Come By Here
A sermon brought forth from John 1:1-18 and Exodus 33:12-23 preached on Sunday, December 19, 2021
We’re singing at different times during the sermon this morning. The hymn is Kum By Yah, but we will sing it in its translation into English, Come By Here. Come by here is an Advent refrain. We’ve spent all these Advent days singing God closer to us. Come, O Come, Emmanuel; Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus. We’ve talked about Advent as a time of arrival—that is, a time to prepare a space within us for Jesus-arrival.
When we drive to the airport to pick up a loved one, we don’t sit around baggage claim or just outside the metal detectors assuming he or she will find us. That’s not their job. That’s ours. We eagerly watch for them; we scan our surroundings for them. We do that because we find ourselves responsible for finding them. We do not want to be caught off guard. The longer the waiting, the more joyous their arrival. So, we await their approach. We ready ourselves for the moment they come close. Then we help them home.
That’s the way I want to imagine Advent, especially as we find our way into the last moments of it. We know the time of arrival. It’s a divine guarantee. Christ will be on time. Jesus’s Christmas arrival is surprising because it’s much quieter than you’d expect. Only the perceptive take note of it.
We know the gospel’s stories of Christ’s entrance into the world. The people who were ready to receive Him—Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, the magi—can fit inside our smallest nativity sets. But don’t let the starkness or the silence of His arrival fool you. With Jesus’s birth came a fanfare from the heavens that only a few had the kind of ears it takes to hear. And the light from the heavens could only be seen by those who know that truth is something well beyond them, and that love is a long-traveled, road-wearied, and jet-lagged persistence to honor and value another, and let God handle the rest.
The good news of Christmas is that love is not far out of our reach. In fact, love has reached out to us. God has done most of the traveling. The only question is, “Will we be there to help Him home?”
There are three birth narratives recorded in the Gospels. We know of two, of course. We read them every Christmas. They’re the ones every Christmas Pageant and nativity set is based upon. John’s gospel has a birth narrative, too; but the birth story that John is most interested in isn’t Jesus’s—it’s ours!
See, there’s only one verse in the first 18 of John’s gospel that tends the details of Jesus’s birth:
“The true light that shines on all people was coming into the world.”
That’s it. The fourth gospel has 13 words about Jesus’s birth. The rest of his Advent words are about our birth through Him—because of Him. In the person of Jesus Christ, we can be born in a spiritual way, so that we might see and walk through the world differently. By another light. According to another Way.
The fourth gospel’s birth announcement is—well—ours. In Christ, God has come to give us second birth. God was born so that we may really live. Because here’s a Gospel secret: just because we’ve been birthed into the world doesn’t mean we’ve come alive. The Gospel says those are two different things.
There are many with beating hearts and working lungs and bodies that move more impressively than most who have yet to come alive. Our passage from Exodus seems to speak a similar message. Moses couldn’t see God’s face and live, but Jesus was the very face of God, and when we know Him, we are brought to life. That’s the kind of “alive” John is most interested in. Advent birth isn’t Jesus’s; it’s ours. God became human so we stand a chance of becoming human ourselves. That’s the Advent song that the 4th gospel sings. Through Christ, God sings His people into being and grants us life on top of life.
John begins his gospel with a deliberate echo of the creation story. “In the beginning…” With those words, He brings us back to the dark waters of chaos; how out of them, God, with a Word powerful enough to create, formed order by separating water from water, then took what was empty and spoke His fullness into it. God is life, and whenever He speaks, new life comes about. By God’s Word, we are brought into being. Life on top of life.
John begins his gospel with amazing poetry, unrivaled before or since. Every poet since has lived in envy. They’ve tried for this kind of fire but can’t summon it. Twice, though the gospel poet breaks verse and weaves a baptismal narrative into it. Full sentences that run from margin to margin in our Bibles. These page-spanning sentences are about a man sent from God who will baptize, who will, in another echo of God’s act of bringing creation about, also separate water from water in the Jordan River. Christ, by water and Word, will forever bring us to life.
Those who welcome him and place their greatest trust in his Name become something more than themselves. Christ will live in them, and they in Him. God, through Christ, grants us life on top of life.
But our gospel poet slaps a warning sticker on all this. Advent is good news—the best news—but it comes with a cost. Verse 14.
“The Word became flesh and made his home among us.”
The Message translation brings it a bit closer to home:
“The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood.”
See, Jesus can be a bit…intrusive as far as neighbors go. And He’s a rude houseguest. He expects quite a lot from us in response to His presence. The thing is, He’s not happy just being around—or with you’re being around Him. He wants more.
Advent is an invasion and Christmas is an encroachment. When God arrives, He tends to take over. In Christ Jesus, God assumes our ground. Christmas is God ringing the doorbell and dropping His luggage on the front porch of the world; and, if we dare answer the door, the first thing he’ll say (at least He gives fair warning) is that He’s not here to visit. He’s moving in. For good! So, we better make prepare a space for him.
Advent is the time afforded to us to create that space, because when Jesus arrives, He’s gonna tell us to skootch over on the couch, make a spot for Him right next to us. Advent is the world’s chance—every heart’s chance—to prepare Him room. Will we help Him home?
All praises to the One who made it all and finds it beautiful! Alleluia! Amen.