Reading
The Word was first, the Word present to God, God present to the Word.
The Word was God, in readiness for God from day one.
Everything was created through him; nothing—not one thing!—came into being without him.
What came into existence was Life, and the Life was Light to live by.
The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness; the darkness couldn’t put it out.
The Life-Light was the real thing: Every person entering Life he brings into Light.
He was in the world, the world was there through him, and yet the world didn’t even notice.
He came to his own people, but they didn’t want him.
But whoever did want him, who believed he was who he claimed and would do what he said, He made to be their true selves, their child-of-God selves.
These are the God-begotten, not blood-begotten, not flesh-begotten, not sex-begotten.
The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.
We saw the glory with our own eyes, the one-of-a-kind glory, like Father, like Son, generous inside and out, true from start to finish.
John 1:1-5, 9-14 (The Message)
Reflection
Most mornings I have mixed feelings about listening to NPR’s Morning Edition—the 15-minute version—on my drive to work, after dropping the kids off or grabbing an apple fritter from Lazy Kat. It’s not a new paradox, and I know many of you feel it too: we want to be informed, yet we’d rather not let dread, anxiety, or dismay take the driver’s seat of our consciousness.
The other day they reported on the return of genocidal violence and famine in Darfur—echoes of the horrors of the early 2000s. They told of families displaced, mothers without enough nourishment to feed their babies.
Then came the story of our own government shutdown and the millions of Americans who rely on SNAP benefits just to eat. Students whose only meals come from school cafeterias. Families forced to choose between paying rent or buying food.
To say I was left feeling underwhelmed by the peace of Christ is fair at best—and probably too generous at worst. It was hard, as someone who knows the love and presence of God, to believe it was real in that moment. Hard to trust that the small actions of faithful people could multiply and magnify the Kingdom of God in places like Darfur—or right here in Oklahoma.
The late theologian Karl Barth once said in a 1963 Time interview, “Take your Bible and take your newspaper, and read both. But interpret newspapers from your Bible.” I don’t think he meant we should use Scripture as a cipher to decode world events or to divine some heavenly mandate—though people have tried. Rather, it’s wisdom for those trying to live God’s Word: we read the headlines, we feel what we feel, and we lift that swirl of information and emotion—data and mystery—up to Jesus and say, in the words of my favorite fictional president, Jed Bartlet, “What’s next?”
Less What would Jesus do? and more What would Jesus have me do?
I’ve found hope and comfort watching this congregation respond to that question—with advocates’ voices and yeoman’s effort, using the resources of many for the needs of many more. I’ve been heartened by Oklahomans—Christians and not—showing up for others without judgment. And I’ve been reminded, through my friends in East Africa, that even when sectarian sparks flare and darkness threatens, the justice and victory of Christ’s light still shine.
The Word of God has hovered over chaos since before light and matter existed. It moved into our neighborhoods to be present when hope feels faint and when scarcity and injustice seem bigger than the cosmos. The Word became flesh in Jesus—to love, to welcome, to reveal that miraculous abundance can still spring from simple acts of faith.
I have seen that Word alive in you. I have seen Jesus in you. Hope, through you.
Thank you for your faithfulness—for letting me share in the telling of God’s story through the people of Acts 2. Thank you for the generosity and kindness that have made the abundance of heaven tangible in my life. Thank you for using your hearts and your hands, your time and your words, to make others feel seen, welcomed, and loved.
Thank you for being you—authentic, true, and in progress.
I have loved sharing my words with you these last five years. And I have loved you. Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for being the Word made real in my life. May it be so—for all people, in all places, in all ways.
Your brother,
Michael
