mine. It was given to me by Jesus Christ at tremendous cost. And I’m not throwing that away. God is one of us. God is here to stay. We’re not kicking God out. We’re not deporting God. God gave up everything to be here. God traveled the furthest of the furthest ways to immigrate to human kind land. And we struggle. But it’s too good if we welcome, we pick up that phone when they call and say, “You’re not really living up to what you’re supposed to be doing, Christy. You’ve really got to do better.” Thank you, neighbor. Thanks for watching out for me. And when other people come and say, those people aren’t your neighbors, those people aren’t one, how can we do that? How can we divide up when we are the benefit of the greatest leap over the border that has ever happened in the history of the universe of God becoming one of us? How can we say somebody is not good enough to be one of us? God has become one of us. What are we talking about when we talk about, oh, you’re different. Oh, you’re strange. Oh, you’re not here. Oh, you’re not supposed to be here. God’s not supposed to be here. Yet God came. God with us. Ramana Maharshi asks the question: “How do we treat others?” And he answers the question: “There are no others.” Amen.
Clip from To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (1995),
dir. Beeban Kidron. © Universal Pictures.
Share Article → 
