John 1:10-18
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John testified to him and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’”)
From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.
We did something two days ago, on Friday, January 1st, that doesn’t usually happen at the Havel house. We started packing up and putting away Christmas. The nativity sets and the stockings, the Christmas candles, the Santa Claus tchotchkes, and the other holiday trinkets are all packed up, put away, stored again, in the garage, for another year. Bah humbug. I know.
We usually wait at least until Epiphany, January 6th, for all of that. But the next couple of weeks are going to be rough and busy at our place with my wife, Christa’s, surgery scheduled for Tuesday morning. So if we didn’t do it sooner, it wasn’t going to happen until much, much later.
And I’m always amazed – and a little bit judgmental I admit – about the speed with which so many in the world clean up Christmas and pack it away, so I felt a little guilty about getting in on that game this time around. It seems to be gone in a fraction of the time it took us to get ready for it – almost like we can’t wait to get it over with, or that we can’t wait to move on from it, or like we weren’t all that invested in it in the first place, or something.
And, when it’s all said and done; when the parties are over; when the Christmas trees are packed away or kicked to the curb; when the classes begin again and when whatever it is that makes the Holiday Season the Holiday Season has ended, it’s very easy for us to slip into a post-season funk – a sort of Holiday Hangover, if you will. Maybe you know that feeling.
And, unless you ascribe to the “hair of the dog theory,” the shape of things out there in the world so far in 2021 isn’t exactly a cure for this hangover. No matter how much we were ready to kick 2020 to the curb, it’s easy to see that not much has changed just because that New Year’s Eve ball dropped and we can say we’ve completed another trip around the sun. No, most of our struggles followed us inot January and the same dangers lurk and the same fears loom, as ever.
There is another new, but far too familiar worry about trouble in the Middle East again.
There is ever more political anxiety and animosity and uncertainty afoot, right here at home.
The Coronavirus pandemic didn’t disappear at midnight on Thursday – and could very well be getting worse.
In 30 minutes of watching the local news you will learn that Indianapolis set records for criminal homicides in 2020, that a 10-year-old girl is missing in Muncie, that another white woman has gone viral for publicly, falsely, shamefully accusing another young black man of stealing her phone. So the hits keep coming. Not much in the world seems to point to the fact that there is anything any more “merry” or “happy” or “new” about 2021, so far.
And, as usual, it’s not just about what’s going on “in the news” or “over there” or even on the other side of town somewhere. There is plenty going on in our own homes and in our own lives and in our own families that has already threatened to suck the “happy” right out of this three-day-old new year.
So, maybe we show up or log on for worship searching for some kind of answer, possibly expecting to hear a promise of hope in the face of it all – and we get this Pastor who seems bent on reminding us of the doom and gloom that surrounds us. And we get this passage from John’s Gospel that is anything but the silent night, holy night, feel-good storybook stuff of last week’s shepherds, stars, wise men, and miracles. Like, even John has packed up Christmas and is pushing us to move on from it all.
Because the first Chapter of John’s Gospel is a version of the Christmas story that’s very different from the one we’ve been hearing over the last couple of weeks. John tells a story about Jesus’ coming into the world and having always been a part of the world. (Okay...) John talks about Jesus showing up, but being rejected by those he came to love and redeem in the first place. (Talk about “bah humbug.”) John talks about the Word becoming flesh and living among us and about God’s only son being close to the father’s heart and making God known because of it. (Again, okay…) It can sound like a puzzle, if you’re hearing it for the first time.
It’s a mind boggling sort of thing, this version of Christmas. It’s the stuff of philosophy and theology I wonder and stew about even though, a lot of the time, it all seems beyond my grasp. And, with the angels and the shepherds and the baby in a manger all packed up and put away, John’s version of Christmas is nowhere near as warm and fuzzy and romantic as it felt a week and a half ago.
And I wonder if that’s John’s point. Maybe John told his version of Christmas without the romance and without the warm fuzzies because he knew that’s where people were living too much of the time. As we’ve already been reminded, our world is anything but warm and fuzzy.
Again, maybe that’s why John has cleaned up and packed away the stuff of Christmas – the angels, the shepherds, the magi, and more. Even as he leaves a light on for us, you might say, just the same – something more for us to chew on above and beyond the characters in the creche.
See, at our house, we didn’t pack away everything from our Christmas celebration, just yet. The tree is still up and decorated. The Advent wreath still sits on the table. And the lights still shine on the outside of the house.
Because I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna need some more time and some more reminders in the coming days and weeks, in particular, about why and for whom God showed up in Jesus. And John’s version of the story gives me something different to chew on – like a cure for my holiday hangover and encouragement for whatever’s on the way:
Like the good news and reminder that Word and Spirit of God (“logos” is the word John uses, that means the building blocks of creation, the nature of God was born in the flesh, so that we could see what that looked like. The stuff of mercy and love and forgiveness and hope were embodied in Jesus so that we might embody them, too.
The good news that in God’s ultimate act of humility and sacrifice – being burdened by a body, by suffering, by death, even – you and I are made brothers and sisters with Jesus and children, loved by the most high God.
And the good news that the fullness of that same God’s grace has been poured out for your sake – and for mine – even when it’s hard to buy it or believe it or put it into words.
I guess what I’m saying and feeling right about now is that my faith on this side of Christmas isn’t fueled so much by the shepherds and stars and silent nights of a week or so ago. My faith is in the Word that remains above and beyond all of that, in the promise of the deep, abiding, unending love to which all of that points. Maybe not a lot/enough changed with the turning of the New Year, but neither has the persistent, powerful, ever-present love of our God, about which John’s gospel speaks:
…the fullness of grace and truth that has lived and moved and breathed in the world, since the dawn of creation.
…the fullness of grace and truth that lived and moved and breathed in Jesus, too;
…and the fullness of grace and truth that lives and moves and breathes, still – even when the darkness threatens, precisely because the darkness still threatens, so that we will trust in and receive grace upon grace, when we need it most – no matter what the calendar says – and so we can be that kind of grace upon grace for each other, and for a world that needs it, still.
Amen. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.
