Sermon given 1/2/2011 at Millbrook United Methodist Church, Randolph, NJ.

Text: John 1:1-18.

"In the beginning..."

Merry Christmas! What a season it’s been, a time filled with wonder, busyness, and lots of food that we know we shouldn’t have eaten but can’t seem to refuse anyway. It is a season full of sublime moments, those memorable times when God seems to be a little bit closer. Like on Christmas Eve when we turned down the lights in the sanctuary and sang in a Silent Night while we passed a tiny flame from candle to candle. Like during the children’s time at the same service when Doris’ grandson held the baby Jesus from the Fisher Price nativity gently in his little hands, being careful not to drop him. We remember the hush, the gentleness, the magic of Christmas. It's so good, yet it feels so delicate, probably because at its heart is a baby, a brand new baby. Babies remind us of both the potential and fragility of new life.

Yet, for so many of us, the Christmas season can be a depressing letdown. The parties are over, the family has left, presents and cards have been opened, and perhaps many of you have already begun to take down your decorations. After all the hype, after running around for last minute gifts, after all of those special church services and events, we are left with an abrupt ending. Despite the several pounds gained from all that delectable food, many of us feel empty and hungry for more, and we ask ourselves: that’s all? What in the world could all of that mean?

Jack Shea, Catholic theologian and storyteller, answers that question with the following story about a little girl named Sharon: "She was five, sure of the facts, and recited them with slow solemnity, convinced every word was revelation. She said, "They were so poor they had only peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to eat and they went a long way from home without getting lost. The lady rode a donkey, the man walked, and the baby was inside the lady. They had to stay in a stable with an ox and an ass (hee-hee), but the Three Rich Men found them because a star lighted the roof. Shepherds came and you could pet the sheep but not feed them. Then the baby was borned. And do you know who he was?" Her quarter eyes inflated to silver dollars. "The baby was God." And she jumped in the air, whirled around, dove into the sofa and buried her head under the cushion, which, of course, is the only proper response to the Good News of the Incarnation."

Uncontainable joy! Jumping and spinning around in child-like wonder: what a most appropriate response to the news of God entering into humanity. God loved us so much that God’s love spilled out and overflowed in the person of Jesus; what a fitting response for ours to do the same. We discover that our worried wondering of what it all means is answered above and beyond what we could have dreamed.

Throughout Advent and the Christmas season, we have heard again and again the nativity stories, of Mary and Joseph journeying to Bethlehem, of Jesus’ birth in less-than-ideal conditions, of the shepherds hearing the news first, of the magi’s long, arduous journey under a supernatural star. The Matthew and Luke stories are familiar to us; no doubt many of us could recite parts of these stories verbatim. Today, we have John’s nativity story, and what a different story it is! All of the other Gospels begin with a traditional description of the birth of Jesus, but John chooses a very different approach. Here we do not find any of the familiar depictions of the Christmas story; no, John crafts his own way of answering our universal, nagging questions of - is that all? what does it all mean?

John adapts the message using this strange terminology, "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." The Greek term for "Word" is "logos," and that word was a very important idea in the circles of the Greek philosophers of the time. John knew that the Jewish idea of the Messiah would not have much of an appeal to his non-Jewish audience; perhaps they wouldn’t even know what the concept of messiah was. So John searched for symbols that would speak to his Greek-educated audience. John realized the message of Jesus had to be packaged into familiar cultural concepts; John thought outside the box.

John introduces us to the Light. The Light that penetrates all that has ever been dark, and is not overcome by the darkness. The Light that saves us, that shows us the way home, that brings us out of death into life. This news, these words from John, this proclamation that we hear today, is some of the best news ever: We are not alone. There is light. There is life. And his name, the Word, is Jesus.

You see, before now, God spoke to humanity from a distance, and people like Noah, Abraham, Moses, and Deborah served as mediators between God and God’s people. Humanity heard God's voice through distant, rather impersonal ways--like in burning bushes and on tablets with laws etched in them and in floods and on rainbows. During the time of the Israelites, only the priest could enter into God’s presence in the tabernacle, and only then after a long series of purification rituals. Even the ark of the covenant, the portable carrier of God’s abiding presence, required special attendants; touching it would prove fatal to the unprepared. Now, don’t get me wrong; this doesn’t mean it was all bad for God’s people. Flawed, imperfect human beings were still loved and led by God, despite their messed up condition. It's just that eventually it wasn't enough; humanity needed something more, because talking fiery bushes and rainbows weren’t enough. Eventually, God knew that we needed to know, see, hear, and touch; we blind and deaf creatures needed someone to heal us, to restore our senses. We flounder and we suffer, and the only way to be restored to our fellow human beings and to God was for God to come down and love us up close. We needed God to be one of us.

The Light, God in Jesus, has come into the world. And whoever you are, wherever you may be, this is the moment where you have been brought from death to life. This is the moment that your despair gets lost in overwhelming, awesome hope. This is the moment that you are no longer lost, but now you are found. This is the moment that God enters your story as the Light of the World. This is the moment where all darkness has been pierced by the Light that cannot be overcome. This light that has pierced through our darkness is what I like to call an “Oh!” moment, those instances when a deeper reality dawns upon us, or hits us like a ton of bricks, or shines like a spotlight right into our faces. This is the moment that our questions of “that’s all?” and “what could all of that mean?” might find their answers.

But friends, there is something else happening here. When Jesus “took on flesh and dwelt among us,” we discover that God has “come a-callin’,” and you can be certain that things are going to change. A light that exposes our darkness cannot but help to force us to reassess our situation. And when that light shines its revealing beam, we are inevitably presented with the option of choosing a different, better, holier way of thinking and living, even when the circumstance of our lives seems hopeless. The light that exudes from Jesus means we have a choice to make.

Of course, we can choose to behave as though we really have no new information, that the light hasn’t shone into the darkness of our lives; or that our lives are already all set, that God’s light really hasn’t exposed us for who we are. We can pretend we still have complete control, that there isn't much in this world we need to learn, that there isn't much we need to change. We can do that; in fact, that's what we usually do. But we must not fool ourselves. Deep down, we know it’s useless to try to do it all by ourselves. One of my favorite authors, someone I quote alot from, Anne Lamott, says that “If you want to make God laugh, tell God your plans.” We laugh, but we know she’s absolutely right.

For the brave and the honest among us, those of us who want a real answer to the “is that all” and “what does it all mean” questions, can, I think, find a word from God. Christmas is a profound reminder, that beneath the decorations and gifts and cookies, once the Christmas eve services are finished, that what we normally accomplish on our own is rather pathetic when we consider what God has done and what God continues to offer. God comes to us in Jesus, and overwhelms our darkness with such light that we will never be the same.

Martin Luther once compared us human beings to cows standing before a new gate. A cow cannot understand that a new doorway leads to fresh pasture. Instead, out of conditioning, it sees the new gate as the same old fence. Our culture and our egos condition us as well. We stand firm in well-established patterns that keep us blind to the new things Jesus opens to us. How sad it is that we stand in the same old tired place when right in front of our eyes is the entrance into a place of breathtaking possibility.

Jesus is the gate to green pasture, the door to a new place of incredible opportunity. The light that shines so brightly in Jesus not only shows inability to do anything on our own, it also illuminates our way, so that we know we are not alone. So, in this new year, be brave and walk through that new gate; be ready for all that God is going to do in and through you. May it be your beginning. Amen.

© Evan W. Dodge, 2011.