December 30th, 2007
Christmas 1, Year A
Emmanuel Episcopal Church in the City of Boston                                   
The Rev. Patrick T. Gray, Associate Rector, Church of the Advent, Boston                                        

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth; we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father.”  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.  Amen.

            What is it about words that make them so powerful?  We’ve all heard, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.”  Then why did those names hurt me?  Try as I might, those words spoken with the intent to hurt did hurt.  Words may not have broken my bones, but they had an amazing capability of breaking my spirit, of damaging something much deeper, of cutting my heart in two.  And yet words seem to have the capability of bringing that heart back together again, of healing the damaged, of transforming the broken. 
            How is that possible?  How can words do this?  It seems to me that words not only describe the way things are, but also prescribe it, as well.  When words are formed with power, when words are enfleshed, when they are given shape that this world can see and touch, then they matter, then words become the means of burden or blessing, of destruction or transformation.
            Little Terry, a fourth-grader at the church across town, knew this.  The children just a few days ago were practicing their Christmas pageant.  And the part of the innkeeper was assigned to Terry, so he was to play the man who turned Joseph and Mary away because there was no room in the inn.  But Terry didn’t like the part.  He came from a hospitable home, where visitors were greeted heartily.  It just wasn’t part of his nature to turn people away.  So every time Terry practiced his part he almost cried, he felt so bad, even though the teacher explained that he was just playing the part.  At the performance, Mary and Joseph walked across the stage to the door of the inn.  Terry answered the knock.  There was a sob in his voice as he told them: “No room.”  But he couldn’t keep his true feelings from coming to the surface.  He opened his arms and exclaimed in a loud voice: “Oh, come on in anyway, and have a drink!”
            Terry understood that saying “No room” carried consequences with it.  It carried inaction, it carried a turning away, a turning away from the one who should be welcomed with open arms.  And so Terry, despite the role assigned for him, opened his arms and welcomed that which had come into the world for his salvation. 
St. John also understood that words carried consequences.  Words carried consequences, because the Word was in the beginning, with God, and was God.  There’s no way for us to completely get a handle on this most profound of statements: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”  Of course, when we hear this, we think of the other “In the beginning” line, the very first verse of the book of Genesis, where we are told, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.”  Although we cannot exhaust it, if St. John is trying to tell us anything, it’s that he wants us to see his Gospel as the story of God and the world.  By connecting it with Genesis, John is showing us that he is going to tell the story the creator always intended, that he is going to tell us the story of redemption.1
            And it all begins with the Word, who was with God and was God.  And if we doubted that the Word of God had any power, John tells us that he was not only in the beginning with God, but that all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made.  Now that’s power, and that’s what the Word of God is all about.  In the Hebrew scriptures, God regularly acted by means of his ‘word.’  What he said, happened.  We see this not only in the creation story in Genesis, but we hear of it regularly thereafter.  “By the word of the Lord,” says the psalmist, “the heavens are made” (33:6).  God’s word is the one thing that will last, even though people and plants wither and die (Isaiah 40:6-8); God’s word will go out of his mouth and bring life, healing and hope to Israel and the whole creation (Isaiah 55:10-11).2 This is what the Word of God is for. The Word of God is life, and the life was the light of men.  Life and light.  These are the things of God, for they are God.  The Word given shape, the Word as life and light.  This is what the Word is for.
            But we all know what happened.  Although the Word of God was both life and light, the world preferred death rather than life, the world chose darkness rather than light.  But God did not give up on his creation.  God would not let the darkness have the final say.  God would make it possible for the renewal of his creation, God would make it possible for new creation, because the true light would be sent into the world of darkness.  And all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God.  God showed us the means of his new creation, God revealed his mighty power, for the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth. 
It’s odd to think that God’s most powerful act would be found in frail flesh, that the Word became flesh would be the means by which God would truly reveal his grace and truth, that if we really want to know the God of creation, we look on this one called Jesus.  A person?  A person just like you and me?  It has to be something better than that, this Jesus must be some sort of superman, something more than this weak flesh that make up you and I.  How could God’s answer to sin, death, and the devil be found in one who was born as one of us, who lived as one of us, who died as one of us?  How is this going to change anything?  How is this going to change the past, to make things new?  I believe the answer, my dear brothers and sisters, is found in the resurrection.  Even as we celebrate our Lord’s birth on this morning, let us see his birth through the lens of his resurrection; for it may be that God cannot change the past, but he can raise the dead.  The answer given to sin, death, and the devil is the love of God, the love of God that would not let his Word end, who would not allow Life to end, who would not see the Light go out.  And we are God’s children if we believe on his name; we are his children if we allow the Word become enfleshed in our flesh.
            But what does that look like?  It must be some grand show, yes?  It must be some majestic flourish, some mighty action, to allow the Word of God to become enfleshed in our flesh, in our actions, right?  Maybe, maybe not.  Many of you may do this, but my wife and I sponsor a child named Fedeliene who lives in Haiti, through Partners in Development, a missions organization working in the parts of Haiti that most Haitians won’t even go to. We $25 a month to sponsor Fedeliene, only $25 a month that allows Fedeliene to go to school, and receive nutritional assistance and medical care that her family would not otherwise be able to afford.  In a place where the unemployment rate is over 70%, Fedeliene’s parents have trouble finding permanent work, making every day a struggle to provide for their family.  With $25 a month, we are able to say, like our fourth-grader Terry, there is room in the inn.  There is hope for you.  And these are not just empty words that we give you, because you can’t eat words.  You can’t survive on good wishes.  You can’t sustain your family with the holiday spirit unless you give some flesh and bones to that spirit.  So we try to put a little bit of our money where our mouth is, as we say, “We care about you, and we’re going to do something about it.” 
Partners in Development is made up of people no different than you and me.  They’re not superheroes, only people who know the Risen Christ, and allow the Word to be enfleshed in their flesh.  Gale Hull, the director of Partners in Development, sends out a quarterly newsletter to all those who sponsor children in Haiti, and every time I receive it, I’m stunned at the level of poverty that they face in Haiti, and I’m stunned at the grace and love of God working through these ordinary people.  And so I share this story with you from Gale:

As we were walking through one of the flood areas . . . on my trip to Haiti in November, we met a grandmother carrying a tiny baby.  [The mother of the boy and daughter of the woman] died immediately after childbirth and the grandmother didn’t have any resources to care for the baby.  He had not eaten in four days and was severely dehydrated.  She wanted to take him to the hospital to give him to the nuns to keep.  [Our Haitian nurse] and [our taptap driver] both said they wanted to take him because they knew at the hospital the nuns did not have the time or the resources to take care of a tiny, starving newborn.  He was not moving at all.  We fed the grandmother who was crying and stumbling, as well as a woman who she had met on the way who was trying to help her.  Then we found formula but could not find a bottle, eyedropper or even a spoon to feed milk to this baby.  We finally improvised and made a bottle from a rubber glove.  After a few drops of milk he began to move just a little.  We asked if we could keep the baby instead of the nuns and the grandmother said ‘yes.’  So we went to the courthouse and signed papers and [this little baby became the son of my daughter Talitha, who adopted him.]  We found a bottle and he ate every hour on the hour and by the next morning was alert and moving and kicking and declared healthy by a Port au Prince pediatrician.  I returned home but Talitha is still in Haiti with her little boy [she named] Obed John and will return soon to get the necessary paperwork to complete the adoption.  Although we went to see the flood damage, [we] were all convinced we were sent there to save Obed John.