CHRISTMAS DAY     December 25, 2008

John 1:1-18     "CHRISTMAS DAY MEDITATION"

I had a joke book back when I was about six years old. I can't say that the jokes in it were the greatest jokes in the world, but I guess they must have been pretty good for a six year old, because they made such an impression on me that, even now, I can still remember a few of them. One that fits with today's text, that I thought (as a six year old) was pretty clever and funny is this riddle: What would you have if everyone in the country drove a red automobile? The answer is, you'd have a "red car-nation." Funny, huh?!

Well, it's not the "red car-nation" but the "in-car-nation" that's at the heart of this morning's gospel reading; the incarnation - that eleven letter theological term for the proposition that God has put on our human flesh and has lived among us in Jesus. These verses from the first chapter of John's gospel have sometimes been called "John's Christmas story," because they’re John's way of describing the birth of Jesus - not in a beautiful story form, obviously, like Luke tells it; but instead, the Christmas story told in the heavy language of theology; how the "Word of God" took on human flesh for the sake of having the world hear God's word, so to speak, "straight from the horse's mouth."

There's nothing like hearing directly from the source, is there? When someone has something to say to us, we usually like to hear it directly from them; not as second-hand information, not hearing it through the grapevine, but right from the source. And so, John says, this is just what God has done. Come to live among us, in human flesh and blood, so that we could hear the Word of God straight from the lips of God. It's not just the story of a baby born that we celebrate at Christmas; it's not simply the birth of a great man we commemorate; it's not the humble beginnings of one of a handful of wise teachers the world has seen. It's more than all that; it’s God in the flesh, born and lying there in a feed box. It's a pretty audacious proposal, really. And yet there it stands, at the center of Christmas and at the center of Christianity - that God stooped down, lowly and humble, just to make sure that we would hear the message; just to be sure that we would get it straight; just to get us to understand.

This, frankly, is where a lot of people and some other religions part company with us. The idea of God getting that close to humanity is just a little more than some people can bear to believe. It's too humiliating, they would say, for God to do a thing like that, to put on human flesh. But I suppose that's exactly part of the point - that there is no length to which God would not go to get the message across; that God is not ashamed to stoop down even to our level in order to be heard.

We say, when we're trying to get back together with somebody, that we'll go so far as to "meet them halfway" - and we say it as though we believe that halfway is really a long way for us to go. But God does us twice as good, coming all the way to the place where we're at, to meet us in a familiar form, a familiar face, a familiar place.

When you're going to talk with children, you know, it helps to get down to their height, to be able to look them in the eye. I guess that's what God discovered about us adults, too - that to talk to us and have us understand, God really needed to get down on our level, to be able to look us in the eye, to be able to take us by the hand. That's what the incarnation is all about - about God "getting down" so that we would get the message.

There's a tradition, I'm told, about the Church of the Nativity, which is the name of the church in Bethlehem which was built over the place where Jesus supposedly was born. The entrance to the inner chamber is just a small opening, so that to go inside a person has to bend over, stoop down, in order to fit through. Whether that was intentional or accidental by the builder, I don't know; but the traditional explanation for that is to say that it symbolizes the fact that in order to come into Jesus' presence, a person has humble herself or himself, has to come in bowing down, or on their knees. And I suppose that's a nice reminder that we do come into God's presence in humility; that even at Christmas we celebrate Jesus as one who is much more powerful, much more important, than we are. But the word "incarnation" reminds us that before we even had a chance to decide whether we wanted to stoop or stand, whether we wanted to kneel, or bow, or turn and walk away, God was already moving toward us; God was bowing down, stooping low to meet us in our weakness and in our need; stooping over to meet us in the most unexpected ways and in the most unexpected places - meeting us way more than half-way.

That's what this word "grace" that we're always talking about in the Lutheran Church really means - that God is always the one making the first move (and truth be told, usually the second move and probably also the third.) God doesn't sit around in heaven, waiting for us to discern what deep divine thoughts are being thunk up there; God doesn't stay in hiding, hoping that we'll be able to figure out what we’re supposed to do on our own. No, God plunges right into the middle of human life, without shame or embarrassment. God crashes this holiday gathering, and says "Here I am! And here’s what I’ve been thinking."

The last thing God is trying to do is to hide from us; the last thing God wants is for it to be hard for us to find or understand him. That's why this theology of the incarnation is so central and is so critical to our faith as Christians. We say that God came to us in Jesus, stooped down, looked humanity straight in the eye, and said, "This is what I mean: I love you - all of you - so love one another. I gave you life, so live it for me; and I promise you eternal life, so don't be afraid of dying. I know you guys screw up a lot, but just say you're sorry and move and. All is forgiven, really. Trust me. And by the way, spread the word - this is much too good to keep to yourselves." And then Jesus said, "And if it's still not quite clear, then look at this: I was born for you, and I'm willing even to die for you. That's how much you’re loved."

We're still an incarnational faith. Even though Jesus has physically come and gone, we say that God still finds ways to meet us "in the flesh." When the reader stands here on a Sunday morning and reads the Scripture lessons, it's not just a human voice we're hearing - it's the voice of God speaking to us again. When we feast on the bread and on the wine of Holy Communion, it's not just snack food we get - it's the very presence of Christ coming to live within us. When we gather here on a Sunday morning, or even on a Thursday, it's not just a bunch of people who happen to be sitting in the same room. This is the body of Christ - all of us, together. And when we say that, we're not just saying words or playing games. God is every bit as real and present in the Word and in the Sacraments and in the community of faith as God is present in the baby Jesus, lying in the manger, or in the Christ on the cross. God continues to take on flesh among us, so that we would know that God truly is among us - not distant, not distracted, not hiding and waiting to be found; not too holy for us, and not too ashamed of us. But right here in our midst; and for the very same reason that Jesus was born and lived and died: that we - that you - might have no doubt about the depth of God's love for you.

It's not just a birth or a birthday that we celebrate on Christmas, but an incarnation: God with us - in all the joys and sorrows of this human life, in all its frustrations and fears, in all its challenges, in all its messiness; God with us - here and wherever we go; today, and tomorrow, and forever.

Amen.