Someone else besides Mary who pondered on all that happened in and through Jesus was the writer of the Gospel of John. The Gospel was written near the end of the first century of the Christian Era, when those who believed in Jesus and followed him, had had time to reflect on what he meant for the salvation of all the world.
They latched on the idea of the Logos -- capital L -- or, in English, the Word -- capital W. The Logos was a Greek philosophical concept that roughly rendered refers to the blueprint or the intended design of all creation. It seemed a perfect way of expressing the meaning of Jesus, as one who through his life reveals in himself and sparks in us our inner knowledge of how life is meant to be.
From John 1:
In the beginning was the Word (the Logos), and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God … and what has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of – and in, all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.
… He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, born not of natural descent and bloodlines, nor of human plan, nor of personal willpower, but of God and of the presence and purpose of God in each and in all.
The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory – glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth… And from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.
Meditation
It's a new year. And this year what I’ve found myself wishing people is not a Happy New Year – that seems like a bit of stretch, but a hopeful new year – that seems more realistic, more within reach.
We’re still in lockdown and will be for at least a few more weeks. We all know why, and what that means. No need for me to repeat the daily news here.
The vaccine rollout has begun, though. There is light at the end of the tunnel that gives us hope.
But what about while we’re still in the tunnel? Is there any light – at least some kind of light, even in the tunnel, right where we are right now, to give us courage and strength?
But in the middle a string of maybe 100 or so lights is dark, not shining at all. No matter what I tried, I was unable to fix them. So we have tree bright at the top and the bottom, with the flow of light broken in the middle with a complete ring of darkness.
Which seems a pretty good image of how a lot of people feel this year – that somehow there’s a disconnect between above and below, between what we’re used to and what this year has given us, maybe even between what we believe and what we experience. There’s a gap. A missing or a broken connection.
But is it really missing, and is it really broken?
The Queen, in her Christmas speech this year, talked about the coming of light – and the persistence of light, in any darkness we face. “In the United Kingdom and around the world,” she said, “people have risen remarkably to the challenges of the year, and I am so proud and moved by this quiet, indomitable spirit. We continue to be inspired by the kindness of strangers and draw comfort that even on the darkest nights there is hope in the new dawn, [seen in] the millions in our society [who unknown and unheralded] have put the lives of others above their own, and will continue to do so.”
I think often of what Mr. Rogers says he learned as a child from his mom. Bewildered by news stories about hungry children, dying people, famines and floods and war and other disasters, he asked his mom where God is and what God is doing when things like this happen. To which she answered, “When you hear and see stories and events like that, look for the helpers.” For the helpers who are the connection between above and below, between belief and experience. The people who are the incarnation in their own time of the good news of Immanuel – God with us.
What did we read?
The light shines in the darkness, darkness did not overcome it … and this light is at the heart of all people.
He came to what was his own, and to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, born not of natural descent, nor of human decision, nor of mere willpower, but of God.
The Word became flesh and lived among us. We have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. And from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.
Jorg Zink, a German theologian who died just a few years ago, put it this way: “… Now this man from Nazareth comes to us and invites us to mirror God’s image, and shows us how. He says: you too can become light, as God is light. Because what is all around you is not hell, but rather a world waiting to be filled with hope and faith.”
Last year I was toying with the idea of a Lenten series about Mr. Rogers as a Christ figure – a beacon of light in our time. With the brutalization of politics and culture that we’ve suffered for some time now, and with the violent, divisive and disrespectful kind of discourse that’s become so common, Mr. Rogers had become a kind of culture-hero as a witness to a different and better way of being.
His simple question, “Won’t you be my neighbour?” summed up a whole way of life and a vision of the world that we were sorely in need of. And it was more than just a glib or pious sentiment because in his mouth we knew the question came from a man who deep in his heart had already committed himself to being a neighbour to whoever he met. So why not celebrate him as a witness to the light – the true light that shines in the darkness and is not overcome by it?
And it’s not just individuals and big-name people that we have to look up at who are that, and who play that role in our time. Communities of people are also part of the light. I think of the Fifty congregation – and so many other communities of faith around the corner and around the world, where people get to know and care for one another. Where people are welcomed in, and supported. Where we share what we have and forgive what we don’t have and what we do wrong. Where we also reach out to others, and bring light into whatever dark corners we can, in whatever way we can, regardless of our smallness, our weakness, and even our mistakes along the way.
And that’s the point.
The light of life is in all and in each of us, no matter how darkened or shadowed our life may seem, whether by our life choices, our character, or just by circumstances that come our way. Neither we nor our lives need to be all light and happy, for the Light to be here and real and in us.
I think of Japhia in the hospital the week before Christmas. At one point it seemed she might be there over Christmas. Not a happy thought. It seemed a very lonely, isolated and sad place to be at Christmas.
But as she came to know her room-mate a bit – a woman recovering from a fall and struggling with depression, and they began to exchange greetings and chat a bit at different times when they were alone together in the room, she began to see that it really would not be all that bad – in fact, might have its own wonder about it – if on Christmas Eve after the room was empty of visitors and nurses, they would be able to wish each other a good night sleep, and on Christmas morning in the quiet of their room and their shared loneliness, offer one another a simple “Merry Christmas.”
It doesn’t take much. And things do not have to be all happy and light, for the Light to be present and real.
The light – of and in all people – shines in the darkness, and the darkness not overcome it.
As the Queen says at the end of her speech this year, “May we let the light of Christmas, the spirit of selflessness, love and, above all, hope guide us in the times ahead.”
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