We began our Advent journey four Sundays ago with Matthew chapter 1—Matthew’s genealogy of Jesus. I described that genealogy as Matthew’s prologue. Its purpose is to tell us what has happened before, what has led us to this point in the story. Matthew roots Jesus firmly in the larger story of the Hebrew Scriptures and in the line of David. He wants his readers to know, right from the outset, that Jesus is the long-hoped-for, long-expected Messiah.
This morning we heard John’s prologue. It is quite different to Matthew’s. Instead of a genealogy, John gives us a poem.
Now, I do like Matthew’s genealogy. But honestly, it’s got nothing on John’s poem, which I absolutely adore.
Like Matthew, John is rooting Jesus’ story in the larger story of Scripture—but not just in the line of David. John goes all the way back to creation itself.
John opens with the words, “In the beginning.” Those words echo the opening words of the Bible. Genesis also begins with a poem—not a scientific explanation of creation, but a poetic one. And it begins the same way: “In the beginning.”
John’s original audience would have known that poem well. These words would have been deeply familiar. So when John begins the same way—but then starts to change the words—it probably messed with their heads a little.
It’s a bit like when someone changes the lyrics to a well-known carol. For example, the other night at the community carols, they replaced the words “O come let us adore Him” with “We’ll praise His name forever.” Now, a lot of people probably like that better and that’s fine, in some ways it is more Advent-y. But personally, I like carols done the traditional way. Still, that unexpected change did make me pay attention. It made me think again about the meaning of the words. And I imagine that’s exactly what John was trying to do with his audience.
John’s poem echoes Genesis in other ways as well.
John tells us that “the Word was with God, and the Word was God, and that all things came into being through this Word.”
Genesis describes God as speaking creation into being: “And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.”
John tells us, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”
Genesis says that in the beginning, “The earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep… Then God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and God saw that the light was good, and God separated the light from the darkness.”
And then John tells us, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory.”
But in drawing so heavily on Genesis, John is also reminding us that before the Word became flesh in Jesus, the Word was already present—already incarnate—in creation itself. And in that creation, we also behold the glory of God. That gives people of faith an added reason to care deeply for this earth on which we live.
John’s prologue also draws heavily on Proverbs chapter 8. In Proverbs 8, Wisdom is personified and given a voice. Wisdom is often called Sophia, the Greek word for wisdom. And in that chapter, she speaks:
“The Lord possessed me, she says, at the beginning of His way, Before His works of old. I have been established from everlasting, From the beginning, before there was ever an earth. When there were no depths I was brought forth, when there were no springs abounding with water . . . when he marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside him, like a master worker; and I was daily his delight, rejoicing before him always, rejoicing in his inhabited world and delighting in the human race.”
John is making a deliberate connection here—between the Word, Logos, and Wisdom, Sophia.
And so John is saying that in Jesus:
The eternal Word came and dwelt among us.
Light came and dwelt among us.
Wisdom came and dwelt among us.
I’ll be honest—I don’t fully know what all that means.
But like most poetry art and novels I love most, I don’t need to be able to fully explain it for it to be true. It awakens something in my soul. It speaks to a truth that my heart understands more than my head. A truth to wrestle with over a lifetime. A truth that makes the world seem far more enchanting than we might otherwise imagine—because everything, in a mystical sense, is charged with the energy of God.
The Anglican theologian Hans Boersma puts it this way:
“We tend to define the world around us by what we observe… But premodern Christians saw material things as connected to greater, spiritual realities. Everything they observed was connected sacramentally to the eternal Logos or Word of God… If this is the correct perspective (which I think it is), then everything we observe is like a small-s sacrament, in which the Logos is present. This presence of the Word of God in creation is a real presence, not just an imaginary presence. So, the presence of God in the world is sacramental.”
Like a lot of Christianity, that’s a bit weird, I guess.
Although, personally, I think it’s a lot less weird than the story of a man who flies around the world in a sleigh and hands out presents—good ones to rich kids and not-so-good ones to poor kids.
I get why that story is more appealing to a culture that just wants to consume more. But the story of God—Word, Wisdom, and Light—coming to dwell among us in poverty is far more magical and far more awe-inspiring. There has always been wonder in Christmas. We don’t need to invent other stories to put it there.
This week, I’ve been reading this passage every morning. I always try to do that with the text I’m preaching on: to spend time with it in my heart, not just in my head. To let it speak to me before I try to speak about it.
And this text has been a particular gift this week, as I—like almost everyone across Australia—have been wrestling with the shooting at Bondi last Sunday. We are a long way away, and yet my heart aches for those who lost people they love, and for what this might mean for this country and for our world.
I won’t say much. Much has already been said—some of it thoughtful, some of it not. But I was struck by the fact that this happened at the start of Chanukah. Chanukah remembers the Maccabean revolt, about 160 years before Jesus was born. When the Jews sought to relight the Temple menorah after the war, they found only one small jug of oil—enough for one day. But miraculously, it burned for eight. And so, for eight days, the menorah is lit. The message of Chanukah is the enduring power of light over darkness.
That is also the message we have been reflecting on today and throughout Advent. And it is a message I pray we will carry with us into Christmas and the new year. There will be challenges ahead—in the world, and in our own lives. But may we hold onto this image: that light is stronger than darkness.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made. 4 In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. 5 And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.
Amen.
