Christmas Eve or Christmas—December 25 or 26, 2004

“Down from His Glory: From God to Man”

John 1:1-14 (Proper III)

I remember it was one of those days when even the hills and the trees were as grey as a winter sky.

The drive through the fog seemed to take forever.

As did the walk from the car.

And the elevator ride, to the top floor.

I began to smell that familiar antiseptic-mixed-with-illness odor.

I had only been there a few times over the last six months.

For which I carried a deep, silent guilt.

I should have been there more.

But I was too angry, or sad, or confused. I’m not sure.

I just knew it was too difficult for me to see him as he was.

There were locks on the doors.

And so we signed in, and waited.

Soon the attending caretaker came, and I walked the long corridor to
the main “recreational” area. What an absurd name for this dark place.

Would he be there, or would he be hiding in his room?

I spotted him in a chair beside the window.

As usual, he did not gaze out, but down.

It was hard to believe it was him.

He’d lost over 60 pounds.

His skin seemed grey and lifeless.

And I wondered if he would understand that I had come to say goodbye.

“Hi Dad.” No response.

I often wondered what went through his troubled mind.

Did he understand that he was on the Psych Ward, or did he imagine,
perhaps with a touch of truth, that we had imprisoned him?

The depression came on suddenly. Some said breakdown.

But if something breaks down, we anticipate it being fixed up–

Why was the fixing taking so long?

They tried every drug.

They tried every combination of drugs.

If he had, in fact, lost his mind, where did it go, and why couldn’t we find it?

It was his birthday, and I was about to leave for college.

How do you celebrate a birthday, when everyday, every moment of the day,
for the last six months, this man had wanted to die?

And how do I leave?

How do I move 500 miles away?

How do I move on, and embrace my future?

He looked at me, and tears welled up in this glazed eyes,
and again, as many times before,
he put his face in his hands and cried.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Please take me home.

I looked at him, and I saw
dis-ability
powerlessness
pain
suffering
despair in a hopeless abyss...

But I am more aware now than I was then,
that I stared straight into the very face of vulnerability that day,
and the vulnerability was too vulnerable to look back.

I’ve been thinking a lot about vulnerability this fall,
As the 10th anniversary of my father’s death has come and gone.
I’ve felt vulnerability this fall,
As I have realized anew that not everyone I trust is trustworthy.

I’ve watched vulnerability on the news, as our country now stands vulnerable
to unanticipated attack, and as loved-one’s and a nation mourn the reality
that life can be snatched in a moment’s time.

But in the face of vulnerability, God has nudged me in a certain direction,
a very unexpected direction.

And I’m here to share this with you, I think.

I am a theologian.

And part of a theologian’s job description

Is to figure out what God is like.

But if I look at the information available to me, I immediately recognize
that God is apparently inconsistent.

And we of course can’t stand the idea of an inconsistent God.

One picture of God we could derive from Scripture is that of a
a wrathful, vengeful, judging, condemning, pain-inflicting God;
or perhaps a transcendent powerful, victorious, king on his majestic throne,

Who demands homage from his people.

But how does this contrast with the merciful and present God we all need?

Which God is God?

Am I left to my own devices to figure this out grand conundrum?

No.

Thanks be to God, No!

We have the key to the puzzle.

One simple phrase, that unlocks the very mystery of God:
Jesus said, “if you have seen me, you have seen the father.”

And in light of this phrase, I want to make a rather radical proposal this morning:
Here it is:

We do not know God fully, unless we fully recognize and fully embrace that
Jesus, who shows us the Father, shows us the utter vulnerability of God.

Let me walk us through Christ’s life.

Let me start with his death.

As we all know, Christ was crucified.

One of the most agonizing, one of the most humiliating, one of the most cursed
ways to die.

Paul, in Philippians, says that Jesus was obedient to death.

Not obedient to God in this sentence, but obedient to death

He allowed death to overtake him.

He was completely vulnerable before it, and surrendered to it.

He made himself vulnerable to the soldiers, who pounded the nails–

He made himself vulnerable to the scoffing onlookers.

He made himself vulnerable to the crowd’s wishes, when they cried crucify him.

He made himself vulnerable to Pilate, as he sat silent instead of defending himself.

He made himself vulnerable to his own disciples as they abandoned him,
denied him, and even betrayed him.

He made himself vulnerable to those who fled, to Peter, and to Judas.

He made himself vulnerable in the garden, when he said,
“friends, I need you to pray; I am sorrowful to the point of death.

I need you to pray.” They fell asleep.

He made himself vulnerable to the Pharisees,
who judged him and arranged his end.

He made himself vulnerable to human suffering and pain,
when he wept over a city.

And he made himself vulnerable to all who heard him.
“Who do they say that I am?”

He made himself vulnerable to leprosy when he touched a leper.

He made himself vulnerable to impurity when touched the dead, healed the lame,
restored the deranged, cast out demons, and associated himself with sinners.

He made himself vulnerable when he treated women with dignity,
and tax collectors with respect, and gave prostitutes a second chance.

He made himself vulnerable before Satan in the desert of temptation.

And before John the Baptist when he insisted he be baptized.

And before those in his home town, who laughed and mocked him,
as a mere carpenter’s son.

All the way through his life and ministry, Jesus makes himself vulnerable
to whim, fickleness, carelessness, judgments,
and even the wrath of human beings.

But the greatest vulnerability of all is this: The Word was God
and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

God did not just live among humanity,
but God himself became flesh, God himself became human in Christ.
Why, we must ask?

Why?

Because of Love, we answer, because of Love.

The answer comes too easily.

Do we really understand what it means?

In Christ, we see that God’s power becomes vulnerable to God’s compassion
we see that God’s majesty becomes vulnerable to God’s mercy,
we see that God’s glory becomes vulnerable to God’s grace,
as God empties himself into humanity. And they heard him, and saw him, and touched him. And proclaim him to us:

If we want to know what God is like, we look at Jesus.

And if we were to take a snapshots of this Jesus, where is he vulnerable?

Certainly we would want to include a picture of Jesus on the cross,
Jesus before Pilate.

Jesus before the Pharisees.

Jesus before the crowd.

Jesus in the garden.

Jesus in the houses of sinners.

Jesus with the lepers.

Jesus with the women.

Jesus with the demon-possessed.

Jesus in the desert.

Jesus at his baptism.

Jesus in his hometown.

A scrapbook of the vulnerability of God.

But if we were to take one snapshot of this Jesus, where is he the most vulnerable–

In a manger--

In a barn--

With an unwed mother and a humble father--

In the presence of lowly shepherds and unexpected kings–

Beneath a star, with angels watching–

He cries.

Not for the world, that comes later.

He cries, for food, and for nurture, and for love.

God became an infant–completely dependent on human care.

The vulnerability of God overwhelms the scene.

Well, an insight. The vulnerability of a baby

I could leave it there. The story of a birth.

Decide not push you too hard. Stories can remain stories
that do nothing more than elicit sentimentality.

But I can’t leave it here.
Its relevance penetrates this moment–
I must go on....

I have two more places to go.

First a reassurance,

And then a challenge.

Reassurance:
As I have said, I’ve been thinking a lot about vulnerability this fall.

Especially my own.

What makes us vulnerable to each other?

A willingness to be open before each other, with soft hearts,
at the risk of being hurt

Those with hard hearts are not vulnerable, by choice.

And many of us have chosen this path.

We are hurt one too many times.

We are betrayed, information used against us.

We are rejected, unloved for who we really are.

We are abandoned, lost in the chaos of another’s presiding need.

And so we close ourselves off emotionally.

Isolate ourselves.

Hide ourselves.

It is the path with the least amount of risk.

But on a wider scale, we are still vulnerable.

To quote a famous thinker, we are feeble before the reality
of “man’s inhumanity to man.”

We are silenced before a world history of slavery, war, and holocausts;
On a wider scale, and on a personal scale--
What would ever possess me to live courageously?

How can I choose to live bravely,
to trust with no guarantees,
to love for love’s sake–
to be authentic with even just one someone,
to be genuine in the living of my life.

How can I embrace such vulnerability, susceptibility, betray-ability, and exposure?
I do not ask this lightly. Nor do I answer it flippantly. But I will answer:
I live in the risk, only because I know a place of safety.Here is the reassurance:
Despite the way we are trained to think, sometimes from an early age.

If we are in Christ,
We are not, I repeat, not vulnerable before God.

Vulnerability has to do with the possibility of harm.

Vulnerability has to do with fear.

But God is completely trustworthy.

God is entirely dependable.

God is absolutely reliable.

God is ever-present.

He will never leave us nor forsake us.
We may feel vulnerable before God,
And we may get our theological i’s dotted and t’s crossed
by denying any doctrine of eternal security.

But I fear we have replaced it with a doctrine of eternal insecurity–
John steps in and reassures us,
“If anyone acknowledges that Jesus is the Son of God,
God lives in him and he in God. And so we know and
rely on the love God has for us... There is no fear in love.

But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do
with punishment.”

And Paul reassures us:
“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?

Should trouble, hardship, or persecution or famine
or nakedness or danger or sword?

I am convinced that neither death, nor life,
Neither angels or demons, neither the present nor the future,
nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else
in all of creation,

Will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus,
Our Lord.”

May we allow God to drive out our fear, and fill us with assurance
of his immeasurable love--

We are not vulnerable before him,
For God’s power willingly concedes to God’s compassion
God’s majesty willingly surrenders to God’s mercy,
God’s glory willingly submits to God’s grace,
as God empties himself into you and me.

And in kind, we are enabled to empty ourselves into one another,
despite the risks, because no matter what we do or do not do
for each other,

We are safe in the love of God.

The reassurance.

Now the challenge.

Now to the whole point of this sermon: Advent. Christmas.
God, in Christ, not only made himself vulnerable to death,
vulnerable in his ministry,
and vulnerable as a human infant in our world,
God remains vulnerable.

For God continues to come.

He came, in Christ, and he comes to my heart,
and asks for space...

Just as loudly as I proclaim that God is for us, not against us,
that we are safe in his arms of love,
that God is not a pain-inflicting deity
I need to just as loudly proclaim that we can hurt God,
for he makes himself vulnerable before us.

We can reject him in outright ways, when we renounce our trust in him,
when deny that we know him,
when we act ashamed of him

We reject him, and God grieves. Perhaps he cries.
We can neglect him in more subtle ways,
when we feel his conviction, and dismiss it,
when we could spend time in his presence,
and choose something far less important,
when we could ask for wisdom in our decisions, and don’t,
We neglect him, and God grieves. Perhaps he cries.And we can ignore him in the slightest ways,
when he wants to share in our daily routine and we forget him,
when he wants to break into our conversations,
and we keep him out of the circle,
when he whispers in our ear that he loves us and we don’t hear him
We ignore him, and God grieves. Perhaps he cries.
God keeps coming.

And coming,
And coming,
To me...and to you.

Hoping to find in me and in you, a heartfelt welcome.

Hoping to find space. Hoping to find hospitality.

Hoping to find a home with us.

After one year in the hospital, our insurance ran out.

We had no choice but to bring Dad home.

And we welcomed him.

And received him.

And loved him.

And embraced him.

And gave him space to be--
And he got better.......

My father needed to come home.God keeps coming.

And coming,
And coming,
To me...and to you. Hoping to find in me and in you, a heartfelt welcome.
Hoping to find space. Hoping to find hospitality.

Hoping to find a home with us. And so he stands vulnerable before us. Waiting.

He is waiting to be welcomed into our lives, and into the moments of our lives,
Waiting for us to make the space--
The Word became flesh and dwelt among us for a time,
But the Word is also here, right here among us, waiting for us to receive him.
Is he welcome?

Is he welcome here?

Is he welcome here? (Point to heart)