“An Implicit Call”

John 1:1-14

Second Sunday after Christmas/Ordination/Holy Communion

John 1:1-14 (selected)

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. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.

But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

And 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.

The Meditation

Toward the end of John’s account of Jesus’ life, Jesus will say, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on, you do know him, and have seen him.”

But today we’re at John’s Christmas story, or it’s all the Christmas story we’re going to get out of John. John’s Christmas story is exactly one sentence: “And 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.”

John’s gospel is about light in the darkness. It’s about bread in a world where there isn’t enough bread, though there could be. It’s about the living Word, in a universe that often seems permeated by a terrible silence.

No wonder he was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him.

No wonder he came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.

We didn’t even know what we were looking for. We never imagined it could possibly be so good, such a fulfillment of our loftiest aspirations and our basic human needs—light, bread, a voice other than our own to soothe the silence.

Today we who gather around this table are called not only to bring light into dark places, but to be light in dark places, to be bread for the world, to be the embodiment of the living Word.

On this, the second Sunday of Christmas, some are being ordained to serve as elders in the Church of Jesus Christ, literally “set apart” by ordination to follow a special call.

But all of us who are members of the Church of Jesus Christ have pretty much the same call.

In the first generations of the Church, the act of ordaining someone to the priesthood was not all that big of a deal, because to have joined the church in the first place had already required so much preparation, had already demanded such a level of self-discipline, that there wasn’t really that much more that could be demanded.

Over the course of this year, or two years, or three years, those who are elders will find that a lot is asked of them. But elders are asked explicitly to do things that all of us are asked for implicitly. To be called to follow Jesus Christ is already a remarkable demand.

You may be asked to do any number of things, mundane rituals of meetings; cleaning up, helping out, preparing lessons, coordinating schedules, folding and unfolding chairs and tables. You may even be asked at some point to find out precisely how many Presbyterians it really does take to change a light bulb, possibly without even having called a committee to set a policy guideline about it for session approval.

But elders are asked explicitly to do things that all of us are asked for implicitly.

There are the “Yeah, yeah” vows that elders take, that everybody knows they’re going to say yes to: Will you fulfill your office in obedience to Jesus Christ, and be continually guided by our confessions; will you be governed by our church’s polity; will you abide by its discipline…? “Yeah, yeah, of course, sure, no problem. I got it.”

But, implicitly as a member or explicitly as an elder, you’ll also be asked to be a friend among your colleagues in ministry, which sounds great and works without a hitch until you get to that point when you realize, “Maybe this time I’ve got a burr under my saddle; maybe this time I’m kind of chafing, and maybe I’m not in all that friendly of a mood around my colleagues.”

You are asked in your own life seek to follow Jesus, to love your neighbors, to work for the reconciliation of the world. Easy words in here. But we don’t live our lives in here.

You are even asked to do the impossible, which is to further the peace, unity, and purity of the church.

Of course we all know that’s an impossible task, because one person’s purity is another person’s impurity, and we can’t just decide to go our separate ways when we come to an impasse, because we also made a vow before God to move heaven and earth if necessary to further the unity of the church--not to enable its peaceful disunity and disintegration, but to further its unity.

So when I am firmly convinced that God’s will leads us in one direction, while you are absolutely convicted that God’s will in fact demands that we go the opposite direction—well, you and I will have to submit to that other thing we vowed to further: the peace of the church. And we’ll remember the angel’s word to Mary: that nothing will be impossible with God.

Elders make a vow, but all members are expected, to serve the people with energy, intelligence, imagination, and love. That means no corners cut just because you couldn’t imagine any scenario different to or better than the broken world in which you minister.

It means knowing the difference between the need for holy sabbath and the all-too-human, all too casual desire to give less than your best energy to God when it isn’t yet time for sabbath.

I want to let you off the hook, because I know how hard you work, and I know what it takes to function in this society. I want to give you a pass on that; I want to look the other way, and quietly, every once in a while, slip you a week-end pass to get out of your commitment to following the way of the cross.

I'm not exaggerating or being sarcastic or rhetorical about this! I want to be the cool pastor, who nods in agreement when you say it’s better some Sunday mornings to be on the golf course, or in front of the TV, or curled up with a good book, or taking a walk out on the beach or in the woods. I want to say, “Yeah, that’s great,” because I honor all those things.

But I don’t have the authority to say that.

I have only the same authority you do, whether ordained to the ministry, or ordained to the role of ruling elder, or simply called to follow the one who found you walking along the beach, and when you asked him what he was all about, and where someone as absolutely pure and good as he could possibly live in this world, he said, “Come and see.”

What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

And to all, all of us, who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of humankind, but of God.

Some of us are elders in the Church of Jesus Christ, but all of us are its ministers. May the ministries of every one of us bring light, and life, and bread to a world that is starving.