Watch Somebody Love Somebody
December 24, 2021
Preached by Benjamin Vrbicek
Scripture Reading
John 1:14
14 And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.
It’s possible for pastors to fall out of love with Christmas and Easter—maybe not so much the message of Christmas and Easter, although that happens too. I mean it’s possible for pastors to fall out of love with the events of the high and holy holidays.
For some pastors, it happens because we miss out on time with family and find it difficult to travel. I get that. For other pastors, it’s the pressure to perform, to say something new to the most diverse audiences you’ll have each year. At Christmas and Easter many show up who feel themselves to be insiders to the church and have heard it all dozens of times. And many who show up are more outsiders to church. Maybe you feel like an outsider. We’re glad you’re here. I know it can be so daunting to walk into a church you’ve never been to before.
You don’t have to feel sorry for me for being a pastor at Christmas. It’s a good job, this being a pastor, this caring for souls. In my mind, Christmas and Easter are the high holy days, the Super Bowl and Indy 500. I don’t have to try too hard to be pumped about Christmas Eve.
But this year, rather than trying to navigate all the pressure to say just the right thing to the outsiders and something new and fresh to all the insiders, I thought I’d just briefly tell you what I love about Jesus in the Christmas story and use one verse to do so.
For the last few weeks at church we’ve been teaching through what is often called the prologue to the Gospel of John. It begins on page 833 of those Bibles sitting in the pews. The prologue is the first 18 verses of the book, verses that do not necessarily resolve everything they bring up, but they set the stage for the rest of the book, the story of Jesus—his origins, his birth, his life, his miracles, his message, his followers, his detractors, his crucifixion, and his resurrection. And the prologue sets all that up. We saved v. 14 for Christmas Eve. It goes like this:
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14)
For just a few minutes, let me tell you the four phrases from this passage that I love: (1) the Word became flesh, (2) dwelt among us, (3) seen his glory, and (4) full of grace and truth.
the Word became flesh
John begins his gospel story stating, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. . . . All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made” (vv. 1, 3).
The point is that the Word—later identified as Jesus—is also God himself and the co-creator of everything. If that’s true—if the Word is God himself and all powerful and all present and without beginning and end and says let there be light and there is light, and so on . . . if that’s true—then I would have never expected just a few verses later for John to write that “the Word became flesh.” That wouldn’t happen. How could the divine add humanity to himself? How could the all-powerful become weak and thus able to relate to us? I love this about Jesus.
dwelt among us
Consider the next phrase: dwelt among us. It would have been one thing if God became flesh but decided to “castle among us,” that is, live in a castle walled behind a moat and armed guards. But the Word dwelt among us, John says. Jesus chose to pitch a tent among us. That’s a literal rendering of the Greek. To say the Word tabernacled among us might be an even more literal rendering. The tabernacle was the special tent where God came down among Israel to manifest his presence.
The thing about tents, as many of you know, is that they are fragile. They rip easily. When you’re hiking in the woods, or when you order a tent on Amazon, the tent can be dropped and the poles can snap. Tents get dirty. If you don’t take care of them, they grow mold. If you camp in the woods and hear a bear snorting outside your tent, you probably do not think to yourself, I’m good. I’m in a tent. This thin layer of nylon will protect me.
When the Word became flesh, he drew near. He drew among us. He became vulnerable. I’ll put it this way, if Jesus had come to earth in 2020 or 2021, he would have caught COVID. Everyone basically has; for some it was worse than others, but the Word would have gotten toothaches and indigestion. I love that the Word would pitch his fragile, fleshly tent among us.
seen his glory
And I love that we, as John writes next, “have seen his glory.” There are so many places John uses the word glory in his gospel. Some people who have spent years studying the gospel of John think the word glory here in v. 14 means the glory of every moment of all the miracles and all the words that Jesus spoke and the life he lived and the death he died. That’s certainly true. John is saying we’ve seen all the glory of all that he did.
But what I love is the particular focus in John’s gospel on the glory of his death (e.g., 12:16–26, esp. 16). Let me give you a “for instance.” Consider the prayer Jesus prays right before his arrest. We hear Jesus say, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son that the Son may glorify you” (17:1). What is the hour that has come that will bring glory? The hour of his crucifixion. This focus on linking sacrifice and death feels amazingly unexpected. All the glory of our world is the glory of winning and conquering and overcoming through power. But here we see that God views the path to glory as one that goes down to death for others before it comes up. Don’t you love that about Jesus?
full of grace and truth
Finally, we read John say that the Word was full of grace and truth. I love that image of fullness. Some of you might enjoy so much Christmas dinner and so many cookies and so much eggnog and so much of whatever is your favorite holiday food that you feel as full as you can get. To just poke you, you’d go, “Oh, don’t do that. I’m so full.” This passage says that Jesus is full of grace and truth. He’s like a cup that’s been so filled to the very top with steadfast love and faithfulness that to merely bump into him, he overflows with love and faithfulness. Don’t you love this about Jesus?
The Word became flesh. The Word pitched his tent among us. The Word showed us the glory of living and dying and rising for others. And finally, the Word was full of grace and truth. What do you think about this Jesus?
watch somebody love Somebody
I’ve always loved the “Author’s Note” at the beginning of the book Blue Like Jazz. The book probably isn’t the book I’d pull off the shelf to find the deepest and most precise theological reflections. But, as I said, I’ve always loved the note at the beginning. The author writes, “I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn’t resolve. But I was outside [a theater] in Portland one night when I saw a man playing a saxophone.”
He goes on to say more, which I’ll read in a minute, but that’s the set up: a man coming home or going about town, basically minding his own business and indifferent to what’s happening around him. Not, however, indifferent to jazz music; he doesn’t like jazz.
I’ll read it again: “I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn’t resolve. But I was outside [a theater] in Portland one night when I saw a man playing a saxophone.” Then the author writes, “I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes. After that I liked jazz music. Sometimes,” he writes, “you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.” Again: Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.
As I said, for the last few weeks at church we’ve been teaching through what is often called the prologue to the Gospel of John. The prologue is the first 18 verses of the book, verses that set the stage for the rest of the book, the story of Jesus—his origins, his birth, his life, his miracles, his message, his followers, his detractors, his crucifixion, and his resurrection. And the prologue sets all that up but without necessarily resolving any of it. I would say that it’s very much like John the author is standing on the street corner exalting the beauty of the Word of God, meaning Jesus, for eighteen verses without ever opening his eyes.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. 4 In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. . . . The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God. And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1:1–5, 9–14)
I don’t know if you consider yourself more of an insider or more of an outsider to the church. I don’t know if you’re busy going about your life largely indifferent to Jesus. Or perhaps you might even say you actually don’t like him. My hope and prayer for you this Christmas is that you would see that John loves Jesus . . . I believe, because Jesus first loved him (John 21:7; 1 John 4:19).
And maybe tonight as you watch and listen to John play the scales of the glories of Christ—how the Word, full of grace and truth, became flesh and pitched his tent among us—perhaps John might be showing you the way. And if that happens, if you begin to fall more in love with this Jesus—the real Jesus, the one full of grace and truth—maybe you’ll be the one who shows someone else the way, maybe even this Christmas.
Let’s pray . . .
