Incarnation: Our High Calling

Christmas I; John 1:1-18; St. Paul’s Smithfield, NC; 12/27/15

Jim Melnyk: “Incarnation – Our High Calling”

The story is told of a Hasidic rabbi who disappeared every Sabbath Eve, ‘to commune with God in the forest’ – or so his congregation thought.

So one Sabbath night they deputed one of their cantors to follow the rabbi and observe the holy encounter.  Deeper and deeper into the woods the rabbi went until he came to the small cottage of an old Gentile woman, sick to death and crippled into a painful posture.

Once there, the rabbi cooked for her and carried her firewood and swept her floor.  Then when the chores were finished, he returned immediately to his little house next to the synagogue.

Back in the village, the people demanded of the one they’d sent to follow him, ‘Did our rabbi go up to heaven as we thought?’

‘Oh, no,’ the cantor answered after a thoughtful pause.  ‘Our rabbi went much higher than that.’” (Joan Chittister, There is a Season, Quoted in Synthesis)

Theologian and author Isabel Anders writes, “John’s Prologue is poetry, and, as such, should always leave us breathless, longing, believing – even as we are faced with the temptation to unbelief that continually nips at our souls” (Synthesis, December 31, 2006).  Whenever we even begin to try to understand, let alone talk about, the holy mystery that is “Incarnation,” poetry seems to be our only recourse as we realize that there is no human reality that can even come close to what the opening words of John’s gospel try to tell us: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God….  What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.  The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness [has] not overcome it…. And the Word became flesh and lived among us….” (John 1:1, 3b-5, 14a)

John’s opening lines speak of the Logos – the very first fruit of creation – begotten of the Father before all time began.  The poetic language addressing the Logos – the Word that is God – would have reminded ancient listeners of the words from Ben Sirach, who wrote about Sophia – Divine Wisdom – in the same poetic way, quoting her as saying: “I came forth from the mouth of the Most High, and covered the earth like a mist,” and who also likens Wisdom to Torah – given to God’s people and understood to be an agent of the Divine (Sirach 24:3, 22-23).  The author of the Wisdom of Solomon gets caught up in the same poetic imagery, calling Sophia “a breath and a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty” (Wisdom of Solomon 7:25).  And all these expressions of the ancient writers: from Sirach, Wisdom, and John, are meant to remind us of the opening lines from Genesis: “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the deep, while a wind – or the Spirit – from God swept over the face of the waters (Genesis 1:1-2). 

We seek to speak of the majesty and mystery that is God, and what best comes to our lips are words of poetry and awe. Once again this season we have heard the story unfold – from our deepest desires and heart-felt longing to know and understand the heart of Divinity, to swaddling cloth, straw-filled mangers, and heavenly choruses – and even those stories we recite are poetic – filled with images that challenge our minds.  We long to find ourselves fully within the presence of the Living God and we fear it at the same time – we hope for there to be something – someone – greater than ourselves – someone beyond us – and yet to even think of finding ourselves in the midst of such Presence is mind-boggling at best and downright terrifying if we’re being truthful. 

Yet, in the midst of humanity’s self-centered life, the Cosmos bends to the will of God, and reconciliation between the human heart and the heart of God takes on new meaning and new life – what we called Christmas Eve “this God burst into our lives.”  And in the midst of all the joy and wonder of this holy mystery – this bending of the Cosmos – this God burst into our lives – God seems to whisper in our ears: “Please get it right this time ‘round.  Please, for the sake of my love, for the sake of the world, please, please, get it right this time ‘round.”

Christmas has to be more than a story we rehearse once a year.  Like Dickens’ Scrooge or even Seuss’ Grinch, it has to be a story that finds a welcome home, striving for life within our human hearts with every breath we take – taking over our hearts and becoming a part of who we are as people created in the image of the Divine.  If not, the story makes no sense.  If we leave the babe lying in the manger and fail to embrace who and what that child becomes, then the day – the season – really is only about tinsel and toys, carols and presents, parties and over-stressed charge accounts.

           

If, as theologian Parker Palmer wrote, Christmas is about “God taking the risk of incarnation – and in fact, doubling down on that risk by choosing the flesh of a vulnerable infant rather than a warrior king” (paraphrased), then the Incarnation takes on incredible meaning for us as God’s people – then the Incarnation is about more than God in Christ Jesus – it’s the poet’s song about God in us – about God in you – about God in me - as the collect of the day says, the light of Christ enkindled in our hearts and shining forth in our lives!  The Incarnation becomes the story of God’s desire for each of us to join with Christ in becoming a light that shines in the darkness – about God’s desire for us to become the ongoing incarnation of Christ in the world around us.

The Eternal has taken upon itself the skin of the temporal – so that we might take upon ourselves the fullness of the Eternal.  God takes on human flesh – think about the wonder, the meaning of that – God takes on human flesh so that we might take upon ourselves – take within ourselves – the nature of God.  And that incredible truth, my friends, should both awaken our hearts and shake our knees! 

Once again, Anders writes, “The Prologue to John’s Gospel dares to put words to what cannot be visualized and must be accepted by faith.  Love existed at the heart of Deity, and this love graciously extended to the creation, [each of] us included, wrapping us up in a cosmic plan that we can only catch a glimpse of as we ponder the immensity of our salvation.” (Synthesis)

Our calling is indeed a high calling – much higher than the rabbi’s supposed Sabbath Eve visits to heaven, and more like his actual visits to the frail woman in her cottage deep in the woods.  We are the children of God – and so, we are called to be the ongoing presence of Christ – the twenty-first century incarnation of Christ for the world – today – this very minute in this very place and wherever we go once we leave through those red doors at the back of the church.  Amen.