Scripture
John 1:1-14 (Today’s New International Version, )
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word was with God in the beginning. Through the Word all things were made; without the Word nothing was made that has been made. In God was life, and that life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light.
The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from our God, the creator, full of grace and truth.
Let us pray:
Sweet little Jesus Boy they made you be born in a manger.
Sweet little Holy Child—didn’t know who you was.
Didn’t know you’d come to save us Lord, to take our sins away.
Our eyes was blind we couldn’t see, we didn’t know who you was.
Long time ago—you was born, born in a manger low—
Sweet Little Jesus Boy.
The world treat you mean Lord, treat me mean too,
But that’s how things is down here: we don’t know who you is.
You done told us how—we is a tryin’
Master, you done show’d us how, even when you’s dyin’
Just seem like we can’t do right, look how we treated you.
But please sir, forgive us Lord, we didn’t know it was you.
Sweet little Jesus Boy, born long time ago..
Sweet little Holy Child, and we didn’t know who you was.
I first prayed this prayer and sang this song more than 40 years ago, but never did I understand its truth the way I do today. Even so, I’m left with the question “Why?” Why didn’t they know then, and, certainly, why don’t we know now? We had God sending messengers, appearing in dreams; choruses of angels springing from the heavens on the hillside, wise men arriving on the scene, and yet, John says, in our scripture for today: “the world did not recognize Him. He came to that which was His own, but His own did not receive Him.” It kinda makes you wonder—what would it have taken then, and what does it take now? For Christmas, this year, I asked myself, would I have understood, would I have known who Jesus was? Would I have been one of the shepherds kneeling in reverence, or would I have been one of those busy, bustling folk passing by right outside the stall, and missing the wonder of what was going on inside?
And so, this week, I have spent considerable time reflecting on that very question—would I have missed Christmas? Now, let’s be honest, I can’t really know what I would have done or even who I would have been had I lived at the time—I like to think of myself, at the very least, as the Innkeeper—not sure of what was going on, but at least kind enough, to make room for the miracle to unfold. For the openness to miracle is the beginning of Christmas and the beginning of knowing who Jesus is—for your life, and for the world. The innkeeper made a start—the rest was up to God. And is that how miracles happen, even today. Have you ever wondered what the innkeeper thought as these shepherds came and the star shone down? I realize that for some of you, I’m asking you to stretch the limits of reasonable, logical thinking, and you are right, I am doing just that. For miracle also means that we grant some “grace” in the telling of the story—that the miracle is in the event of the birth of the Christ-child, not in the details of the distance from the hills where the shepherds kept watch and whether or not they could have made it to Bethlehem as quickly as the Christmas carols portray. The miracle is in the changing of the hearts of those shepherds—and the very fact that they looked up to see the angels at all. The miracle is that on the busiest night in decades, the innkeeper managed to think of a way to give a young girl a place to give birth.
We want bigness—bright lights, flashing stars, and huge cathedrals. But that is not miracle. The miracle is in the smallest of things. Why, think of the innkeeper. The innkeeper was tired. He had checked in people all day. All he wanted was some rest, tomorrow would be another busy day. And then came a knock. A knock—he had no room—why not just ignore it, they would surely go away. But something stirred in him, something said get up and answer, even though you have nothing left—no rooms and, certainly, no patience. But something stirred and the miracle began.
And, so it is in our lives as well—something stirs and the miracle begins. Let me tell you a story. There was once a painfully shy little girl. She wore coke bottle glasses and she was skinny—making her look very much like a baby bird seeking for its mother or so she was told. She was never very popular, never won a beauty contest or any other contest for that matter. She was terrified of speaking in public and she had no particular social graces and was often ignored. Her biggest claim to fame was that she could read books at lightning speed and could sing a note or two—but not nearly as well as some of the other kids. At 16, she announced to anyone who bothered to listen, that she felt called by God to serve the church. Even her relatives, all of whom truly loved her, thought her a bit “touched” in the head. But God knew better. And God knew, that if that painfully shy, introverted, timid, little girl would listen to the stirrings in her heart that God could and would do the rest. That, my friends, is miracle—miracle that took place over the course of 40 plus years and is still going on this day.
Did the innkeeper ever know the breadth and depth of the miracle that happened in his stable that night? Probably not. He is one of the many characters who appear briefly in the stories in the New Testament and then disappear—never to be heard of again. We don’t know whether or not he followed the life of that baby—more than likely not. But I’d like to believe that he knew that it was important for him to open that door that night and that he felt good for taking that young girl and her husband in. I’d like to think that when he heard the baby cry, that he smiled, knowing he had done a good and grace-filled thing.
So, this week, I invite you to listen to the stirrings in your heart: to write them down perhaps. Share them with someone, share them with God. This year, when Jesus comes again as a baby, be present to the awe and wonder. This year, let us not be among the millions of folks who don’t know who Jesus is—let us be among those who listen to those stirrings of love and gratitude. And, so, it is likely that this week, at least one person, a clerk in a store, the person in front of you in the long check-out line, your neighbor—someone will more than likely ask you if you are ready for Christmas. We have spent the weeks of Advent becoming prepared for Christmas. We have spoken of hope and light—the same light that our Gospel lesson heralds. We talked about the faith and trust of Mary and the joy of the shepherds. We have worked on opening our hearts to the completeness of Christmas. Here is my truth then, this year, I hope that when the question is asked of you, that you will stop a moment, think of what we have spoken of along the way, and say, “why, yes, I am ready for Christmas. This year, I’m really ready, and I’m glad I’m ready!” You’ll probably astound them with your answer, we are so ready to hear “no”. Let’s make it a “yes” Christmas this year. Let us go joyfully into the week saying “yes”! Yes, we are ready, come, Lord, Jesus, come! Amen and amen.
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