Born on the Margins, Still Reigning

Born on the Margins, Still Reigning

Christmas Eve invites us to slow down.

Tonight, I am surrounded by family—and by friends who have long since become family. We are resting. We are laughing hard and often. We are telling stories we have told a hundred times before and finding joy in the familiarity of one another. There is warmth here. Safety. Belonging.

And in this pause, I reflect on 2025.

This year did not arrive gently. It tested our faith, our patience, and our sense of security. It reminded us—repeatedly—that sovereignty, independence, and dignity are not abstract ideas. They are lived realities that can be threatened, stripped away, or defended depending on who holds power and whose lives are valued.

And yet, Christmas Eve reminds me that none of this is new.

Because the baby whose birth we celebrate tomorrow was born into oppression.

Not into comfort.

Not into abundance.

Not into safety.

He was born on the margins—under occupation, into a world where power was centralized and cruelty was normalized. His parents were young, vulnerable, and navigating uncertainty. His first bed was borrowed. His community was surveilled. His existence was immediately seen as a threat.

That story feels deeply familiar.

It echoes in places like Congress Heights—where people build full lives without full access, where brilliance shows up before resources ever do, where families make a way out of no way every single day. Where people are expected to be resilient long before they are ever allowed to be secure.

A Year That Tested Us

As I look back over 2025, I see a community—and a city—carrying trauma in real time.

Month after month, we bore witness to violence, instability, and attacks on the very things that make life feel livable. Gun violence continued to rob families of loved ones. Economic pressure tightened its grip. Policy decisions landed hardest on those already living on the edge. Schools, small businesses, and households absorbed stress that never made headlines.

We watched rhetoric grow sharper and more dangerous. We felt democracy feel fragile. We endured a constant drumbeat of loss—sometimes public, sometimes painfully private.

And still, like the place where Christ was born, we persisted.

Because survival has always been part of our story.

Life Among the Marginalized

Jesus did not rise from the margins immediately.

He lived there.

He walked with people society dismissed. He touched those others avoided. He listened to those no one believed. He understood scarcity—not as a metaphor, but as a lived experience.

That, too, mirrors life in Congress Heights.

We know what it means to be underestimated. To be spoken about instead of listened to. To have our resilience praised while our needs go unmet. To be asked to endure rather than to thrive.

And yet, community holds us.

The Joy That Sustained Us

Because even in the midst of all that 2025 carried, there was joy.

There were babies born and elders celebrated. Businesses launched and land acquired. Graduations, promotions, and quiet wins that only those closest to us truly understand. There were gatherings that felt like lifelines. Sisterhood that showed up on time. Laughter that cut through the heaviness and reminded us that we are still here.

We made memories that trauma could not erase.

We chose each other—again and again.

Still Reigning—Despite What It Looks Like

And that is why Christmas still matters.

Because the baby born into oppression did not stay buried by it.

Because humble beginnings did not disqualify Him from purpose.

Because even when power tried to erase Him, He endured.

He lived.

He died—for each of us.

He was raised from the dead.

And He still reigns—despite what it looks like.

Not because the world suddenly became just.

But because truth outlasts brutality.

Because love survives systems built to crush it.

And so, when Congress Heights is still fighting for equity, investment, dignity, and recognition, we remember this: where you start does not determine whether you reign.

Sometimes, it prepares you to.

Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we celebrate. And in the days ahead, we rise—grounded in faith, held by community, and unwavering in the belief that light was born on the margins and still shines.

Merry Christmas Eve.