The Word
John 1.1-18
Because it’s there, said the mountain climber. When asked, Why? For what purpose? Why risk limb and life to ascend to the top of some snow and ice covered peak? Because it’s there.
Because it’s there and draws us, draws us up its silent, impassive mass. The top of the world, touching heaven, its peak shrouded with clouds, mystery. Because it’s there. And the silence of its stone speaks volumes, its silence whispering to our own solitude and drawing us to itself.
And the sea, the ocean, the incessant and rhythmic rushing of its waves calls us away and to its shore, its verge, the edge of things.
Standing alone on a beach, the foam hurries up the sand to the very toes of our feet, stops and rushes back. Our eyes follow it out. And out, out as far as the eye can see. The sea, the ocean, as far as a person can see. The rhythm of the waves calling out to the rhythm of our hearts, calling us to the edge, the verge, the shore.
And old man river just keeps rolling along, never resting and never hastening, the silent power of its constant current summons us to its banks.
Sitting, listening to its quiet flowing past us, a powerful movement from upstream, to here, and on down, but constant and unchanging. Sitting by ourselves on a riverbank, the quiet power of this constant and unchanging movement has summoned us there.
Because it’s there, said the mountain climber. Indeed, because it is there. Something is there. Because there is something there. Something. Because something is speaking to us.
It’s why we climb mountains, ascending to the top of the world, touching heaven. It is why we stand on the beach, the ocean’s vastness right at our toes. It is why we sit on a river’s bank, the constant and unchanging movement before us.
Because there is something there. Because something whispers to us, something calls us, something summons us. The height of a mountain, the vastness of the sea, the constancy of a river, something is speaking, speaking to us, is speaking to our hearts.
And the Word. 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.
In the beginning. A word, speech. With a word. Let there be. And lofty mountains and vast seas and mighty rivers. In the beginning was the Word. All things came into being through this Word.
And speech, a word. Says the Psalmist: The heavens are telling the glory of God and the firmament proclaims his handiwork. Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge. There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard; yet their voice goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world.
Speech, a word. And we hear it. Something in a mountain’s massive height, something in the sea’s vast expanse, something in a river’s powerful and unchanging movement speaks to us.
Something, something is there, whispering, calling us, summoning us to itself. Something in the mystery of the mountain’s massive height calls us, saying, You belong to me. Something in the rhythm of the ocean’s never-ending expanse summons us, saying, You are mine. And something in a river’s unchanging movement whispers to us, saying, You are my possession.
Speech, a word. We hear it. There is something there. We know it. We are drawn to it. To it we belong somehow.
But the nearest mountain is some distance away. The sea, too. We do live near a mighty river and, if it rains too much more, we might be living even nearer to it than we did the other day.
Indeed, that river’s quiet current can become a rowdy torrent, spilling beyond its banks. And the ocean can heave and hurl itself up into a hurricane. And a mountain’s air is thin and rare, and it crevasses jagged and deep. And it is to this something… It is to this something that we belong? Our hearts faint within us.
But hush. Be still. Listen. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. And the Word became flesh. 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, full of steadfast love and faithfulness.
Let me try to speak plainly. I know I get carried away sometimes, and sometimes I feel sorry for you, sitting out there trying to figure out what I’m saying. I’ll try to speak as plainly as I can about these, these mysteries.
You know something, don’t you. Or you feel that something is true. It is difficult to put this something into words and you couldn’t prove it to the skeptic. The words don’t come easily for me, either. And I can’t prove its truth.
But you are pretty sure that you belong to something. You know this, or feel this, in your heart. You belong to something bigger than yourself. Small and insignificant as you may be, still you belong to something as vast as the sea, as high as a mountain, and as strong as a river. Something tells you that you belong to God. And to belong to God is your joy and your desire.
But sometimes God seems on awfully long ways away. It feels that way sometimes. It feels that way to me, too, sometimes.
And maybe it’s because we are so small and insignificant and God is big and powerful. There’s a big difference between us and God. Maybe we’ll try something bigger than ourselves, but not as big as God. Something more manageable and nearer at hand, like our nation or a club or school, even a church or our family.
We are easily distracted, too. It’s so easy to turn on the television.
And then there are times in your life when you wonder if belonging to God is such a great idea. Not that there’s much we can do about that. I mean we’re kind of stuck.
You have to wonder sometimes. God is big and powerful, sure, but does God care? Something happens to you and it feels like a hurricane. Something happens to someone you love; they fall into an icy crevasse. Or something happens to people you don’t even know, a turbulent flood. Does God care? Is God to be trusted?
But hush. Be still. Listen. The Word became…
The Word, that Word that you hear, that speaks to your heart, that says, You are mine.
The Word became flesh and lived among us…
God, as high as a mountain, as vast as a sea, as powerful as a river, becomes flesh with a heart that beats as our own, saying, You belong to me.
And we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth, of steadfast love and faithfulness.
Jesus Christ, holding us with pierced hands, holds us close to his pierced side, saying, You are my possession. You belong to me. You are mine.
Neal Kentch, Salem United Church of Christ and Corydon Christian, January 4,2004