Christmas: The Prequel

First Sunday after Christmas
John 1:1-18

I’ve always loved the time before Christmas -- the build-up to the Big Day.  Picking a tree, seeing anew all those wonderful decorations that hold so many memories, baking cookies, humming along to Christmas music, thinking about loved ones and choosing just the right presents, anticipating gatherings with family and friends, watching the Advent wreath growing in light, continuing old traditions and creating new ones.

            And then the Big Day arrives.  Everyone is wearing their sparkly clothes and on their best behavior.  The pageant is full of joy.  The carols are sung with gusto.  The candles are more full of light than it would seem possible.  The food is delicious and everyone is loves presents given with such care.  Joy to the world!

But ever since I was a little girl, the time after Christmas has always felt a little low.  Disappointment over something I couldn’t put my finger on has always been a piece of it.  The build-up and anticipation are all over so quickly.  Kids go back to sniping at each other, overfull of sugar.  All that’s left of the flurry of unwrapping is a wreck of a house and more stuff there isn’t room for.  The needles are falling off the tree and all the decorations will have to be put away at some point.  Everyone is exhausted from hosting, or from being a polite guest, or from playing nicely with others.  People are starting to dread going back to school or work and feeling the weight of all those responsibilities ignored.  And there are regrets – about spending too much money, taking in too many calories, or about how the holiday didn’t live up to expectations of how it should have been, or memories of how it always has been, or about loved ones now gone.  It can turn into a Blue Christmas.

            As someone fairly invested in this Church business, I’ve thought that maybe keeping the church seasons better would help with the post-Christmas blues.  Maybe things would feel different if Advent were done right and we slowed down and focused on preparing for the Incarnation rather than the marketing genius’ promotion of Christmas as a buying blitz?  Maybe things would feel different if Christmas were treated as a 12 day season rather than a day?  And while that might help temporarily, I’m coming to the realization that we need more than just the liturgical calendar to come to our rescue.  We need to completely rethink our understanding of the Incarnation.

            Because we will always have times of disappointment.  We will always have times of uncertainly.  As much as we wish we could, we can’t control the world around us no matter how tightly we cling to the things that matter to us.  The darkness is there.

            That must certainly have been true for the Holy Family.  The lead up to Christmas was so full of planning and anticipation – getting ready for the trip to Bethlehem, getting ready for this new baby, worrying and dreaming for weeks on end.  And then finally they arrived in Bethlehem, secured a spot, however sketchy, where this baby could make its way into the world.  The moment of delivery – they heard that little mewing cry for the first time, felt that rush of love.  They were visited by so many strangers, eager to lay eyes on this seemingly inconsequential creature.  They heard the wild stories of the shepherds, their faces lit with the reflected glow of angel light.  Silent Night, Holy Night!

            But then the well-wishers leave.  The reality of the new baby in this strange place so far from home settles in.  Mary’s body aches.  She and Joseph have been in such close quarters for long enough that they’re having trouble treating each other kindly.  They are exhausted and confused and overwhelmed as they realize that their lives will never be the same again.  Mary hears the prophecy that her love for this child will pierce her heart like a sword.  What child is this?

            How will they settle in to live with the newborn savior who will change their lives forever? 

            This is the post-Christmas dilemma.  For a moment we believe the promises of this newborn Savior who would change the world.  But then we look again and there’s still just as much darkness in the world.  The light can be hard to make out and sometimes doesn’t seem strong enough to light the way. 

So what to do?  How do we keep the joy and the light with us as we return to the world after Christmas?  Or, as our Opening Collect put it, how can this light enkindled in our hearts on Christmas continue to shine forth in our lives?

            We need a new way of seeing.

            And maybe it’s there in our Gospel this morning.  It probably didn’t sound like it, but the reading from John’s Gospel this morning is John’s version of the Christmas story.  Unlike in Mathew and Luke, there are no shepherds, no sheep, no angels, no star, no wise magi, no Bethlehem, no manger, not even Mary or Joseph or a baby.  There is just the Word – present before the world began, present in all of creation – who was with God and was God and through whom all things – everything and everyone – were made.  The Word was so full of light and life and love that it brimmed over into all of creation and imbedded itself into each of us.  And then this same Word that was present before time began became flesh and made his dwelling among us.  In Greek that “dwelling among us” part means something like “pitched his tent among us.”  The Word is right there, close enough to touch, part of our very creation and being, and can pull up stakes and travel with us wherever we go.

            For John, the incarnation wasn’t something that happened on the Big Day, but part and parcel of all of creation.  It’s like the Star Wars movies where first you meet Luke and nasty Darth Vader and it’s only later in the Prequel that you realize Darth Vader is Luke’s father and suddenly it all makes sense.  Creation is the Prequel to Christmas.  Jesus is part of all of that too -- in the beginning with God before time.  Suddenly it all makes sense.

            If you’ve had a Prequel moment in your life, you know it can change everything.  One of my best ones was about my mom, who had already died when I had my first child.  I remember so vividly just a few days after Sophie was born, I was holding her in my arms filled with love for her from the core of my being.  Utterly pure and unselfish love for this other being that I would do anything for.  And I suddenly realized that my mother must have loved me like this too.  And it changed the way I thought about her, about our relationship, about my memories of her, and about myself.  I realized that at least part of who I was brimmed from the fullness of her love for me.    

Maybe knowing the Prequel to Christmas can change the way we think about Christmas by helping us look for and find the light long after the hustle and bustle of the holiday is over.

That doesn’t mean the darkness isn’t there.  It is real and it can be terrifying and it is painfully obvious in our world and in our community.  The light can be hard to see.  And even those who have seen it often lose sight of it and drift again into darkness. And yet God comes to us, embeds God’s self in all of creation, pitches his tent among us.  And is not overcome by the darkness.  Quite the opposite – we see over and over again in the world that God somehow manages to use the darkness to enhance the light.  The light persists and will prevail.

            Christmas doesn’t begin with the babe in a manger.  And it doesn’t end with the carols or the presents or even the joy of being together.  Christmas is vibrating through every fiber of creation, infusing every living thing.  Every shimmer of light, every inkling of love, comes from the fullness of the Word brimming over into creation.  Which means that even though they mostly go unnoticed, every encounter we have of light or love is an encounter with God.

            We each carry a piece of that light.  It may not feel like enough, but thankfully we aren’t alone.  We are surrounded by the light infused through all of creation.  Sometimes the glimmer of Christ that I need might be coming from you, and the glimmer you need might be coming from me, and maybe together we can reflect a little bit of the light of Christ to the world. 

            And so, like Mary and Joseph we continue our journeys, sometimes amazed, sometimes fearful, sometimes quietly pondering in our hearts, and sometimes completely oblivious.  But always part of the light and life of the Word that is inexhaustible, brimming over, infusing us and surrounding us on all sides. Amen.