Sermon on John 1.1-18

The Rev. Joseph Peters-Mathews

31 December 207

St. Joseph-St. John, Lakewood

Christmas 1, B

John 1.1-18

“Wrap our injured flesh around You
Breathe our air and walk our sod
Rob our sins and make us holy
Perfect Son of God

Perfect Son of God.”[1] Amen.

This passage from John’s Gospel

            is always here.

It’s always the text

            for the first Sunday after Christmas.

It’s beautiful.   

John establishes that Jesus the Christ

            existed before creation,

and yet as we say in the creed,

            through him all things were made.

 “All things came into being through him,

and without him not one thing came into being. 

What has come into being in him was life,

and the life was the light of all people.”

“He was in the world,

and the world came into being through him.”

John sets up his themes of light and dark,

            light that darkness can’t defeat.

“[John the Baptizer] came as a witness

to testify to the light…

The true light,

which enlightens everyone,

was coming into the world.”

I love this passage,

            but I’ve heard so many bad sermons on it.

I’ve heard so many bad sermons

            because John is so philosophical.

John’s prologue deals with

the Greek concept of λόγος

            translated as Word.

It’s an important concept,

            but it’s so easy

to get lost in the weeds

            discussing it in a sermon.

John’s prologue is beautiful,

            and it’s philosophical,

                        and it can be so abstract!

This week in Vancouver

            Brandon and I went to an exhibit

            called “Emptiness”

                        at the Vancouver Art Gallery.

It followed two artists —

            one Canadian, one Chinese —

                        as they moved

from traditional painting styles

                        to contemporary styles

in their own countries.

For the Canadian artist,

            Emily Carr

                        this was a move from romanticism and realism

                                    to more abstract, more spiritual —

                                                more conceptual.

After being exposed to abstractionism

            and the direction visual art in Canada was going,

                        Carr said, “I was not ready for abstraction

                                    I clung to earth and her dear shapes,

                                                her density, her herbage, her juice.

                                    I wanted her volume,

and I wanted to hear her throb.”

On the first Sunday after Christmas

            when John says,

                        “In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God,”

            I don’t want abstraction.

I want to cling to the earth and her dear shapes,

            her density, her herbage, her juice.

I want to cling to Jesus

            taking our injured flesh on himself,

                        breathing our air, walking our sod —

                                    robbing our sins and making us holy.

I want the God born as an infant

            to reflexively wrap his tiny, human, Godly hand

                        around my pinky

John gives me what I want  

when he says about Jesus,

                        “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.”

The Word became flesh

            and lived among us.

Y’all.

I’m going to say that again.

Again.

The Word became flesh

            and lived among us.

We don’t have to dive into the abstractions,

            into John’s philosophy

about the Word, the λόγος,

            to understand God becoming human

                                    and living with, like, and as one of us.

Christmas is wonderful,

            but we are tempted

                        to make it more sweet than revolutionary.

Some of our carols don’t help.

In the busy-ness of the season

            time spent with family, closing the year,

scrambling for bills, three services in two days

            we aren’t conditioned to think about

                                    Jesus the Word becoming flesh

                                                and living among us.

The Church celebrates this joyous event

            for twelve days.

As Chrysostom says,

            “For it was to Him no lowering

to put on what He Himself had made. 

Let that handiwork be forever glorified,

which became the cloak of its own Creator.

For as in the first creation of flesh,

man could not be made

before the clay had come into His hand,

so neither could this corruptible body be glorified,

until it had first become the garment of its Maker.”

In the Word becoming flesh and living among us,

            the flesh we have has bene elevated to be like God.

All of creation has been redeemed.

I opened with lyrics

from the modern Christmas hymn

            “Welcome to Our World”:

Wrap our injured flesh around You
Breathe our air and walk our sod
Rob our sins and make us holy
Perfect Son of God.

Another verse references

a tiny heart whose blood will save us,

            which I think belies the plea to

                        “Rob our sins and make us holy.”

It skips the birth,

            the taking on flesh and living — living — among us

                        to Jesus’ death saving us.

It misses celebrating the Incarnation,

            for which I render that lyrics

                        tiny heart whose beating saves us.

To miss the celebration of the Incarnation —

            from busy-ness, or philosophy, or rushing to the crucifixion

                        misses the tangible, messy, fleshy reality

                        of Jesus the Word becoming flesh

                                    and living among us.

In Christmastide I am not ready for abstraction.

            I cling to earth and her dear shapes,

                        her density, her herbage, her juice.

I want her volume,

and I want to hear her throb.

I want to hear, to feel, the throb

            of the tiny heart whose beating saves us.

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[1] “Welcome to Our World,” lyrics by Chris Rice.