On this, the second Sunday after Christmas Day, we are treated to another story of Christ’s birth. This birth story that begins the Gospel of John contains no references to the manger, nor shepherds, nor singing angels, nor magi searching for the baby Jesus.
Rather, this beginning is a cosmic birth story if you will. It is the story of how Christ, the Word, existed from the very beginning of time with God, partnered with God in all of creation, and came to earth, in flesh and in blood. What is more, John’s prologue tells us that you and I only know how to see God because of the birth of Christ into the world (John 1:18). This kind of Christmas story is vast, mystical, and mind-blowing, indeed.
When I try to imagine it, I find the eagle, a symbol for the writer of the Gospel of John, so very helpful. Picture an eagle, soaring high among the heavens, looking straight at the sun, and then almost like a thunderbolt, diving down to the ground. To me, this is a worthy image of Christ too, who from the beginning and now and forever, flies in these circles of creative relationship with God and who is also God, and who makes a sudden nose dive to come to us as child, just so that we could know grace and love God all the better.
Our reading today tells us that “… the Word became flesh and lived among us…” (John 1:14, NRSV). One of my favorite translations of this verse comes from Eugene Peterson, the author of the Message Bible, when he writes “the Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood…” (John 1:14, The Message). See, our God does not separate Godself from humanity, but in Christ, takes up residence and dwells wherever we may be.
I wonder if during this time of pandemic you feel you have room for another houseguest. I don’t know about you, but my house is feeling pretty full already.
Truth be told, all of this seemingly unending family time has a way of reminding me of my first tenuous days and months of motherhood. My husband Dave and I were older parents, but that doesn’t mean we knew what we were doing. In fact, we were petrified when the doctor told us we were cleared to bring our son Jacob home from the hospital. Where is the instruction packet, we wondered?
Once home, we got to know our baby better each day: when he wanted to eat; how he struggled to latch; how bouncing him on a yoga ball was the only thing that would put him back to sleep in the middle of the night, and that one MUST NOT stop. Jacob quickly learned that he was the light of my life, but also that I cried easily when sleep-deprived (which was often).
Oh yes, there were tears, spit-up stained shirts, dirty diapers overflowing in the trash can, and days and nights that seemed to go on forever. Still, there was joy and laughter in our little family house of three like never before. It was a holy time when Jacob came into our lives. The presence of Christ within us and through us and at the center of this happy, messy, sleep-deprived home was palpable. I confess we did not make it to church much in those early weeks, but everything we did seemed sacred. And Christ was in our home.
This is the wondrous truth underlying this mystical story of the Word in the Gospel of John. For somehow, in Christ, God knits together earth, ocean, sky, and all of creation with you and me in all of our utter humanness; in our joys and our sorrows; in our shining moments and in our foibles; in our Sunday best, and in our bathrobes sipping lukewarm coffee on the couch.
Because of the grace of Christ living in and among us, your home may be a sacred temple. Your glimpse of red cardinal in the bleak midwinter may be a burning bush.[1] Your daily walk to keep your sanity may be a wilderness wandering all of your own where you encounter God in unexpected ways. Hearing the babbling of a grandchild may be the song of an angel praising God.
When we glimpse this stunning unity of all things because of Christ, everything about our world is made new. We see that everything in the cosmos, from the highest of heavens to the minutiae of yet another endless day under the same roof is held together through the fullness of Christ’s grace upon grace. In the words of Father Richard Rohr, “it’s a Christ-soaked world”, a world where our body has spirit, and spirit has body. “In this world, everything is sacred; and the word ‘real’ takes on new meaning.”[2]
God becomes ‘real’ in our world, only through this lens of Christ who walked on the earth as a mortal at a given time and place, but who walks in and among us still. As our scripture says, “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” (John 1:18).
So this week I invite you, wherever you may be, to look for Christ taking up residence within your home and within you:
· Perhaps…in signs of new life or new creation;
· In how you love your life, or how you create or take care of your home;
· In how you care for your own health, and how you care for your family or friends, neighbors;
· In what you see when you look into the face of another, perhaps one who is different from you;
· In the beauty and diversity of the world around us; and
· In all the things,
· Christ is there.
Beloved children of God, as we turn the corner on 2020 and enter this new year, we do so facing our future together. Even as we wait and pray to be able to assemble in the sanctuary for worship, to hear scripture, to be reminded of our baptism, to receive Christ in the bread and the wine, and to experience again all of these gifts from God; we are no less united than we were ten months ago when the pandemic began.
For it is Christ who unites us. This Christ who existed from the very beginning of time; who was born and lived, flesh and blood, among us; and who lives still, binding us and all of creation together, with grace upon grace, even when we are masked and physically distanced.
Take heart, and take hope, dear ones. Christ has come. Emmanuel, God with Us, is here. And in all places. And in all things. And right where you are.
[1] Inspired by lyrics from Peter Mayer’s song, “Everything is Holy Now”.
[2] From Richard Rohr’s Daily Meditation, December 28, 2020, “The Politics of Prayer.” Accessed at: https://cac.org/category/daily-meditations/.