For the week of the 1st Sunday after Christmas, pastors are welcome to utilize this homily for church members on hospice, adding and subtracting what they desire. A sermon hymn is added if the pastor wishes to sing to the dear saint.
Festival: 1st Sunday after Christmas
Text: Galatians 4:4-7
Sermon Hymn: LSB #594 God’s Own Child, I Gladly Say It
Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
St. Paul writes, “But when the fullness of the time had come, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the law” [v. 4]. These words remind us that God acts according to His own timing, not ours. There are seasons in life when time feels generous and full, and others when it feels heavy and thin. In hospice care, time often presses in on you, measured not by years or plans, but by days and hours. This can awaken fear, regret, or the sense that something has been left unfinished. The Law of God under which we live has a way of speaking at such moments, reminding us of duties unmet and standards we couldn’t keep. It exposes our limits and tells the truth about our mortality.
But Paul continues, and the sentence turns. God sent His Son not to add to that burden, but “to redeem those who were under the law, that we might receive the adoption as sons” [v. 5]. Christ stepped fully into your condition—born of a woman, subject to every demand placed upon you by God’s Law—so that He could lift those demands from your shoulders. He carried the weight of obedience where you could not. He bore the consequences of failure you could not escape. Redemption here isn’t an abstract idea; it is release. For you, [name], this means that the Law’s accusations no longer have the final word, for they’ve already been answered by Christ, whose final words on the cross were: “It is finished” [John 19:30].
St. Paul then says, “And because you are sons, God has sent forth the Spirit of His Son into your hearts, crying out, ‘Abba, Father!'” [v. 6]. Even now—even when your strength is gone and your prayers feel thin—the Holy Spirit prays within you. The cry “Abba” is not a formal address but the voice of a child who trusts they’ll be heard. You may not have the energy to form many words, but the Spirit doesn’t require them. He places that cry in your heart and carries it to the Father on your behalf. You’re not approaching God as a servant fearful of punishment, but as a child welcomed home.
“Therefore, you are no longer a slave but a son, and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ” [v. 7]. An heir doesn’t earn what’s promised; an heir receives it. Your inheritance isn’t in this fading world but in the Kingdom Christ has prepared—in the life of the world to come. Even as your earthly body weakens, what has been promised to you remains secure: the resurrection of the body in the new heavens and the new Earth. You belong to God not by effort, but by adoption through Baptism. The Son who was sent in the fullness of time now receives you in the fullness of His mercy.
So rest, [name]. You’re no longer a slave to fear, accusation, or death. You are a son/daughter of God, and therefore an heir with Christ [Romans 8:16-17]. The Father who sent His only-begotten Son for you has now sent His Spirit to hold you, which occurred in your Baptism. And when your final hour comes, you will not be cast out, but gathered in—welcomed not as a stranger, but as a beloved child, home at last.
May the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.
The Lutheran Column 