The One Who Knows How to Turn on the Lights

Scripture Lessons: Genesis 1: 1-5 and John 1: 1-9 Sermon Title: The One who can turn on the Lights Preached on 12/17/17 Every night our girls humor me by asking me to tell them a story, and last Monday Night Lily wanted to hear a story about when I was her age, so I told her about how when I was 8, my favorite school lunch at Hickory Hills Elementary School was something called a taco boat. You might remember those things. The taco shells were flat, but pulled up on the edges like a square corn pie crust, and the lunch ladies would scoop taco beef into them, then lettuce and salsa. I remember all that because this was my favorite school lunch, and talking about these taco boats reminded me of one day when I was going through the lunch line with my best friend Matt Buchanon. I was new at Hickory Hills in 3rd grade when I was Lily’s age, and Matt was in 3rd grade too but had been at the school longer so he was kind of showing me the ropes. We were going through the line, and right before we got to the cash register he says, “Watch this.” Lunch was 85 cents in those days, and Matt pulled out a dollar, handed it to the lady, and said to her, “Keep the change” and with the wink, he walked to our table. I thought this was the coolest thing I had ever seen. It was like was going through the lunch line with James Dean or something. So, I take out my dollar, hand it to the lady, “keep the change” I say, but she handed me back my 15 cents. The moral of the story: some people have it and some people don’t. That’s just the way it is. Sometimes you just have to stay in your lane, and Matt Buchanon was the Fonz of Hickory Hills and I was lucky to be his less cool sidekick, which was fine because you have to know who you are – and you have to know who you are not. I’m not Matt. I’m also not Sara. There was a month when Sara asked me to take over paying the bills for our family. She gave me instructions, all the passwords. It was still the most stressful month of my life. She’s also who the girls want when they’re sick – unless there’s throw-up involved. That’s me. And when we all leave the house in the morning Lily and Cece both say, “I love you Mama. You’re the best Mom ever.” They love me too, I know that, but there’s something about a mom. That’s just how it is, and that’s fine because it’s good to know who I am and who I’m not. There’s freedom in coming to terms with that, and there’s suffering if you never do – so it is with some joy that I say I’m just Joe. Not Matt, not Sara, not Jesus either, and while that last one may sound the most obvious of all, I’m not the only mortal who attempts to live up to immortal standards. I’m not the only human who has trouble accepting the reality of his human-ness. Consider just the last two campaign slogans for President of the United States. I’m not trying to make a particularly political statement. I just want to say this morning that all those supporters who believe that President Trump is powerful enough to go right up to Washington and “Make America Great Again” are going to be disappointed, because no mortal can do it – especially not on his own. But this is politics. Human politicians promising the impossible. They say they can do these things that they can’t, and we are fools to believe them. You remember President Obama’s campaign slogan? Hope. No human should promise that because hope is not ours. We mortals have to come to terms with mortality. We have to understand the limits of our power. We have to know who we are and who we are not – and that’s why it’s important that we go back to the river this morning – back to the Jordan River to visit John for the 2nd Sunday in a row. And who is John? There’s some descriptive information about him in our 2nd Scripture Lesson, but this passage gives us mostly a description of who he is not: “There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.” So, who’s John? He’s not the light and he knows it. A preacher and Bible Scholar named David Bartlett said it like this: “What Would Jesus do?” the button asks. He would walk on water, give sight to the blind, and raise the dead.” We have to know who we are not – and who we are not is the light of the world. That sounds obvious enough, but it’s not. Or it’s not for me any way. Last Sunday I was nervous, and it was because I was confused about my limits. I was thinking all Saturday after we’d made the decision not to cancel the 11:15 service – that if these people are going to go through all the trouble of getting here on a snow day, I better have a pretty good sermon. That might be true, but you’re not here for me. If I spend all this time pointing to myself, if this church becomes all about me or you or anyone else, if the focus of our attention is on what any mortal has to say and think and do, then we are a shell of the Church that we could be. Because it’s not me or my words that matter. It’s who I’m talking about. It’s who they’re singing about. It’s who we’re praying to. It’s who we honor and thank with our tithes and offerings. The focus of our praise must never be on a mortal. For it is the call of we humans to use our words and actions to point to the One who spoke light into the world. A great theologian, some would say the greatest of the 20th Century, was a man named Karl Barth. From 1921 until his death, over his desk hung a copy of a painting by Matthias Grunewald. In the center of the painting hangs Christ crucified, and to one side stands John the Baptist – one hand raised and pointing to the Light of the World. “There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light. He himself was not the light” and what we can learn from John is that John the Baptist knew he wasn’t. He knew himself well enough that he knew who he was, the gifts that God had given him, and he used those gifts so well because he pointed to someone worth pointing to. He is, therefore, the very definition of humble. The definition of humble is simple. It’s knowing what you can do and what you can’t do, who you are and who you are not. And John was a messenger, not the light itself. We can learn a lot from just that. After all, this is a time of year when everyone is going overboard. Doing too much. Attempting to make real the impossible. Trying to make someone’s dreams come true. This time of year, we forget who we are and who we are not, and that leads to doomed expectations. Grandma died, so someone is going to try to make macaroni and cheese just like she always made it. But even if it’s perfect, we can’t bring grandma back. And last Christmas Charlie was disappointed, so someone here is going to find the perfect thing in the perfect size, but listen – be realistic – you can’t buy joy. You just can’t. Even if this Christmas you were to wake up to a Lexus in your driveway with a big red bow on it, you’ve shot for the moon without reaching it, because you can’t be hope, you can’t be Christmas Joy, and you can’t be the Light of the World, and if we’re busy trying to be that, not only are we doomed to frustration, but we’re missing out on the blessings that our God longs to give if we just stop trying to provide them ourselves. We’re trying to scrape by on your own while he promises abundant life. We’re trying to fill the table for a feast, but he’s the one who turns water into wine. And maybe we’ve thrown some Christmas lights in the tree, but he’s the light of the world. A preacher named Bob Woods tells a story about the light in a cave. This couple took their son and daughter to Carlsbad Caverns. The tour of this cave is like a lot of them. The guide takes you way down there, to the cave’s deepest point underground, and then turns off the lights, just to show how dark darkness can be. Enveloped in complete darkness, the little boy began to cry. Immediately was heard the quiet voice of his sister who said, “Don’t cry. Someone here knows how to turn on the lights.” You see – this time of year we’re busy talking about remembering grandma through the perfect replication of her macaroni and cheese, while Jesus is coming to make the dead alive. We’re busy searching the internet for the greatest gift money can buy while Jesus is born bringing hope to the world. And up in Washington DC they’re doing very mortal things while promising what only God can give – so do not be deceived. Do not be frustrated. Instead, look to the Manger because the one who knows how to turn on the lights is coming. Our Clerk of Session, Carol Calloway, and I were texting back and forth last Saturday trying to decide what to do about opening the church. I asked her if she had power back yet and she wrote me back, “I am very aware of where our real power comes from. Being without power kinda makes that obvious.” My friends, there are limits to human power, but rejoice in this: the one who knows how to turn on the lights is coming to be with us. Amen.