The Face of God

John 1:1-14 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. There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. 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, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

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In the Old Testament stories of the fathers of our faith – Abraham, Jacob, Moses – they speak of seeing the face of God.  There is the longing to see, the hope of seeing, and yet, for most, the impossibility of seeing God face to face.  We, too, might know this yearning, this desire to see God and feel God’s presence more fully.  Because there is something in us that senses this: in our nearness to God we may know life in its fullness.

It is a great mystery, one that we find ourselves drawn to again and again. 

It is this mystery that showed itself to Mary and Joseph, each one of them visited by an angel.  In these visions, or dreams, they learned that they would become parents together of a very special son – one who would bring salvation to the world. 

It is this mystery that showed itself to the shepherds in the fields.  I don’t know if these men had ever been visited by divine messengers before, but they clearly were that night and they knew it.  Believing what the angel told them they made haste to Bethlehem, to see “this thing that has taken place.”  And all were amazed at what the shepherds told them. 

It is this mystery that showed itself to three wise men in the east – far away from where this event took place.  When they saw the star, they knew that a new king had been born – one worth traveling many miles to foreign lands so they might bow before him in his cradle.

Herod could not see the mystery, for he was a man filled with fear.  Fear is the great enemy of faith.

But for those with eyes to see and ears to hear, the mystery of incarnation – God in the flesh – was revealed.  On this night, it was possible to see the face of God.

With the birth of the Christ child, it became possible to see and hear and touch love.  It became possible to know what it is to be fully human, as God originally intended us to be, and still yearns for us to be.  In Christ, we may see the perfect connection of our humanity and our creator.  How strange it is that it took the form of a small, weak, vulnerable infant.

All the kings the world has ever known have ruled with the power of armies – the power to take away life.  All these kings have ruled by intimidation, by threat of violence of one form or another.  Yet this king rules not by taking away life but by giving life.  This king rules not by threat but by love.  Who could ever imagine such a thing?  It is, indeed, a mystery.

Forever, since that night when Mary gave birth to a baby boy and laid him in a manger, the world has struggled to comprehend this mystery.  How can we understand power in weakness?  How can we seek salvation in such vulnerability?  And how can we continue to see the face of God, the face of Christ, to lead us in his way?

Tolstoy tells a story about an old man named Martin –a cobbler who lived alone in a little room where he repaired shoes for all the local townspeople. He had long outlived his wife and all his children, and he was a lonely man.  He felt that there was nothing left for him in life, and he wished for only one thing:  to see the face of Christ.  One night a voice came to him and said, “Martin, look out on the street for me tomorrow, for I shall come to you.”

The next morning, Martin thought, “today is the day.”  He sat at his bench, positioned so he could see clearly out the window while he worked.  He watched as the feet of many people passed by.  He saw an old man sweeping the streets stop; looking tired, he huddled against the wall, trying to warm himself. Martin invited him in for tea.  Soon the old man was warmed by three cups of tea and lively conversation. He went back out to finish his work, and Martin continued his watching, wondering when Christ would show himself. 

He saw a young mother, ill-clothed for the weather, looking too thin, too tired, trying to sooth the baby in her arms.  He asked her to come in, and fed her soup and bread.  Afterward he sent her back out with warmer clothes for herself and the baby.  He went back to his workbench and watched, waiting for Christ to show himself. 

Later in the day, he saw a tired old woman dragging a basket of apples.  It was late in the day and she had sold most of them.  Just then a boy ran up and tried to take the remaining apples from her basket. She began beating him off, and all the frustration and fear and fatigue in her went into hitting that boy.  Martin put down his work and quickly rushed out in the street.  He stepped between them and offered words of forgiveness and repentance.  He helped make peace between the woman and the boy. 

Martin went back inside.  It was getting late in the day, darkness was coming.  The lamplighters began lighting the streetlamps.  This day was coming to an end, but Martin no longer wondered when Christ would show himself, for he realized Christ had visited him three times that day. 

Christ comes to us in weakness so we may respond in kindness, generosity, and love.  He comes to us as one of us, so we may discover our true humanity through him.

And so, my friends, on this night we remember that we have been given the gift of seeing the face of God through a small child born into the humblest of circumstances.  On this quiet night, we are shown that in Jesus we may better see the likeness of God that we bear within us. 

On this darkest of all nights, we remember the light that came into the world – the light that shines in the darkness, that will never be understood by those who reside in darkness, but neither will it be overcome by darkness.  On this night, the light was born and showed the glory of God, in grace and in truth.

May you know the light of Christ, this night and every day and night to come. 

May you walk in his light and watch for him to appear, in whomever or whatever he chooses to show himself. 

May you greet him in peace, with kindness and love. 

And may you then see the face of God in all God’s grace and truth.

Water in the Desert

Isaiah 35:1-10      The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the Lord, the majesty of our God. Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you.”

Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes. A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not travel on it, but it shall be for God’s people; no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray. No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

Matthew 11:2-11 When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’ Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.

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Arlie Russell Hochschild writes about the Areno family in her book, Strangers in Their Own Land.  They live in Louisiana, on Bayou d’Inde, bayou of the Indians. Harold and his nine brothers and sisters grew up there, He and his wife Annette raised their children there, and now they remain there with their memories.

He goes through photo albums and remembers how they used to boat and swim and picnic on the bayou.  He recalls how his mother would catch fish by holding bait off the side of the boat, then patting the fish on the side before lifting them by the gills into the boat.  There were grand cypress trees rising out of the water, with green mosses hanging from their branches like lacy shawls.  The trees would grow as high as 150 feet, some living for as long as 1700 years.  The Arenos used the cypress wood to build their fishing boats. 

They farmed on the land there, growing beans, corn, and other vegetables.  They raised chickens, hogs, and cows.  They would fish and catch frogs.  There were beautiful birds – great snowy egrets, white and brown pelicans, gulls, herons, spoonbills, terns.  They drank the water.

Remembering all this, Harold says, “We didn’t know what we had until it was gone.”  Now the dead trunks of cypress trees stand in the water.  The birds are gone; the frogs are no longer heard at night.  Harold says he remembers the last time he heard a bullfrog – it was three years ago.  And you can’t eat the fish because they’re toxic. 

It all started when the local industry began trucking their toxic waste down to the bayou at night –because it was illegal – and dumping it, tons of toxic chemical waste dumped in the bayou.  Soon they began to see the effects: fish flopping around at the surface, trying to breathe.  They noticed the turtles’ eyes turned white.  They had gone blind and they couldn’t catch food anymore so they all starved to death.  Livestock drank the bayou water and dropped dead – goats, sheep, chickens, cows.

Harold and Annette, remembering, go through the litany of death – the land, the water, the trees, fish, animals.  Then they begin to speak of the cancer.  A new litany of brothers, sisters, parents, cousins who lived and worked on the bayou died of cancer. 

This bayou that sustained families for generations is essentially now dead.  The water is still there, there are still fish in it, but they bear the deadly toxins in them.  Only Harold, Annette, and one of their sons remain. 

This is a kind of wilderness, where life can no longer be sustained.  A modern wilderness.

The prophet Isaiah speaks words of hope for the wilderness, perhaps this very wilderness – a world that is ravaged, broken, a world where the people have become weakened, enfeebled.  The land does not blossom or sing.  But God will come, Isaiah says, with vengeance and a terrible recompense.  And we must wonder what that could possibly mean.  What could these words of the prophet mean?

Much later, John the Baptist, that crusty old guy, comes to the wilderness and calls the people out to this place to die and find new life through repentance.  And they came out in droves, even the Pharisees and Sadducees, as we heard last week, came out for this hope of renewal, of restoration.  Death, the enemy, will be defeated. 

Then Jesus comes to the wilderness.  And he walks among the people teaching and healing as he goes.  By this time, John is in prison.  His outspoken manner was too much for the authorities to tolerate.  He crossed a line when he went after Herod, and now Herod held him bound in chains.  But John hears things and he wonders about Jesus.  Is this the one they have been waiting for?

He is not certain.  The world is still broken – John’s chains attest to this.  The desert is still dry and the jackals still slaughter the gazelles, and the blind still do not see.  So there is reason to question: Are you the one?

When John’s disciples bring this question to Jesus, he suggests to them that they check their own sight and hearing.  Can you see and hear what is happening?  Do you not know that where I go the blind receive their sight and the deaf hear?  The lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, and the dead are raised.  Life in its fullness is restored.  Is this not good news?

We don’t know if John was satisfied with this answer.  We never hear.  Not too long after this, John is taken from his prison cell and executed. 

Perhaps this is why it remains a challenge for the world to say that Jesus is the one we have been waiting for.  For even now, even here, you and I often catch ourselves hoping for the wrong things.  Waiting for a messiah that is not the messiah. 

Harold and Annette Areno wait for the industries that killed the bayou to come in and clean it up.  Others say it’s really the job of the government to do it.  Most people seem to have given up on it.  They moved away, if they could, and try to forget it, or they wait for Jesus to come again and take them away from this awful mess. 

I wish that Jesus had cleaned everything up while he was here.  I wish he had fixed this broken world and restored all life to fullness.  I wish that he had brought God’s vengeance and terrible recompense, but he didn’t.

He gave us a kind of new life that we weren’t really expecting, no one was expecting – not John or anyone else.  And then he left his ministry in our hands.

He gave the blind the potential to see, and truthfully that is a mixed blessing.  When we see the pain we have inflicted on this world it has its own terrible sorrow.  It is all the gathered sorrow of the world that God knows in its fullness.  When our eyes are opened we might see it too.

But when we receive our vision, it is also framed by hope.  When our ears are opened we hear the call and claim of God upon our lives, and we hear the cry, “Be strong, do not fear!  Here is your God.”  And our hands will be strengthened and our knees made firm and we shall be God’s own army, marching down the road that has been opened for us, the Holy Way.  We shall be empowered to live according to our full potential and the land shall rejoice.

Waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and the redeemed shall walk there. 

And so, by the mysterious grace of God, this is what we wait for – the life that has come but is not here yet.  The sorrow and the sighing have not yet fled away, but there is hope as well.  Because even while we wait, we are receiving our sight.  Our ears are unstopped and we are given new life.  And this is, indeed, good news for the world.