Jn 1

“In the beginning was the Word” (v. 1). Does that remind you of anything? Maybe another, “In the beginning”? The parallel between John’s gospel and the book of Genesis is no accident. Just as Genesis begins with the story of creation, so does the gospel of John. Except now, our attention is focused on the pre-incarnate Jesus, the Second Person of the Trinity, of whom it’s said, “All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being” (v. 3).

And staying with the theme of creation, there are the images of light and darkness. From “let there be light” to “the light shines in the darkness,” John presents the birth of Jesus in a very different fashion from the other gospels.

I think John’s gospel is probably my favorite of the four. The language John uses is especially beautiful and powerful. I’ll give one example. After the extended conversation at the Last Supper, when Jesus promises his friends that they will be filled with his Spirit, here’s how John has him close: “I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!” (16:33). That’s a word for us, as well.

Still, as much as I admire the gospel of John—as much as I consider it to be a real treasure—it can be difficult to understand. It can be quite mysterious. I’m sure that’s a big part of its attraction for me.

Even the author is a mystery. Traditionally, the apostle John, the son of Zebedee, has been considered the writer of the gospel. But the only thing we hear from the author—referring to himself in the third person—is that he is “the disciple whom Jesus loved” (21:24). Without going into detail, recent evidence suggests that the author might be one of the other New Testament Johns. (There are a number of them.) “He” might even be a “she”: Mary Magdalene. How about that for mysterious? Still, for simplicity’s sake, I’ll just say, “John.”

“In the beginning was the Word.” The Greek word for “Word” is lovgo" (logos). The Logos, as a philosophical term, is roughly defined as “the eternal wisdom that creates and sustains all of existence.” The fact that John doesn’t elaborate on it suggests that it was a pretty well-known idea at the time.

What he does do is to come along and basically say, “Hey, the Logos is more than some abstract idea. The Logos ‘became flesh and lived among us’” (v. 14). The Word has entered into our world. The eternal has broken into time and space.

In his book, A Retreat with John the Evangelist, Raymond Brown comments on John’s use of the term Logos, the Word. Calling Jesus the Word “involves not only the speaker,” he says, “but also an audience to be addressed…Once having entered the world, Jesus as the Word incarnate speaks to people.”[1]

He applies it to us this way: “No one is given the gift of faith for himself or herself alone; whatever we come to know must be shared with others. The Word speaks through our words; and in proclaiming Jesus to others, we ourselves grow in perception.”[2]

It’s probably safe to say that with John’s gospel, we’re getting a lot more to the Christmas story than the baby born in a barn. We’re getting a heavy dose of mystery—something to be welcomed, I would think.

A lot of people are stressed about the so-called “war on Christmas.” Some even use the term “conspiracy.” A key part of the evidence is the use of the phrase “Happy Holidays,” instead of “Merry Christmas.” (By the way, I fully understand: my sermon title is not likely to appear in any Christmas cards in the near future!) And I realize that this is just my opinion, but I believe that this is indeed much ado about nothing. Noting that “Happy Holidays” is plural, isn’t it possible that there’s a desire to include in the greeting Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and New Year’s Day? Is it necessary to be so paranoid?

I only mention all that because it’s just one more way in which we let ourselves get drawn away into peripheral matters, into side issues. Our attention is distracted from the living heart of Christmas.

So what am I talking about? Look at verse 12: “to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God.” The Greek word for “power” (ejxousivan, exousian) can also mean “authority.” But whether it’s “power” or “authority,” aren’t we all God’s children? Didn’t God create all of us?

True! But remember who we’re dealing with. For John, being a child of God involves more than simply being created by God—more than our physical birth. It involves being “born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God” (v. 13). It means the power to become more than what we are.

The power to become children of God means having the power to not say, “Oh well, this is just how I am. I can’t change! It’s too late for me.” You know, if we get to that point, it’s time for the gravediggers to start throwing dirt on us—because we’re already dead.

If we get to that point, we’re no longer serving the God of life. We’re no longer serving the God of Jesus Christ. If we get to that point, we’re serving an idol, something that doesn’t give life. Maybe it’s one of the idols in Oscar Romero’s quote on the back of your bulletin—maybe it’s something else entirely.

According to John, the living heart of Christmas—the power of Christmas—is the power to become children of God. This brings us full circle, back to John’s creation story. “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” (vv. 3b-5).

Christmas means nothing less than a new creation. It’s that mysterious place in which, as John says, “we have seen his glory” (v. 14). Christmas means that we are no longer bound, not even by our own self-imposed limitations.

[1] Raymond E. Brown, A Retreat with John the Evangelist (Cincinnati: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 1998), 23-24.

[2] Brown, 29.