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.”

First Lutheran Church

Christmas Eve – December 24, 2021

Luke 2:1-20.  In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

Sermon

“A Down and Out Christmas”

Pastor Greg Ronning

Have you ever felt “down and out?”  Have you ever been “down and out?”  The origin of the idiom “down and out” comes from the world of boxing, the term first being used in 1889.  A boxer who is “down” has been knocked to the canvas, and one who is also “out” is unconscious or unable to resume the fight; Thus, a down-and-out boxer is someone who is “utterly defeated.”  Have you ever felt “utterly defeated?”  

“Down and out” has come to be used to describe someone who has lost everything, someone who is unlucky in life, someone who has suffered a great loss, - ultimately someone who has lost all hope.  Sometimes we feel down - but not out, sometimes we still have hope for the future.  But sometimes, honestly, we just feel, “down and out,” sometimes hope is displaced by doubt and despair.  And when you’re “down and out,” you often feel desperately alone.  In the words of the 1923 blues classic written by Jimmy Cox, “Nobody knows you when you’re down and out.”  

Have you ever been “down and out?”  Have you ever felt “down and out,” even on Christmas, maybe even especially on Christmas?

I wonder if Joseph and Mary felt a little “down and out” as they entered that “little town of Bethlehem” after a long day’s journey on that first Christmas Eve, as they searched for a place to stay, as they ended up in “some kind of stable,” because there was no room for them in the inn?  I imagine they felt every bit of, “down and out.”

“O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by;

yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.

The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”

Hear the good news this evening, into our deep and dreamless sleep, into the empty sounds of silent stars, down the dark streets that we must travel, down the dark streets on which we must live, despite our fears, despite the fears of the world that surround us, even if our hope is all but gone, even if we feel completely “down and out;” - God in Christ Jesus has come to be with us.  Hear the good news, the good news of “A Down and Out Christmas!”

During the season of Advent, we’ve been preparing for a “Down and Out Christmas.”  Our rousing Advent theme hymn, “Lord of Glory,” reminded us each week that God is coming to meet us, that God is overcoming every obstacle in the way, every road block between us, “Leaping the mountains, bounding the hills, see how our God has come to meet us!”  And our Advent Call to Worship, (tonight’s call to worship) reminded us that God comes “down” to meet us.  The direction of the Christmas Gospel is extremely important to note and to always remember; God comes “down” to meet us, God comes down with hope, with peace, with joy, with love, and with light, - “God comes down” with life, life abundant!  This is the good news of the Gospel.  We do not have to somehow ascend to the God, God in Christ Jesus comes down to meet us!

And it gets even better, God not only comes “down,” - God goes “out.”  The direction of Christmas is “down and out!”  Jesus is not born in a Palace in Rome, Jesus is not born in the Temple at Jerusalem, Jesus is not born on a holy mountain, Jesus is not born in a holy off-limits unattainable place, Jesus is not born somewhere above and beyond us; Jesus is born in a lowly stable in the somewhat forgotten little town of Bethlehem.  God comes “down” and then “out” to the edges, to the margins, to the places where the “down and out” live, in the very midst of the “down and out,” - Christ is born into the utter depths of this world.  God is born in an unassuming place where God can be held by us.  Yes, even us, you and me!  God in Christ Jesus, God in the vulnerable baby Jesus, God in human flesh; humbly yet powerfully meets us in the fragility of this world, in our fragility, in the everyday Bethlehem where we live, into “our” “mean estate,” “Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light. The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”

And Jesus will live out this “down and out” archetype of the Gospel.  He will grow up in Nazareth, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”  He will be baptized into his vocation in the wilderness of a “no man’s land” on the banks of the muddy Jordan River.  He will emerge from the desert wilderness preaching the good news of God’s love, the coming of God’s Kingdom, to the masses where they live and work, where they are born and where they die.  He will minister to the people of the beatitudes: the poor, the poor in spirit, the weak and the lowly, the broken, those who mourn, the meek, the hungry, the thirsty, those who hunger and thirst for justice, the captives, the oppressed, the alienated, the persecuted, the forgotten, those who long for mercy, those who long for peace.  Jesus will reach out to “sinners” and battle with “the holy.”  He will touch the untouchable, restore the outcasts, and begin to tear down the walls between enemies.  Jesus will welcome the “down and out” of every kind and situation into the Kingdom of God.  

The direction of Christmas is decidedly “down and out” and that’s good news for all of us, because we too are often found - “down and out.”  We too can find ourselves on the margins of our life, we too have known brokenness, we too have experienced emptiness, we too have felt unloved and unwanted, we too have become lost in this world.  At Christmas, in Christ Jesus, God comes down to meet us; to meet us in the places where we must live, the places where we experience pain, the places where we are all alone, the places where we need healing, the places where we long for hope, peace, joy and love.  Christmas comes “down and out,” even to the very broken edges of our lives.  This is the gift of God at Christmas, the gift of God’s love, the heart of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

So it is on Christmas Eve, we gather to tell the story of a “Down and Out Christmas,” the story we all long to hear, the story we need to hear over and over again.  We gather to celebrate the birth of Jesus, we give thanks for the incarnate presence of God flesh out in the very midst of our life, and we pray this Christmas prayer

“O holy child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray;

cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today.

We hear the Christmas angels the great glad tidings tell;

oh, come to us, abide with us, our Lord Immanuel!”

We boldly pray, “Be born in us today.”  What does it mean for Christ to be born in us?  What might we give birth to on this Christmas Eve?  What might that look like?  And what direction will it go?

If it is to be the Spirit of Christmas, if it is to be “Christ with in us,” if it is to “descend” “down” into us, and then “out” of us; It will surely be an adventure that takes us “down and out.”  To give birth to Christ, to continue to flesh out the love of God, is to take the good news “down and out” into the world that surrounds us.  Just as God came “down and out” to meet us, just as God overcomes every obstacle that is in the way, “leaping the mountains, bounding the hills,” we are called to continue to bring the good news down and out into our world.  We are called to employ our time, talents, and treasures to make “a difference” in this world - in the places where “a difference” is desperately needed.  The light of Christmas comes into our darkened world, in order that we might take that light into the darkened corners of the world around us.  “… descend to us, we pray; … be born in us today.

The direction of Christmas is important, it comes “down” and it goes “out!”  This is our salvation, and this is the salvation of the world.  The hope, peace, joy, love, and light has come to us.  May these things also be born in us this very night.  May you all have a “Merry Down and Out Christmas.”  Amen.

Sermon on Luke 3.7-18

December 12, 2021

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

It’s the third week of Advent, so we’re meditating on joy this week.

That seems like it should be pretty easy to do this time of year: decorations are up, cheerful music is being played everywhere, there are festive parties to go to and cheesy Christmas movies to watch on tv. It’s a heartwarming time of year.

And then, there’s John the Baptist, who comes in like a drunk relative on Thanksgiving who’s overly fond of truth-telling…in a loud voice. “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?”

John doesn’t seem particularly joyful.

But he is an important part of the season of Advent.

John points to Jesus. And that’s what this season is about.

John announces that the Messiah is coming. When people start wondering if John himself is the Messiah, he puts those rumors to rest right away: “No! I’m not the one you’re waiting for. Someone much more important is coming soon.” 

The Message version of the Bible has John describing Jesus as: “The main character in this drama, to whom I’m a mere stagehand.”

John is all about setting the stage for Jesus.

And the people who are listening to John want to know what to do in light of the knowledge of what’s coming.

They hear that something big is coming, and their response is an anxious need to do something. You can almost hear the fear in their voices: “What then should we do?”

John has some ideas:

• Whoever has two coats, give one to someone who’s shivering

• Whoever has more than enough to eat, give the excess to someone whose stomach is growling

John tells them to share what they have extra of with the people around them who don’t have their needs met.

And then, some people from specific professions ask what they should do.

Tax collectors were agents of the Roman Empire who collected taxes and also tended to collect a bit more off the top for themselves.

So, John tells the tax collectors to stop skimming off the top.

And John tells the soldiers in the crowd to stop bullying people and using intimidation to gain more wealth.

John has specific advice for people who have positions of power, like the tax collectors and soldiers: don’t use your power to take advantage of others.

But even amid these specific instructions, John’s primary purpose is to point to Jesus.

And John points us to Jesus, too.

It’s hard to read this passage with a closet full of clothes and plenty of food in the pantry and not get a guilty lump in one’s stomach.

And yes, John says to share your possessions and stop taking advantage of others. Those are good things to do.

But if we do them out of fear, we are missing something—something big.

John points to Jesus. Advent points to Christmas.

Christmas is about what God did and does.

If we try to follow John’s instructions and bear good fruit out of guilt and fear, we’re trying to earn God’s love, trying to make ourselves worthy of God by our own efforts.

That’s not how God works.

In a shameless plug for the book study I’ll be leading in January, I’d like to share a story from Tattoos on the Heart about how God does work. If you like this story, consider joining us in January—more info to come.

Father Gregory Boyle is the founder of Homeboy Industries in LA, the largest gang-intervention program in the world. He shares a story about talking to fifteen-year-old Rigo, who was about to have his first communion in a county detention center. Father Boyle asked Rigo about his father.

“Oh,” he says, “he’s a heroin addict and never really been in my life. Used to always beat [me]. Fact, he’s in prison right now. Barely ever lived with us.”

Then something kind of snaps in him—an image brings him to attention.

“I think I was in the fourth grade,” he begins. “I came home. Sent home in the middle of the day. Got into some pedo at school. Can’t remember what. When I got home, my jefito was there. He was hardly ever there. My dad says, ‘Why they send you home?’ And cuz my dad always beat me, I said, ‘If I tell you, promise you won’t hit me?’ He just said, ‘I’m your father. ‘Course I’m not gonna hit you.’ So I told him.”

Rigo is caught short in the telling. He begins to cry, and in moments he’s wailing and rocking back and forth. I put my arm around him. He is inconsolable. When he is able to speak and barely so, he says only, “He beat me with a pipe…with…a pipe.”

When Rigo composes himself, I ask, “And your mom?” He points some distance from where we are to a tiny woman standing by the gym’s entrance.

“That’s her over there.” He pauses for a beat, “There’s no one like her.” Again, some slide appears in his mind, and a thought occurs.”

“I’ve been locked up for more than a year and a half. She comes to see me every Sunday. You know how many buses she takes every Sunday—to see [me]?”

Then, quite unexpectedly he sobs with the same ferocity as before. Again, it takes him some time to reclaim breath and ability to speak. Then he does, gasping through his tears. “Seven buses. She takes…seven…buses. Imagine.”

How then, to imagine, the expansive heart of this God…who takes seven buses, just to arrive at us.”

Too often, we fall into the fear that if we show God who we really are, God will beat us with a pipe. We don’t realize that God isn’t out for vengeance. Instead, God loves us so much that God takes seven buses—even seventy times seven buses—just to arrive at us.

That is what John is pointing to: God loves us so much that God took on all of what it means to be human—seven buses worth—just to be with us.

That kind of love evokes a response. Awe, certainly. Humility, perhaps.

And joy.

Joy in serving others.

Joy in sharing what we have. 

Joy in using whatever positions of power we have, not to take advantage of others, but to seek their flourishing.

Cranky John the Baptist might not be so out of place on the Sunday of joy after all.

Because he points us to Jesus, who like Rigo’s mother, wants nothing more than to be with us and is willing to do anything to make that happen.

So, when you ask yourself, “What then should we do?” in response to that love, allow yourself to sit in it and be filled with wonder. And then, let the joy that is in you overflow in service to your neighbor, who is equally beloved by God.

Let your response to love always be joy.