Monday night we read the story of the
Christ child, born of simple circumstance two thousand years ago . . . we saw
his humble beginnings, read about the manger and the wise men, the little babe
and Mary, pondering all in her heart . . . and who could have a more lowly
beginning? Who could be more menial at
his start? There was no room at the inn, or at least no room
could be made . . . if there was an earthly ruler, if there was an earthly prince or princess or even a
well-off wine merchant, room might have been made . . . like a movie star who
never has to wait in line, who can get reservations just by dropping her name,
there would have probably been room
at the inn for somebody willing to throw a little weight around, or at least a
little silver . . . but Joseph and his pregnant wife had neither social weight nor silver, so they were stuck out in
the barn, with the animals . . . and we picture them there – the cattle are
lowing, the poor babe awakes – in countless nativity scenes that you may – or
may not – be able to set up in a
court-house square, and there's nothing more homey, more down-to-earth, more familiar than our picture of Mary,
Joseph and the babe, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
But wait – there are hints of his
greatness, even at birth . . . angels announce his coming to his parents – that doesn't happen everyday – and
shepherds in the fields hear a heavenly choir singing "Glory to God in the
Highest" but still – Joseph is just a poor carpenter and Mary just a slip
of a girl, and shepherds . . . well,
shepherds are mighty low on the old totem pole, let me tell you . . . somewhere
below household slaves yet still
above, of course, Samaritans . . .
And all these details about his lowly
birth, all these tales of what Mary pondered in her heart, of wise-men
following yonder star, all of them come from just two of the four Gospels. They're
all from Matthew or Luke . . . they're the only two gospels that thought
details of his childhood important enough to include – even though they each
include different details . . . Put
another way, Luke and Matthew assume the story of Jesus begins with his birth .
. . for Mark, on the other hand, the story of Jesus begins when his ministry begins, on the Jordan River,
with his baptism by John the Baptizer, who's no relation to John the
Gospel-writer.
And that
John – the Gospel-writer, that is – that John
begins "in the beginning" and that should ring a few bells, because
those are the exact same words that Genesis begins with . . . "in the
beginning . . . the earth was formless and void." The Gospel
John says "in the beginning was the Word,"
and it's clear that he's evoking that first
in-the-beginning here . . . in fact, because Genesis begins before creation, John is saying that
this Word was – that it existed – before creation. And in fact, in the beginning this Word was with God and – at the same time, and
stunningly – the Word was somehow God.
And a whole bunch of theology
is packed into this one little verse, and we won't begin to unpack it all, but
let's start with the word "Word" . . . just what is in that Word, anyway?
Well, John was writing in the first
century, and the word Logos – which
is the Greek we translate as "Word" here – the word Logos was jam-packed with meaning . . .
it could mean simply a single word,
or an idea, an utterance, or it could
mean a reckoning, a settlement of accounts.
In Stoic philosophy it was the rational principle of the universe, by
which all the cosmos was ordered, but John was a Jew, and in Jewish thought it
was rich with significance . . . the word
of God spoke creation into existence . . . God's word ordered Jewish lives in
the form of the law, and through the prophets it spoke out in comfort or in
judgement . . . it is related to Lady Wisdom, who is called Sophia, said who in Proverbs works
alongside God, accomplishing God's plan for humanity . . . all of these
associations – creative force, rational principle, law, judgement, wisdom – all
are bound up in that one word Logos,
which we translate as "Word." And
when John uses it here, all these associations come along with it.
And John says that this Word, this
personification of all these ideas, all these characteristics of the God-head,
was there in the beginning, right alongside God, and at the same time were
somehow the essence of God, in some
fashion the Word was God. And all things came into being through the
Word, without him not one thing came into being . . . this Word—as it says in
Genesis—is a motive force for creation, when it is spoken it creates.
And what is
it that was created out of God’s-breath?
What is it that comes into being with the speaking of the Word? Why, it’s life itself. What
gets spoken into existence, breathed
into substance through the Word was nothing
less than life itself, all that we
hold dear . . . and this life was the
light of all people . . .
And now John's metaphor shifts to light,
light that illuminates the darkness, that makes all things clear . . . light
you can read by, love by, live by . .
. light that makes the rough places a plain and mountains and hills low . . .
in this light you can see things you couldn't see before, and you can see
things for what they really are . . . this
light illumines as well as illuminates, it makes clear what was formerly
obscured, and behold! The darkness did
not overcome it . . . the light shines
and the darkness did not overcome it.
And note the mixing of tenses, present as well as past . . . the light
shines and the darkness did not overcome it . . . it's all over but the
shouting. The light is still shining and
the darkness has failed, end of story.
John the Baptizer knew this, didn't he?
He knew of whom he was the forerunner . . . he was sent from God to be a
witness to this light, to see it spring up, so he could testify to the light, and the wording is specific here as well . .
. testify, as in a law-suit, or a criminal trial . . . testify, as in under oath . . . he himself was not the
light, he was not this pre-existent Word – and were there folks during
John-the-Gospel-writer's time who thought
that he was? Were there people who followed
John the Baptist as we follow the Christ?
John the gospel-writer is emphatic about that point, he wants to make
sure we get it– John the Baptizer was not the light, but the true light –
which enlightens everyone, Jew and
Gentile alike, Greek and Roman alike, male and female, slave and Ethiopian
eunuch alike – was coming into the
world.
Let's step back for a moment, and look at
it from a modern perspective . . . this last bit, about enlightening everyone, seems to me to be a bold
statement . . . "everyone" includes a bunch of people . . . even back then, in the first century. But in the twenty-first century? Oy vey
. . . Europeans and Africans and Asians . . . Buddhists and Marxists and
Atheists . . . and look at the tense of the verb "to enlighten" . . .
it's in the present tense, this light illuminates everyone, it shows everyone
the truth, or at least according to John . . . The light was in the world in the beginning illuminates all parts,
all peoples, all faiths and countries and continents.
Well, if it was there in the beginning, if
it was part of the creative force, why do so many refuse to see it? Why do so many reject it out of hand, this
light who lights up the world? He was in
the world, John says, and the world came into being through him, yet the world
did not know him, refused to accept
him, and John's community knew it was
true . . . they were stinging under rejection from the synagogues, from their
own Jewish brothers and sisters, and feeling increasingly isolated in the
world. John's gospel goes on to tell of
instance after instance when the prominent religious people of the day refused
to accept the Christ, and we all know that he is ridiculed, scoffed at,
rejected today, as well . . . and just like back then, many prominent religious
folk of the day refuse to accept him as well . . . they claim to be Christians
with their tongues, but refuse to live as if what he taught matters . . . they
idolatrously remake Christ in their own image, rejecting what he taught that is
inconvenient for them or their aims. Whole
countries do this, and individuals as well . . . even those of us who are
members of his body, even those of us
who are the chosen refuse to accept him at times . . .
And notice that this has nothing to do with
“salvation,” nothing to do with where we go when we die. For John the gospel writer, like most Jews,
accepting Christ affects how we live in the here and now . . . believing in Christ orders our lives, maybe in the hereafter, perhaps in the sweet by and by, but
certainly in this present existence.
And for those who do this, all who orient
their lives to Christ, all who believe in his name, he gives power to become children of God born not
of blood or the will of man or flesh, but of God . . . the power, the ability,
the capability to be the children of
God . . . born not by human means – by blood or will of the flesh or man – but
of God.
And this Word, this creative force, present
with God in the beginning of it all, before the beginning of time, this Word
who enlightens the whole world, no exceptions, became flesh and dwelt among us,
among us, his creations . . . and we
have certainly seen his glory, the glory as of a fathers only son, as of a
mother's only daughter, full of grace and truth . . . and the incarnation, the
coming of this Word to earth, to become one of us, that is what we celebrate
this Christmas season, that's what bells around the world ring out on this
first Sunday of the coming of Christ . . . that the Word who became flesh and
dwelt among us was born lying in a manger, cattle and sheep and shepherds and
wise men all around . . .
And all of the ecclesiological nuances, all
of the doctrine, all of the top-down, from-on-high theology that comes together
in our passage, all of it came together in
that cradle, in the little babe who nuzzled his mama's breast and cooed in
delight at trinkets brought by wise men . . . who pulled his daddy's beard and
grinned a toothless grin at ragamuffin shepherds . . . the Word was made flesh,
ordinary, run-of-the-mill flesh that
dwelt among us.
Hollywood producers – how's that for a segue? – Hollywood producers
are famous – or infamous – for asking writers to boil their scripts – the
products of months of work – down to a one-line idea. . . like "it's the
Graduate meets Godzilla, only the monster doesn't marry Dustin Hoffman" or
"it's the Wizard of Oz, only with a singing chipmunk as Dorothy and John
Wayne as the wicked witch." And if
I had to boil all the theology and imagery and poetry of this passage down to
one thing, if I had to pitch the
message of our passage to a Hollywood producer, I'd go back to the beginning .
. . and in that beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word
was God . . . the Word that was
spoken on that frosty Christmas night communicated to us, revealed to us . . . God. No person, no man woman or child had ever
before seen God . . . oh, Moses saw
God's backside, Elijah felt God on the wind, but nobody had ever beheld God
face-to-face. From that night two
thousand and twelve years ago on, that was no longer the case . . . anyone who
wants to know what God is like, all she has to do is look in that cradle. All she has to do is look at that life lived
in service of others. All she has to do
is look at that death so that all of us
might have life.
Later
on in John's Gospel, Jesus himself explains it to his disciples: "If you
know me," he says, "you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him."1 And it's the basis for all the Christian
endeavor, from those annoying "What would Jesus do?" bracelets to all
of the social service operations in Christ's name. If you want to know what God would have us
do, if you want to know what proclaiming the Gospel in thought, word and deed means, just look at the Word, just read the Word, just experience
the Word that was born in the City of David, who is Christ the Lord. Amen.
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