Sermon on John 1:1-18

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 

There’s something about these words that is so simple that it’s hard to say anything more about them.

And there’s something about these words that is so mysterious that it’s hard to say anything more about them.

There’s something paradoxical about this passage. 

It’s simple and deep. 

It’s straightforward and mysterious.

These qualities are both true and yet seem opposite. And somehow more truth rests in the tension between the two truths.

Our faith is full of these paradoxes.

In the Christmas season alone:

Jesus is both all human and all divine.

Jesus is a helpless baby and the creator of the universe.

Jesus is enfleshed in a human body that will die and is also the eternal, powerful fulfillment of the Reign of God.

Where do you start when trying to tell all of these truths in Jesus’ story?

Our ancestors in faith have some ideas. The writers of our four Gospels each take a different approach in telling Jesus’ story:

The Gospel of Mark starts with Jesus’ baptism—when his earthly ministry begins in earnest.

The Gospel of Luke starts with John the Baptist’s and Jesus’ births.

The Gospel of Matthew starts with a genealogy stretching back to Abraham, which locates Jesus within the greater story of the Jewish people.

Then, there’s the Gospel of John, which goes back to the Beginning.

“In the beginning was the Word” sounds an awful lot like: 

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth,” which is the opening line of the book of Genesis.

That’s not a coincidence—the writer of the Gospel of John is making sure we know that Jesus’ story does not begin at his baptism, birth, or even with his ancestor Abraham.
Jesus’ story begins at the capital “B” Beginning.

That’s important, because that gets us to another paradox of our faith:

God is both the cosmic Creator who orchestrates the movement of the stars in an ever-expanding universe

And God is the tender nurturer of the tiniest sparrow.

And, as Jesus reminds us, we are worth many sparrows.

God is at once concerned with what is cosmic and what is particular—particular to the smallest detail of creation, and particular to humanity, and particular to each and every one of us.

When the Gospel of John describes God becoming human it says, “And the Word became flesh and lived among us.” The word “lived” has a sense of “set up a tent.” It’s reminiscent of the people of Israel wandering in the wilderness, bringing with them a tent or tabernacle for God’s dwelling place.

God lived with God’s people in the wilderness when they were definitely not at their best. From creating and worshiping idols to complaining repeatedly about the food, the water, or the lack of it, the Israelites were probably not pleasant to be around. 

And anyone who’s been camping knows that we’re generally not at our most pristine even in the most glam of campsites. And that’s after a weekend, not forty years.

And Jesus, who was there at the beginning,  without whom not one thing came into being,  and who will rule over the cosmos for eternity, 

Jesus came not at a time when there was a holy ruler or when Israel was in a position of power among the nations. Jesus didn’t even come to a rich or noble family.

Jesus came to a poor, unwed mother and a craftsman surrogate father in occupied territory in a dangerous time.

Jesus set up his tent with us when we—as humans—were definitely not at our best.

The Creator of the universe is also intent on and deeply invested in the particulars of our messy, confusing lives.

Jesus came to be with us because he cares, not just about the universe as a whole, but about you. You are God’s beloved. No matter how messy or confusing your life is, nothing will make God love you any less. Jesus wholly and deeply loves you forever.

This leads us to another paradox:

While God is powerful and eternal and boundless in ways we will never understand, let alone be, we—finite, fallible human beings—are still made in God’s image.

Though we fall short constantly, we are still like God.

We, like God, can love both the whole of creation and the particulars of it.

We, like God, can set up our tents wherever we are and love the particular, messy people we are surrounded by.

We can be grieved by big picture things: wars, natural disasters, climate change, human trafficking, racism, violence, poverty, and so many other terrible things.

And sometimes we can get overwhelmed by the magnitude of the world’s tragedies. Compassion fatigue is real.

That’s when it can be helpful to focus on the particular: the individuals around us. We, as individuals, may not be able to feed all the hungry people in the world—though there are things even we as individuals can do to ease world hunger—but we can certainly do something about our hungry neighbors—whether through our Caring Hands ministry or dropping a meal off for a sick neighbor.

We can love both the world and our neighbor.

A great example of someone who loved the world and his neighbor is Archbishop Desmond Tutu. I was terribly saddened to hear of his death last Sunday.

He was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his leadership in the movement against the racist and oppressive system of apartheid in his home of South Africa. His voice was critical in the reconciliation work that took place in the dismantling of apartheid. He advocated for LGBTQ rights and equality among all people for the rest of his life. Because of his love for all humanity and the individuals that make up humanity, he was able to help change things for the better in the name of our God who loves both the cosmic and the particular.

This week, I stumbled across a children’s book Archbishop Tutu had written called Let There Be Light, which tells the creation story. His foreword perfectly illustrates the way God loves the cosmic and the individual. This is what he wrote:

“You are part of something truly amazing.

Long, long ago, the world was a dark and dreary place.

But then God said four marvelous words:

‘Let there be light.’

This book is about what happened then.

As you’ll see, God got very busy creating wondrous things.

And eventually, God said, ‘Let there be you.’

God wanted you to shine your own special light of love, because without you the world would not be quite as bright and beautiful.

God bless you,

Desmond Tutu”

In telling the creation story, Archbishop Tutu locates us in the grand scheme of things and also reminds us that God created us, specifically, as individuals, and God loves each of us as much as God loves all of creation. And God loves each of our neighbors as much as God loves all of creation.

So, people of this paradoxical faith, made in God’s amazing image, “without you the world would not be quite as bright and beautiful,” so “shine your own special light of love.”