In the beginning, says John, and you can tell that he is thinking back to that old story of beginnings, the one in Genesis that begins, In the beginning…

And so as God spoke light into creation, and life, so God’s Word, which was as close a part of God as God’s mind and imagination, so the Word formed the vowels of the oceans and the consonants of land, the sibilants of the serpents and crawling things, the mooing of mammals. The Word thrilled with the trilling of the birds and insects. When God created the human in God’s image, then they developed language, words from the Word, reaching back always in prayer to their Creator.

But sometimes words are insufficient. Sometimes we do not have the words, or we are afraid to speak the words, or we are tired of hearing in our own voice the words we would use to petition God, to praise God, to lament and to thank our Creator. So we turn to art, or music, or silence, or we turn away.

Is it possible that God could also exhaust the language of words? Time and again, so many words spoken through the prophets, through the scriptures, through the reading of the law and its promises, even through direct conversation with Adam, with Eve, even with Cain; God has spoken words of covenant, of mercy, of judgement, of love. And still, so often, too often, we would not listen. So we have a world full of war and hearts weary of hearing about it, of hearing the words.

There are other languages. Art, music, dance, silence – each has its place in the panoply of human expression. And presence, too. Being with someone speaks volumes, even without words. Yesterday, this church was full to bursting with people who came mostly just to be with: to be with the people they love, to be with God.

So the Word became flesh. God showed up to be with the people God loves.

Once, long ago but not too far away, I sat in a church service on a Sunday morning feeling pretty bereft. When the time came to approach the altar for Communion, I didn’t want to leave my seat. I didn’t want to show my face. I certainly didn’t want to have to explain my tears. And a stranger came and sat beside me, and took my hand, and told me, “I’m going to stay here with you. Because you are my sister, and I’m not going anywhere without you.” And just like that, and without another word, she stayed. And because she did, I found my way back to the Sacrament of flesh and blood, God’s love made manifest in and for the world.

The language of being with is powerful. The Word may have begun by calling out light and spitting stars and tongue-twisting duck-billed platypi. But in the beginning, and the end, and in our times, our history, our generations, the Word became flesh, and lived among us, because sometimes showing up is the only way to show how much we love, how much we are beloved. And because God knows, that is what matters.

Sermon for the First Sunday after Christmas, 2023: John 1:1-18