John 1:1-18 · The Word Became Flesh
Light Living
John 1:(1-9) 10-18
Sermon
by Susan R. Andrews
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The best way to respond to today’s scripture reading is to say nothing — to let it stand in all its elegance, its mystery, its power. But being a preacher, I am genetically unable to say nothing. So I will try to share with you my deep need and my deep affection for this particular passage of God’s holy word. This is what John says to me, and so to you, this first Sunday in the new year.

In the beginning — back before our imaginations can imagine
in the beginning — there was darkness —
deep dazzling darkness.
And in the center of this deep dark womb was God
a warm wonderful Word, the pulsing Word of Life.

And then out of the dazzling darkness
came dazzling light —
stars, bursting sun, glowing moon
a holy metamorphosis.
Dazzling light out of dazzling darkness.
This was the light of the first creation.

But then there was the light of the second creation.
Out of God’s warm wonderful wordy womb came flesh,
a holy wholeness with skin on
glowing with light, glaring and glorious
a human God — full of grace and truth. The grace to heal us.
And the truth to refine us.

And so with no effort on our part,
we were — we are — given a second chance. And the other kind of darkness —
the dull, desperate, dangerous kind of darkness —
so different from God’s dazzling darkness
the dull, desperate, dangerous kind of darkness has never been able to overcome the dazzling light of incarnation.

I have become afflicted in middle age with a craving for the darkness. No matter when I go to bed, no matter how tired I am, no matter if I am on vacation or enjoying a day off, no matter, I wake up each day in the darkness. I crawl out of bed in the darkness. I creep around the house in the darkness. I light a candle in the darkness. And I find more security than at any other point in the day. It is in that early morning darkness that I most intimately encounter God — a breath beyond the silence, a glimmer beyond the shadow, a presence hovering just beyond reach. It is a presence that promises to push me, to play with me, to protect me in the possibilities that stretch before me. And when the light slowly comes, creeping into my day, creeping into my heart, it reveals what has been there all along. What I have discovered is that light does not bring anything new; light just reveals what has always been there.

The Jewish people have long known how to honor the darkness. The Jewish sabbath begins at sundown — twelve hours of darkness are sanctified even before the first smudge of dawn. They know that darkness is the womb of light. In many ways that honors the pattern of our biblical story. Even agnostic scientists will agree that life and light were born out of cosmic darkness. And it was the darkness of Mount Sinai that gave birth to the Ten Commandments. It was the darkness of the cave that gave birth to Elijah’s hope. It was the darkness of Mary’s womb that gave birth to the Messiah. It was the darkness of Gethsemane that gave birth to Jesus’ courage. It was the darkness of the cross that gave birth to God’s unconditional love. And it was the darkness of the tomb that provided the womb of resurrection.

Modern television served us well on the birth of the new millennium on January 1, 2000, as images of human hope, and a bit of human hubris, were beamed to us from around the world. Twenty hours of millennium marvels played with our human senses, as dance and music and vision rippled slowly across the globe. Every one of those celebrations from Mali to San Francisco, from South Africa to the tiptop village in Norway, from Manger Square in Bethlehem to the National Mall in Washington — every one of these celebrations started in the darkness — in the dazzling darkness — that is God’s home just as surely is the light. Then in a thousand creative ways, explosions of pyrotechnics shattered the darkness dramatically. Explosions of hope. Explosions of excess. Explosions of joy and peace and love. Human explosions, which, of course, lasted for only a few minutes. And then God’s dazzling darkness reclaimed the moment — a darkness waiting for God to bring the lasting light — in God’s own time, and God’s own way.

My friends, the apostle Paul, again and again, reminds us that we have a choice. We can be children of darkness. Or we can be children of light. Trust in Jesus Christ makes all the difference. But the simple point I want to make today is that we cannot be children of light if we don’t begin in the darkness. If we don’t befriend the darkness, if we don’t trust the darkness, for God lives in the darkness just as certainly as God lives in the light. The dazzling darkness of mystery. But also the full, dangerous darkness of human despair and decay.

When the first millennium rolled into the second millennium during the Middle Ages, the world was indeed a dark place. First and foremost, there was the fanatical darkness of the Christian church that oppressed the poor, kept the peasants illiterate, and buried the light of knowledge far away in the bowels of the monasteries. This same fanatical darkness led to the bloody, bitter Crusades — an eruption of evil out of which religious intolerance has been gushing ever since.

Many recent commentaries have suggested that now as we move into the third millennium, things are different. The darkness of our human infancy has been vanquished, and we are glowing in the light of an invigorating dawn. Certainly the rising markets and the growing global partnerships indicate that life is pretty good for some of us. But let us not deceive ourselves. The dull dangerous darkness of human despair and decay is still around us. All the carnage and hate in Gaza and Israel, in Syria and the Sudan, in Iraq and Afghanistan, show how dark is the darkness still hiding in the human soul.

When Nelson Mandela was still alive, he was one of the few voices looking honestly at the state of the world in which we live. While some optimists suggest that the modern era is a time to celebrate, Mandela quietly reminded us with the dignity and integrity that marked his entire life that: “We live in a time where most people are still languishing in poverty, most people are still subjected to hunger, preventable disease, illiteracy, and insufficient shelter.” Much has been made about the stellar number of millionaires who now live in this country — over 3.5 million. But we need to acknowledge that despite all this newfound wealth, 16% of our people still live in poverty — a greater percentage of impoverished citizens than those who lived in America in 1900. Is that progress?

Today the gospel writer tries to give expression to the texture of light and darkness that make up our human life and to the hope which Jesus the Christ weaves into that eternal pattern. In a moment of inspiration and passionate love, God spoke a fleshy word, shouting out of the darkness — piercing, permeating, pulverizing the darkness with light — a light every bit as dramatic and explosive as July Fourth and of New Year’s Eve combined. John never claims that the darkness disappears. Rather he simply promises that the light of incarnation — the light of God down here in the midst of us — this light will always be stronger than the darkness. This light will always give definition to the shadows of our lives. This light will always keep us company in the deep darkness of the night.

The preacher Bill Carter tells the story about a friend named Tom, who as a teenager found himself, one foolish night, running from the police. He had done nothing wrong, but he was caught in an alley in a bad section of town. A searchlight was turned on, and Tom panicked. Running down an alley, he jumped behind a trash can. But the police kept coming, and they demanded that Tom come from behind the trash can. Tom stood up, trembling, covered with garbage. When asked what he was doing, Tom said that he was frightened by the searchlight — afraid that the police would think he had done something wrong. So he panicked and hid. As the police confronted him, Tom was sure he would be arrested for disturbing the peace and his parents would be told. But then the police officer set his heart at ease: “”Son, I am not here to arrest you. I am here to protect you.” Carter wrote:

As he stood before that searchlight, Tom says he caught a glimpse of what it means to stand before Jesus, who is the light of the world. There he was fully exposed yet completely protected. He was fully revealed yet free from unnecessary punishment. He stood hip-deep in garbage, yet cleaner than he had ever felt... In that moment he saw something of what it means to stand in the presence of Jesus Christ, who is full of truth, but also full of grace.[1]

My friends, Jesus, the fleshy word, shouts and shines in the darkness, and though the darkness is very real and human, and absolutely essential in order to reveal the light, even so, the darkness will never overcome the light of the world.

This is the good news of the gospel, freshly spoken for a new year in a very frightening world.

May it be so for you and for me. Amen.


1. Bill Carter, Lectionary Homiletics, January 2000.

CSS Publishing Co., Inc., God with skin on: Cycle C sermons for Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany based on the gospel texts, by Susan R. Andrews