Flesh and Word

A Sermon Preached by

The Rev. Paul Debenport

January 3, 2010

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Today’s lectionary Gospel text is, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, one of my absolute favorites.  Hear again God’s good Word to us in the Word made flesh in Christ Jesus, from John 1:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was in the beginning with God.  All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.  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 did not overcome it.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. … From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.  The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.  No one has ever seen God.  It is God the only Son, who is close to the

Father’s heart, who has made God known.

The Word of the Lord.  Thanks be to God.

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For a month now, TV has been crowded with all the movies from Christmases past, from Charlie Brown to It’s a Wonderful Life, there’s been something for everyone. My favorite is A Christmas Story—a comedy about childhood in America in the late forties.  It took me back to my childhood then, and my futile quest for Bee Bee gun.  And yes, my mother actually said, “You’ll just put someone’s eye out.”  It’s a funny movie that really captured the times.

Including how brutal childhood—called “kiddom” in the movie—can be.  Bullies abound in “kiddom”—then and now.  Most of us remember being terrorized at least verbally by some bigger kid who seemed to thrive on demeaning us with embarrassing name calling.  And maybe you, too, remember choking back hot tears and screaming back at them:  “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”  A weak defense, to say the least, and a total lie, of course.  The truth then and now is that words can and do hurt.  Thoughtless words; slanderous words; mean words can cause deep and lasting wounds.  “Sticks and stones may break our bones, but words”…words can break our hearts.  And…Words can heal our broken hearts.  Loving words, caring words, encouraging words, forgiving words can and do redeem and heal almost anything.

Gospel writer John was a poet.  John knew about the power of words.  He knew, as contemporary writer Frederick Buechener put it, that “The words people speak have their life in them, just as surely as they have their breath in them.  John knew that the words people speak have dynamite in them…and that a word may be all it takes to set somebody’s heart on fire…or to break it in two.”[2]  Yes, John knew that Words are power.

But John also knew that in the Hebrew Scriptures, the Word of God accomplishes God’s purposes.  John knew that in Hebrew the term Dabar means both “word” and “deed.”  God’s words are not just as good as God’s deeds, they are God’s deeds.  To say something is to do something.  They are performative—they perform what they say.2.

And in some ways, this works the same for us.  When we say “I love you,” or, “I hate you,” or “I forgive you,” something very real happens, and we know, which is why we use these words so carefully.  We don’t know exactly what such words do, but we know they can never be undone.  Something very powerful deep in our hearts is irrevocably released, through speech.  Something deep and powerful is given substance, impact, consequences—through our words.

So when John so powerfully and poetically proclaims that “God’s Word became flesh” it means that when God wanted to say:  what God was all about; what true humanity is all about; and what life is all about, it wasn’t a sound that emerged, but a person, Jesus the Christ.  He was and is the Word of God.  He was and is dynamite.  He was and is power, Almighty God’s loving, healing, saving, grace indwelling power—God’s word, God’s deed, on earth as in heaven, now and forever.

This Word of God, incarnate, still becomes flesh, even our flesh and still dwells among, in, through and for even us, and for all who hurt and are in need of a healing word—God’s Word—of “a great joy for all the people.”

Really?  Yes, really!

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First true story:  Like in the movie A Christmas Story, but real, the kitchen door slams shut, and the child—you?, your child?—stands crying in the middle of the floor.  Hot tears roll down cold, red cheeks, and onto the freshly cleaned kitchen floor, where mud and melting snow are already making a mess.  “That big kid from down the street, that bully, pushed me off my sled and called me terrible names!” the child sobbed uncontrollably.  The parent—your parent? you?—ignores the dirty mess on the floor, kneels down and wraps loving arms around the child and says, “I love you!  God loves you!  You are beloved and wonderful!”

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.”

Second true story:  Some years ago, writer, theologian, and Presbyterian Elder Anne Lamott “took her two-year old son to Lake Tahoe where they stayed in a condominium by the lake.  That area around Reno is such a hotbed of gambling that all the rooms are equipped with those curtains and shades that block out every speck of light so you can stay up all night in the casinos and then sleep all morning.  One afternoon she put the baby to bed in his playpen in one of those rooms, in the pitch dark, and went to do some work.  A few minutes later she heard her baby knocking on the door from inside the room.  She got up, knowing he’d crawled out of his playpen.  She went to put him down again, but when she got to the door, she found he’d locked it.

He had somehow managed to push the little button on the doorknob.  He was calling to her, ‘Mommy, Mommy,’ and Anne was saying to him, ‘Jiggle the door knob, darling.’  O course he couldn’t even see the knob to know what she was talking about.  After a moment, it became clear to him that his mother could not open the door and panic set in.  He began sobbing.  So his mother ran around like crazy trying everything, trying to get the door to work, calling the rental agency where she left a message, calling the manager where she left another message, and running back to check her son every minute or so.  And there, in this dark, locked room was her terrified little child.

Finally, she did the only thing she could, which was to slide her fingers underneath the door, where there were a few centimeters of space.  She kept telling him over and over to bend down and find her fingers.  And somehow he did.  So they stayed like that for a really long time, connected, on the floor, him holding her fingers in the dark, and slowly feeling connected, feeling her love, feeling her presence and her care.”

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.”

Third true story:  The elder and I brought communion to her hospital bedside one Christmas eve.  Her family was gathered around for this most tender of times—the time of her dying.  Vacant, unresponsive eyes stared back at me as I said the ancient words she had heard so many times:  “This is my body broken for you.  This is the new covenant sealed in my blood, drink you all of it, in remembrance of me, for, Lo, I am with you always.”

“She doesn’t know any of us or what we’re doing,” I thought as the elder served the bread and the cup.  But she took it!  Was this instinct?  Reflex?  But then we knew, for as we all were holding hands—hers and ours—encircling her with love and prayerful words, her wispy voice joined ours with the word, the words:  “…for Thine is the kingdom and power and glory forever.  Amen.”  Our eyes flew open in surprised joy.  She knows, she knows she is safe in the care and love of God, through our love and care.

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth!

Amen.