December 25, 2016 – Christmas
III
© 2016 Evan D. Garner
Audio of this sermon is available here.
How do you catch a duck? When 30,000 people are watching
you, and your boss tells you not to hurt it, how do you catch a duck?
I don’t remember what day it was or who the Cubs were
playing, but I remember that at some point in the latter innings of a game at
Wrigley Field, a duck flew in and landed on the warning track at the base of
the ivy-covered brick wall. It was a distraction—for the players as well as the
fans—and the ground crew supervisor asked for a volunteer to go and get the
duck. “I ain’t scared of no duck,” I thought to myself, as I raised my hand to
volunteer. “Alright,” he said to me, “go get it.”
It was in between innings, of course, and the door that the
ground crew used was right in the left-field corner of the stadium. When the
door opened, I could see that the duck was already on its way toward center
field, waddling away from me. I started out the door in a hurried trot, and I
thought I heard my boss call out to me, “Don’t run!” It turns out that he was
saying, “Don’t hurt it,” because he didn’t want an animal-rights protest to
erupt because some knuckle-headed college kid had injured a duck in front of a
stadium full of people. I slowed down and approached the duck carefully, and
then, as the duck looked over its shoulder at me and bolted in the opposite
direction, it hit me: how in the world am I supposed to catch a duck?
There was no place for me to corner it. It was certainly faster
than I was. And, as I lumbered toward the bird with outstretched arms, there
was no way for me to assure the duck that I was actually there to help it—that
I wanted to get it off the field and on its way back to Lake Michigan before it
got stepped on by Gary Matthews, Jr., or Sammy Sosa. The closer I got to the
duck the faster it ran away. At one point, I think I may have been within four
or five feet of the intruding waterfowl, but the start of the next inning came
up before I could get any closer.
How do you convince a duck that you’re not going to hurt
it—that you want to be its friend? Similarly, how does God convince us that he isn’t
out to get us—that he’s really on our side?
He could send someone into the world to teach us about his
love. Someone patient and kind and wise. Someone people looked up to. But how
would we know? If he came as a little child and grew up knowing more about God
than anyone else on earth. If he led an exemplary life and lived as a model for
all of us. If he never had an unkind word or a selfish thought. If he never
thought of himself before thinking of others. Do you think we would believe him,
or would we brush him aside as another pretender with skeletons in the closet
that we just haven’t found yet?
What if God sent someone who risked everything he had to
demonstrate the power of love? Would that make a difference? If he risked
society’s shame by associating with outcasts and sinners. If he ate with
prostitutes and tax collectors. If he reached out a hand of concern to touch
the lepers whom no one else would dare approach. Would we see in him a sign
that God loved us like that, too? Or would we label him a wide-eyed optimist
whose ideas would never take hold?
What if God’s anointed servant went ever further than that? What if he accepted the rejection and punishment that of all humanity deserved, asking nothing in return? Would that get through to us and show us once and for all that God is on our side? If he was innocent but willingly walked the path toward execution? If he remained silent in front of his accusers and let them have their way with him? If he accepted rejection and defeat, refusing to struggle or fight back? If he suffered in an excruciating and humiliating way but still only prayed that God would have mercy on us, then would we believe him? Or would we wonder whether the God to whom he prayed would have mercy only on the righteous few? Would his gift of sacrificial love be so great that we would question whether we deserved it? Would we still wonder whether God was really on our side or still out to get those people who did not live a life worthy of that sacrifice?
The Incarnation Window decorated by
the Flower Guild of St. John's, Decatur
We believe in Jesus. We believed that he was born and grew up living a perfect, sinless life. We saw how he welcomed everyone in God’s name. We witnessed in horror how he was rejected by his own people, suffered, and died because his way of love was too much for the world to bear. And all of that is an amazing story of love, but it isn’t good enough. Even the most beautiful story of sacrificial love isn’t enough to convince us that God is forever for us—that God is always on our side. Because even when our loving God is running after us and chasing us down with that love, there’s always a part of us that’s still convinced that he’s chasing us down to punish us, to hurt us, and to reject us. We can’t help it. We’re human beings. And he’s God. And how is the all-powerful, all-knowing, all-holy God ever going to convince a world full of puny, limited, sinful people that he is really on our side?
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God. All things came into being through him, and without him
not one thing came into being...And the Word became flesh and lived among us.”
In God’s perfect way, instead of running after us, trying to convince us of his
love, God became one of us. The Word became flesh. God, who for all time and
all space, who even before time and space existed, loves so perfectly and
completely that that love is reflected in and throughout all of creation. We
are created because of that love and within that love. And that love is so
perfectly complete—so unreservedly outwardly focused—that it cannot not be
contained within God. It always spills out and spills over. That the Word would
become flesh—that God would be incarnate in the person of Jesus Christ—was
always the outpouring of that love.
God cannot run us down because we would always run away. So
God not only comes and meets us, but, in the incarnation, God takes us into
himself. It is a two-way sharing. God becomes man so that we would forever
belong to him. God is not merely showing us his love. His love becomes us. And
we—our human nature—become a part of God. God is so always and totally and
completely on our side that he becomes us and invites us into himself.
On Christmas Day, we celebrate the birth of our savior. We
rejoice that God’s love and hope and forgiveness have come into the world. But
it’s more than that. This isn’t just God’s servant who tells us about God and who
shows us how to live and who dies for the sake of God’s love. We look at Jesus
Christ and see both God and ourselves—that the two have come together
inseparably. This is God’s great love for the world. This is the bridge between
heaven and earth. This is God always and forever and unbreakably for us. This
is the miracle of the incarnation.
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