From God to us
Commentary
There will be a lot of present-opening these days. It has long been a part of the festive celebration of the season: giving and receiving gifts. We sometimes bemoan the commercialism and materialism that have become parasites on Christmas, and we are sometimes dismayed by the children who grow up thinking that the holiday is all about Santa and the toys he brings. But, at its core, the tradition of gift giving at Christmas is a lovely one with wholesome roots.
Some of us will use tags on our gifts, and those tags will indicate "from" whom and "to" whom the gift is given. Let's use the occasion of the season to put one of those tags on the gospel.
As children, we were excited by every gift we found under the tree that had our name in the "to" space. Perhaps, as we became older children and adolescents, we began to be discriminating about the names that appeared in the "from" space. Perhaps we had learned that some folks were more likely to give interesting or generous gifts than others. The uncle who bought the coolest toys was a better name to see on a gift than the grandmother who gave new underwear.
Conversion ought to be a little like Christmas. At the heart of the conversion experience is the childlike joy that comes with receiving a gift. In this case, it is that inexpressible joy of discovering that there is a gift that comes from none other than God, and that that gift is meant for me.
John Wesley had that realization one night on Aldersgate Street in London. He wrote in his journal later, "About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given me that he had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death." (John Wesley, Journal, May 24, 1738)
Perhaps we preachers will see some folks at this season of the year that we do not see often or have not seen before. Some of them are only marginally related to the church. Their Christmas season devotion is more sentimental than spiritual, more about nostalgia than salvation. We may heartily seize the opportunity to share with them this Christmas gift tag: that there is a gift from God, and he wants to give it to them.
Isaiah 52:7-10
You and I live in a world inundated with messages. We have messages waiting for us on our answering machines, our voice mails, our cell phones, and our beepers. The radio and television are replete with messages for us -- some for our information, many for our persuasion. We open the mailbox and find a variety of messages waiting for us. We open our e-mail and find still more, and while we are online checking our e-mail, we are interrupted with instant messages.
Within that modern context, it may be a challenge for us and for our people to paint the picture of Isaiah 52:7.
There on the horizon of our view, coming across the mountains, we see a lone messenger. (Our mountains today would be covered with messengers, shoulder-to-shoulder, running to and fro.) He is a lone messenger, running across the hillside, running toward us, and he has a message for us.
Perhaps there is an inversely proportional relationship between the number of messages and the importance of messages. In any case, messengers were comparatively rare in ancient Israel, and the news they brought was usually significant.
In a time of national, political, or military uncertainty, the sight of a messenger could be a foreboding one. Had our army been defeated in battle? Had a nearby town fallen to an advancing enemy? Was our king wounded on the battlefield? Killed?
By contrast, while the sight of a messenger could be a foreboding one, how beautiful the sight was if the messenger brought good news. Isaiah expresses it poetically: "How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger ... who brings good news." The stationery and envelope themselves are lovely to us when the letter carries a good report. The telephone rings like music when we've been waiting eagerly for its call. The doctor's face could pass for an angel's when he presents us with favorable test results.
The particularity of this messenger's proclamation -- "Your God reigns" -- is significant. It would not be enough to affirm simply that "God reigns." There were many different gods claimed by many different nations, and at a time when Jerusalem was the 98-pound weakling compared to dominant regional powers like Nineveh or Babylon, the reign of Zion's God might well have been called into question.
The image of the sentinels lifting up their voices is a compelling one. Most of our cities and towns have large sirens posted in strategic locations to alert the community of severe weather or military attack. If you've heard the sirens go off in your community, then you know the eerie sound and alarming feel.
The sentinels posted strategically on Jerusalem's walls were that ancient city's sirens and the people knew the sinking, frightening feeling of those sentinels calling out warnings. The sentinels saw some foreign army on the horizon, and they alerted the city to the imminent danger. In the generation of the Assyrian threat, and then in the years of the later-Babylonian domination, Jerusalem's citizens would have heard a lot of alarms going off. They knew the sound of the sentinels' sirens.
How refreshing, then, to hear this promise from God: "Your sentinels lift up their voices, together they sing for joy." When the sirens turn to singing, the people know that a new era is at hand, and the sentinels, who once sounded the alarm that an enemy was coming, now broadcast the news that "in plain sight they see the return of the Lord to Zion."
Refreshing, too, is the image of Jerusalem's ruins singing. Notice that it is not the same as a promise that the ruins will be either renewed or rebuilt. Rather, it is that poignant good news that recognizes the presence of the ruins. Yet the ruins are moved to singing.
That image may be very good news for some of the folks in our congregations. There's little doubt that some personal ruins are represented by the people in our pews -- a marriage or family in ruins, a job or reputation in ruins, a body or spirit in ruins, and so on. Ruins, by their nature, suggest an end: this thing is done and gone for good. But the news that God can bring singing out of ruins is a word of hope, and we might encourage our people to imagine their ruins singing.
This passage itemizes the work of God in a marvelous way: He "has comforted," "has redeemed," and "has bared his holy arm." The images range from great tenderness to great power. The scope of God's work is depicted in ever-widening circles, from "his people" to "Jerusalem" to "the eyes of all the nations" to "the ends of the earth." His salvation is both local and global, both personal and universal.
Finally, as preachers, we ought to give a little personal consideration to the messenger pictured in 52:7. He announces peace, brings good news, announces salvation, and says, "Your God reigns." Does that job description sound familiar to you? It hits close to home for me. It reminds me of the magnificent task to which I have been called. If we do not shrink from that high calling, I know that the hungry souls before whom we stand will sense how beautiful in the pulpit is the one who brings good news.
Hebrews 1:1-4 (5-12)
The epistle for this Sunday is divided into two sections. The first section (vv. 1-4) is specifically about Christ, who he is, and what he has done. The second section (vv. 5-12) is a kind of addendum: a proof of the statement in verse 4 by the use of several Old Testament texts.
That first section about Christ is broadly sweeping in its scope, beginning with the prophets and ending with Christ's exaltation in heaven.
The reference to the prophets is for the sake of comparison: that is, while God used to speak through the prophets, he has now spoken through his Son. The wording of the reference is significant, however, for the writer notes that God spoke "in many and various ways by the prophets." We need always to be reminded of the variety and versatility of God's communication with human beings. From his face-to-face meetings with Moses to his still, small voice with Ezekiel; from the stone tablets on Sinai to the handwriting on Belshazzar's wall; from Jonah's fish to Balaam's donkey; from the High Priest's urim to Gideon's fleece; from the prophets' poems and songs to their visions and symbolic acts -- God has spoken to his people in such a multitude of ways over time. That is noteworthy, for it reminds us, first, that he is eager and able to communicate with us; and, second, that we must not set our tuners to just one station, for he uses more than just one.
The writer of Hebrews is committed to explaining the uniqueness of Christ. It is a theme developed throughout the book, and it is the central issue in our passage. Christ is distinguished for his role in the future ("heir of all things"), his role in the present ("he sustains all things"), his role in the past ("through whom he also created the worlds"), and his relationship to God ("the exact imprint of God's very being"). Then, at length, the writer cites Old Testament passages to distinguish Christ from the angels.
While the writing in Hebrews reflects a distinctively Greek hermeneutic, and while the prevailing themes are quite different from those of the Johannine books in the New Testament, several themes are shared by this passage and the lection from John 1. First, Hebrews and John both affirm Christ's role in creation. Second, the Hebrews assertion that God "has spoken to us by a Son" blends marvelously with John's image of Jesus as the Word incarnate. Third, while John may have a somewhat higher Christology, he and the writer of Hebrews make several similar statements. John's "glory as of a father's only son" resonates with Hebrews' "reflection of God's glory." John's "the Word was with God, and the Word was God" resembles the Hebrews' affirmation that he is "the exact imprint of God's very being." John's "without him not one thing came into being" reflects a cosmic dependence upon Christ that strikes a chord with the Hebrews statement that "he sustains all things by his powerful word."
We are accustomed at this time of year to hearing about Jesus as a baby. Hebrews does not tell us about that. But, Hebrews does join the angels (Luke 1:31-33; 2:11), the symbolism of the Wise Men's gifts (Matthew 2:11), and Simeon (Luke 2:34-35) in expressing who that baby was and what that baby came to do.
John 1:1-14
The people in our pews are probably more accustomed to hearing the Christmas story from Matthew and from Luke. Those Gospel writers provide us with the familiar and cherished characters of the story -- Joseph and Mary, shepherds and angels, the Wise Men and their star. But, it is John's Gospel that gives us the real plot of the Christmas story. Not the mere details of the parents making a trip from Nazareth, or shepherds to a manger, or Wise Men to Bethlehem. Rather, John gives us the larger, deeper plot of the Christmas story: God coming to earth.
Luke is the Gospel writer who is famous for setting a context of place and time. Scholars credit him with being most particular about geography in the gospel and in Acts. He is the one who sets the stage for the gospel story in terms like "in the days of King Herod" (1:5), "while Quirinius was governor of Syria" (2:20), and "in the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius" (3:1). But, it is John who sets the larger context, and the larger context for Christmas is a doctrinal one. In statements that read more like poetry than theology, John expresses and affirms the deity of Christ, the preexistence of Christ, and the incarnation of Christ.
The opening passage of John's Gospel is crafted like the overture to a larger musical piece. Themes and motifs are established to be recalled and enlarged later -- life being found in him; Jesus as the light; light versus darkness; the role of those who testify and witness; Christ's relationship to the world; what becomes of those who believe in him; and being born of God. All of these are introduced in these first verses of the Fourth Gospel, and each is revisited later in the Gospel (as well as other parts of the Johannine corpus).
Beyond the New Testament books that came from John or his community, the author is also conscious of the larger tradition in which he writes. His very first statement echoes the first statement of the Old Testament scriptures. His use of light and darkness recalls the first order of business of creation. He affirms Christ's participation in that creation, perhaps reminiscent of the role assigned to personified wisdom in Proverbs 8:22-31.
While John does not rehearse the traditional plot of the Christmas event, his account does recall some familiar themes.
We remember Phillips Brooks' image of Bethlehem on that night: "In thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light." John would embrace that image, but apply it to the whole world. Like the unformed universe at the beginning of creation, the world was all "dark streets" until "the true light, which enlightens everyone" came into the world.
Likewise, John's report that "he was in the world ... yet the world did not know him" finds resonance in the familiar gospel accounts of Christmas. While the flea-bitten shepherds and the pagan stargazers came to see the baby, most of the world went on its way that night, oblivious to what was happening in Bethlehem. Indeed, even Bethlehem itself "did not know him," for he was relegated to a stall out back. The old spiritual captures the moment: "Sweet little Jesus Boy, they made you be born in a manger. Sweet little Holy Child, didn't know who You was."
Application
The title and theme suggested above -- "from God to us" -- has several possible layers that might be developed through this week's lections.
There is the image of a message. We saw the messenger imagery in the Isaiah passage, and we might modernize it in terms of a letter. Imagine the messenger -- the mail carrier -- bringing a special-delivery letter addressed to you. You immediately check the return address, and you discover that it is from God. You eagerly open it, and discover that there is good news inside. That is the first from-and-to. Like the people of Isaiah's day, there is good news of hope, of encouragement, and of salvation, that comes from God, and it comes to us.
Next, as a continuation of the message theme, there are the different ways that God has spoken to us. The writer of Hebrews notes that "long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets." We identified above a few of those many and various ways. Now, however, the letter says, "He has spoken to us by a Son." The message is made infinitely more personal now as it is delivered by God's own Son.
That brings us to the next from-and-to: namely, the spectacular truth of the incarnation. In that Bethlehem baby we see that God himself has gone from God to us. This is no longer just a gift; this is transformation. He came to us in the fullest, deepest sense, for he became one of us -- "became flesh and lived among us."
Finally, the imagery that John uses -- "the Word" -- calls to mind the earlier point that God speaks to us. But now that that Word became flesh, now that God himself has come to us, we find a perfect blending of the from-and-to truths: simply, that he himself is the good news and the gift that he gives to us.
An Alternative Application
Hebrews 1:1-12.
Name Dropping. We noted above that the writer of Hebrews seeks to explain the uniqueness of Christ, and we see some of that effort in our particular passage. Perhaps as we celebrate his birth, it would be appropriate for us also proclaim his uniqueness.
In our culture, we often hear Jesus' name mentioned alongside others. Perhaps he is listed among the other notables in world religions (such as Moses, Mohammed, Buddha, and so on). Perhaps he is mentioned along with other great teachers and philosophers of human history (such as Confucius, Aristotle, Plato, and so on). He may be named among the people whose lives are regarded as exemplary (like Gandhi and Mother Teresa) or with people who have been killed because of opposition to their cause (like Abraham Lincoln or Martin Luther King, Jr.).
At this time of year, we also hear Jesus' name mentioned in a very different category. Call them the stars of Christmas -- Jesus, Santa, Frosty, Scrooge, the Grinch, and Rudolph. These do not seem as noble and worthy as the earlier companions, but they may serve to prove a larger point: that is, no one is actually worthy of being mentioned in the same category as Jesus. Indeed, to put him in a category at all, Hebrews might say, is to diminish him, to misunderstand him. He is in a class by himself. He cannot, after all, be both categorized and unique.
As we celebrate his birth, we might take the opportunity to proclaim this neglected truth: Jesus is like no other. To lump Jesus in with others -- even with angels -- is heresy, for "the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs," and so to name him with others is to drop his name from where it alone belongs.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 98
This psalm gives us the proper theme for a Christmas day celebration: "Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth; break forth into joyous song and sing praises" (v. 4).
There comes a time in our observance of Advent when we move purposefully from waiting and anticipation to embrace the fulfillment. We listen with longing and hope as the story builds in intensity and expectation. We listen with desperate need, hungering for the satisfaction that will come with the arrival of God's promised solution. We let it build to a bursting point, to the place where we don't think we can wait another moment. And then we praise.
There comes a time when prose runs out. We hear the stories, and tell the stories, and recite the stories in liturgies. We do pageants with the stories and musicals with the stories, a myriad of dramatic readings. But there comes a point when the prose runs out. We reach the place where we have talked enough about the story. It's time to enter the story and as we do, we discover there are no words. We can only praise.
There comes a time when the visual symbols have done all they can do. The candles, the wreaths, the plastic stars, ceramic angels, and wooden mangers. They have carried us as far as they can. They have helped us, without a doubt they have helped us. But the time comes when the props are inadequate. We are challenged to embrace the full reality of what God has done. We need the real star, the real angel, and we must find our way to the real manger. When we can, and do, we praise.
There must come a time in our celebration of the birth of Jesus when we really get it. It's not enough that we acknowledge it, or give lip service to it, or teach our children about it, or sweat blood trying to keep it. We must really get it. The full import of God entering the world as one of us must seize us and hold us and change us, and when it does, we will praise.
There comes a time when the only proper thing to do is sing. This is a moment for poetry and melody. The watershed moment of the universe has come, and we must sing. There comes a time when from the heart and not from the head, from a real encounter and not just from hearsay, from the darkness of despair to the blazing light of hope, our only proper response is to sing "Joy to the world."
And that time has come.
Some of us will use tags on our gifts, and those tags will indicate "from" whom and "to" whom the gift is given. Let's use the occasion of the season to put one of those tags on the gospel.
As children, we were excited by every gift we found under the tree that had our name in the "to" space. Perhaps, as we became older children and adolescents, we began to be discriminating about the names that appeared in the "from" space. Perhaps we had learned that some folks were more likely to give interesting or generous gifts than others. The uncle who bought the coolest toys was a better name to see on a gift than the grandmother who gave new underwear.
Conversion ought to be a little like Christmas. At the heart of the conversion experience is the childlike joy that comes with receiving a gift. In this case, it is that inexpressible joy of discovering that there is a gift that comes from none other than God, and that that gift is meant for me.
John Wesley had that realization one night on Aldersgate Street in London. He wrote in his journal later, "About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given me that he had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death." (John Wesley, Journal, May 24, 1738)
Perhaps we preachers will see some folks at this season of the year that we do not see often or have not seen before. Some of them are only marginally related to the church. Their Christmas season devotion is more sentimental than spiritual, more about nostalgia than salvation. We may heartily seize the opportunity to share with them this Christmas gift tag: that there is a gift from God, and he wants to give it to them.
Isaiah 52:7-10
You and I live in a world inundated with messages. We have messages waiting for us on our answering machines, our voice mails, our cell phones, and our beepers. The radio and television are replete with messages for us -- some for our information, many for our persuasion. We open the mailbox and find a variety of messages waiting for us. We open our e-mail and find still more, and while we are online checking our e-mail, we are interrupted with instant messages.
Within that modern context, it may be a challenge for us and for our people to paint the picture of Isaiah 52:7.
There on the horizon of our view, coming across the mountains, we see a lone messenger. (Our mountains today would be covered with messengers, shoulder-to-shoulder, running to and fro.) He is a lone messenger, running across the hillside, running toward us, and he has a message for us.
Perhaps there is an inversely proportional relationship between the number of messages and the importance of messages. In any case, messengers were comparatively rare in ancient Israel, and the news they brought was usually significant.
In a time of national, political, or military uncertainty, the sight of a messenger could be a foreboding one. Had our army been defeated in battle? Had a nearby town fallen to an advancing enemy? Was our king wounded on the battlefield? Killed?
By contrast, while the sight of a messenger could be a foreboding one, how beautiful the sight was if the messenger brought good news. Isaiah expresses it poetically: "How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger ... who brings good news." The stationery and envelope themselves are lovely to us when the letter carries a good report. The telephone rings like music when we've been waiting eagerly for its call. The doctor's face could pass for an angel's when he presents us with favorable test results.
The particularity of this messenger's proclamation -- "Your God reigns" -- is significant. It would not be enough to affirm simply that "God reigns." There were many different gods claimed by many different nations, and at a time when Jerusalem was the 98-pound weakling compared to dominant regional powers like Nineveh or Babylon, the reign of Zion's God might well have been called into question.
The image of the sentinels lifting up their voices is a compelling one. Most of our cities and towns have large sirens posted in strategic locations to alert the community of severe weather or military attack. If you've heard the sirens go off in your community, then you know the eerie sound and alarming feel.
The sentinels posted strategically on Jerusalem's walls were that ancient city's sirens and the people knew the sinking, frightening feeling of those sentinels calling out warnings. The sentinels saw some foreign army on the horizon, and they alerted the city to the imminent danger. In the generation of the Assyrian threat, and then in the years of the later-Babylonian domination, Jerusalem's citizens would have heard a lot of alarms going off. They knew the sound of the sentinels' sirens.
How refreshing, then, to hear this promise from God: "Your sentinels lift up their voices, together they sing for joy." When the sirens turn to singing, the people know that a new era is at hand, and the sentinels, who once sounded the alarm that an enemy was coming, now broadcast the news that "in plain sight they see the return of the Lord to Zion."
Refreshing, too, is the image of Jerusalem's ruins singing. Notice that it is not the same as a promise that the ruins will be either renewed or rebuilt. Rather, it is that poignant good news that recognizes the presence of the ruins. Yet the ruins are moved to singing.
That image may be very good news for some of the folks in our congregations. There's little doubt that some personal ruins are represented by the people in our pews -- a marriage or family in ruins, a job or reputation in ruins, a body or spirit in ruins, and so on. Ruins, by their nature, suggest an end: this thing is done and gone for good. But the news that God can bring singing out of ruins is a word of hope, and we might encourage our people to imagine their ruins singing.
This passage itemizes the work of God in a marvelous way: He "has comforted," "has redeemed," and "has bared his holy arm." The images range from great tenderness to great power. The scope of God's work is depicted in ever-widening circles, from "his people" to "Jerusalem" to "the eyes of all the nations" to "the ends of the earth." His salvation is both local and global, both personal and universal.
Finally, as preachers, we ought to give a little personal consideration to the messenger pictured in 52:7. He announces peace, brings good news, announces salvation, and says, "Your God reigns." Does that job description sound familiar to you? It hits close to home for me. It reminds me of the magnificent task to which I have been called. If we do not shrink from that high calling, I know that the hungry souls before whom we stand will sense how beautiful in the pulpit is the one who brings good news.
Hebrews 1:1-4 (5-12)
The epistle for this Sunday is divided into two sections. The first section (vv. 1-4) is specifically about Christ, who he is, and what he has done. The second section (vv. 5-12) is a kind of addendum: a proof of the statement in verse 4 by the use of several Old Testament texts.
That first section about Christ is broadly sweeping in its scope, beginning with the prophets and ending with Christ's exaltation in heaven.
The reference to the prophets is for the sake of comparison: that is, while God used to speak through the prophets, he has now spoken through his Son. The wording of the reference is significant, however, for the writer notes that God spoke "in many and various ways by the prophets." We need always to be reminded of the variety and versatility of God's communication with human beings. From his face-to-face meetings with Moses to his still, small voice with Ezekiel; from the stone tablets on Sinai to the handwriting on Belshazzar's wall; from Jonah's fish to Balaam's donkey; from the High Priest's urim to Gideon's fleece; from the prophets' poems and songs to their visions and symbolic acts -- God has spoken to his people in such a multitude of ways over time. That is noteworthy, for it reminds us, first, that he is eager and able to communicate with us; and, second, that we must not set our tuners to just one station, for he uses more than just one.
The writer of Hebrews is committed to explaining the uniqueness of Christ. It is a theme developed throughout the book, and it is the central issue in our passage. Christ is distinguished for his role in the future ("heir of all things"), his role in the present ("he sustains all things"), his role in the past ("through whom he also created the worlds"), and his relationship to God ("the exact imprint of God's very being"). Then, at length, the writer cites Old Testament passages to distinguish Christ from the angels.
While the writing in Hebrews reflects a distinctively Greek hermeneutic, and while the prevailing themes are quite different from those of the Johannine books in the New Testament, several themes are shared by this passage and the lection from John 1. First, Hebrews and John both affirm Christ's role in creation. Second, the Hebrews assertion that God "has spoken to us by a Son" blends marvelously with John's image of Jesus as the Word incarnate. Third, while John may have a somewhat higher Christology, he and the writer of Hebrews make several similar statements. John's "glory as of a father's only son" resonates with Hebrews' "reflection of God's glory." John's "the Word was with God, and the Word was God" resembles the Hebrews' affirmation that he is "the exact imprint of God's very being." John's "without him not one thing came into being" reflects a cosmic dependence upon Christ that strikes a chord with the Hebrews statement that "he sustains all things by his powerful word."
We are accustomed at this time of year to hearing about Jesus as a baby. Hebrews does not tell us about that. But, Hebrews does join the angels (Luke 1:31-33; 2:11), the symbolism of the Wise Men's gifts (Matthew 2:11), and Simeon (Luke 2:34-35) in expressing who that baby was and what that baby came to do.
John 1:1-14
The people in our pews are probably more accustomed to hearing the Christmas story from Matthew and from Luke. Those Gospel writers provide us with the familiar and cherished characters of the story -- Joseph and Mary, shepherds and angels, the Wise Men and their star. But, it is John's Gospel that gives us the real plot of the Christmas story. Not the mere details of the parents making a trip from Nazareth, or shepherds to a manger, or Wise Men to Bethlehem. Rather, John gives us the larger, deeper plot of the Christmas story: God coming to earth.
Luke is the Gospel writer who is famous for setting a context of place and time. Scholars credit him with being most particular about geography in the gospel and in Acts. He is the one who sets the stage for the gospel story in terms like "in the days of King Herod" (1:5), "while Quirinius was governor of Syria" (2:20), and "in the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius" (3:1). But, it is John who sets the larger context, and the larger context for Christmas is a doctrinal one. In statements that read more like poetry than theology, John expresses and affirms the deity of Christ, the preexistence of Christ, and the incarnation of Christ.
The opening passage of John's Gospel is crafted like the overture to a larger musical piece. Themes and motifs are established to be recalled and enlarged later -- life being found in him; Jesus as the light; light versus darkness; the role of those who testify and witness; Christ's relationship to the world; what becomes of those who believe in him; and being born of God. All of these are introduced in these first verses of the Fourth Gospel, and each is revisited later in the Gospel (as well as other parts of the Johannine corpus).
Beyond the New Testament books that came from John or his community, the author is also conscious of the larger tradition in which he writes. His very first statement echoes the first statement of the Old Testament scriptures. His use of light and darkness recalls the first order of business of creation. He affirms Christ's participation in that creation, perhaps reminiscent of the role assigned to personified wisdom in Proverbs 8:22-31.
While John does not rehearse the traditional plot of the Christmas event, his account does recall some familiar themes.
We remember Phillips Brooks' image of Bethlehem on that night: "In thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light." John would embrace that image, but apply it to the whole world. Like the unformed universe at the beginning of creation, the world was all "dark streets" until "the true light, which enlightens everyone" came into the world.
Likewise, John's report that "he was in the world ... yet the world did not know him" finds resonance in the familiar gospel accounts of Christmas. While the flea-bitten shepherds and the pagan stargazers came to see the baby, most of the world went on its way that night, oblivious to what was happening in Bethlehem. Indeed, even Bethlehem itself "did not know him," for he was relegated to a stall out back. The old spiritual captures the moment: "Sweet little Jesus Boy, they made you be born in a manger. Sweet little Holy Child, didn't know who You was."
Application
The title and theme suggested above -- "from God to us" -- has several possible layers that might be developed through this week's lections.
There is the image of a message. We saw the messenger imagery in the Isaiah passage, and we might modernize it in terms of a letter. Imagine the messenger -- the mail carrier -- bringing a special-delivery letter addressed to you. You immediately check the return address, and you discover that it is from God. You eagerly open it, and discover that there is good news inside. That is the first from-and-to. Like the people of Isaiah's day, there is good news of hope, of encouragement, and of salvation, that comes from God, and it comes to us.
Next, as a continuation of the message theme, there are the different ways that God has spoken to us. The writer of Hebrews notes that "long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets." We identified above a few of those many and various ways. Now, however, the letter says, "He has spoken to us by a Son." The message is made infinitely more personal now as it is delivered by God's own Son.
That brings us to the next from-and-to: namely, the spectacular truth of the incarnation. In that Bethlehem baby we see that God himself has gone from God to us. This is no longer just a gift; this is transformation. He came to us in the fullest, deepest sense, for he became one of us -- "became flesh and lived among us."
Finally, the imagery that John uses -- "the Word" -- calls to mind the earlier point that God speaks to us. But now that that Word became flesh, now that God himself has come to us, we find a perfect blending of the from-and-to truths: simply, that he himself is the good news and the gift that he gives to us.
An Alternative Application
Hebrews 1:1-12.
Name Dropping. We noted above that the writer of Hebrews seeks to explain the uniqueness of Christ, and we see some of that effort in our particular passage. Perhaps as we celebrate his birth, it would be appropriate for us also proclaim his uniqueness.
In our culture, we often hear Jesus' name mentioned alongside others. Perhaps he is listed among the other notables in world religions (such as Moses, Mohammed, Buddha, and so on). Perhaps he is mentioned along with other great teachers and philosophers of human history (such as Confucius, Aristotle, Plato, and so on). He may be named among the people whose lives are regarded as exemplary (like Gandhi and Mother Teresa) or with people who have been killed because of opposition to their cause (like Abraham Lincoln or Martin Luther King, Jr.).
At this time of year, we also hear Jesus' name mentioned in a very different category. Call them the stars of Christmas -- Jesus, Santa, Frosty, Scrooge, the Grinch, and Rudolph. These do not seem as noble and worthy as the earlier companions, but they may serve to prove a larger point: that is, no one is actually worthy of being mentioned in the same category as Jesus. Indeed, to put him in a category at all, Hebrews might say, is to diminish him, to misunderstand him. He is in a class by himself. He cannot, after all, be both categorized and unique.
As we celebrate his birth, we might take the opportunity to proclaim this neglected truth: Jesus is like no other. To lump Jesus in with others -- even with angels -- is heresy, for "the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs," and so to name him with others is to drop his name from where it alone belongs.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 98
This psalm gives us the proper theme for a Christmas day celebration: "Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth; break forth into joyous song and sing praises" (v. 4).
There comes a time in our observance of Advent when we move purposefully from waiting and anticipation to embrace the fulfillment. We listen with longing and hope as the story builds in intensity and expectation. We listen with desperate need, hungering for the satisfaction that will come with the arrival of God's promised solution. We let it build to a bursting point, to the place where we don't think we can wait another moment. And then we praise.
There comes a time when prose runs out. We hear the stories, and tell the stories, and recite the stories in liturgies. We do pageants with the stories and musicals with the stories, a myriad of dramatic readings. But there comes a point when the prose runs out. We reach the place where we have talked enough about the story. It's time to enter the story and as we do, we discover there are no words. We can only praise.
There comes a time when the visual symbols have done all they can do. The candles, the wreaths, the plastic stars, ceramic angels, and wooden mangers. They have carried us as far as they can. They have helped us, without a doubt they have helped us. But the time comes when the props are inadequate. We are challenged to embrace the full reality of what God has done. We need the real star, the real angel, and we must find our way to the real manger. When we can, and do, we praise.
There must come a time in our celebration of the birth of Jesus when we really get it. It's not enough that we acknowledge it, or give lip service to it, or teach our children about it, or sweat blood trying to keep it. We must really get it. The full import of God entering the world as one of us must seize us and hold us and change us, and when it does, we will praise.
There comes a time when the only proper thing to do is sing. This is a moment for poetry and melody. The watershed moment of the universe has come, and we must sing. There comes a time when from the heart and not from the head, from a real encounter and not just from hearsay, from the darkness of despair to the blazing light of hope, our only proper response is to sing "Joy to the world."
And that time has come.
