A Stoic Christmas: John 1:1-18
Three hundred years before Jesus was born, a group of Greek philosophers asked some important questions: What if the human capacity for logic, flawed as it may be sometimes, is itself evidence for a divine being that is, in turn, perfect Logic? In other words, does our lowercase l logic exist only because a capital L Logic imprinted itself upon us? Even more, what if that capital L Logic imprinted itself upon all of creation, meaning that we can discover perfect ethics through study and experience of the natural world?
This group of philosophers, known as the Stoics, formulated an entire system of thought based on these questions and insights. For them, the author of all is known as the Logos. This word logos translates as logic, yes, but also to so much more. Logos means reason, study, and, as used in John’s Gospel, the Word.
In the beginning, was the Logos.
John is rewriting Genesis 1:1. In the beginning, he says, before the waters of creation, before the ruach, the breath of God, before letting there be light, before all of that: in the beginning was the Word. In the beginning was Logos. And this Word, this Logos, was with God and it was God.
It was God? One can almost still hear the gasps let loose in first–century synagogues.
And like the Stoic’s Logos, John’s Logos acts as the divine filter for creation: “All things came into being through him and without him, not one thing came into being.” Everything is brought into existence by being imprinted with the Logos. Our inner essence and the universe itself have all been touched by the Logos. It is what guides us, even when we do not recognize or understand. The logos is the light of creation and existence, a light that shines throughout the universe.
And now for something completely different. John’s Logos became flesh. And not flesh imprinted by Logos, like we are. No, Logos itself enfleshed. The embodiment of God’s Logic, Reason, Study, and Word. What if God were one of us, indeed.
The Logos became known as Jesus and dwelled among humans, including among those who rejected him. This Logos presented people with grace and truth, helping them to understand that they are children of God, not as a result of blood and flesh, but through Logos. Through reason. Through study. Through the Word. This Logos will later say, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” The I here is Logos. Jesus is so much more than a baby in a crib.
We hear people say, “Jesus is the reason for the season.” Yes! But we must understand “reason” to be Logos. It is not just that Jesus is the cause of the season, it is that Jesus is God’s language made flesh. A language we must study. Jesus is the Logos of the season, the Word. Jesus is the walking dictionary of ethics, reminding us that we are to love our neighbors as ourselves and to pray for those who persecute us. Jesus is evidence that God cares so much about how we treat one another, God came down here to show us.
In the beginning, the Word was with God and the Word was God. Tonight, when we celebrate the coming of Christ into the world, let us think of Jesus as the Logos. Jesus as God’s embodied statement on what it means to be authentically human, living in accordance with eternal, divine mandates. And let us think of ourselves as imprinted by God living in a world bearing God’s imprimatur. Let us remember that “God is Love.” And that’s all we need. Amen.
One hundred fifty-seven Christmases and counting
The religious community known as First Presbyterian Church of Yellow Springs first worshipped together in 1855, but not in this building. No, in the Little Antioch schoolhouse that sat where the funeral home is now. The pastor, Rev. Samuel Smith—a fitting moniker, given the Yellow Springs Brewery—preached a sermon on Hebrews 10:23-25:
Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful. And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as in the habit of some, but encouraging one another…
The great historian of FPC was Lila Reed Jones. Her grandfather, J. J. Reed settled here in 1857; he came so that his boys could be educated by Horace Mann. The elder Reed involved himself with this fledgling Presbyterian community. His granddaughter Lila would later record in her history that the very first Elder, R.W. Davis (think of Davis Street), was suspended, along with his wife, “for a belief in Spiritualism.” Only two months after that, scandal of scandals, a “member in good standing was reprimanded for drunkenness.” Rather than give us more specific, sordid stories, Lila writes tantalizingly: “Probably no other village in this mid-west area has had more interesting people than Yellow Springs, and our church has had its share.” We come by our quirkiness honestly here, it seems.
The original building, the inside of which we have gathered tonight, sits on land purchased from Judge Mills in 1858 for $400. What we now refer to as the sanctuary was completed for $5,029.47 in the year 1860. These walls around us contain, deep in the limestone, the memories of people who have gathered, as of tonight, for 157 Christmas Eves.
Listen and you can hear the voices from the Christmases of 1862-65. Lila’s history is peppered with the names of those who served in the Union Army, including her uncle who returned disabled and lived on the Bryan farm. Or Lieutenant Colonel Ewing, who also was injured and served for a spell as superintendent of the growing Sunday School. The Ewing family moved on from this village before the turn of the twentieth century, but their voices remain. In the pages of Lila’s history and in the stones of this church.
What of the two Christmas Eves that passed during U.S. involvement in the Great War? Lila writes, “These were troubled times. Our boys were enlisting for training, as the First World War was already a certainty. Our army defense forces totaled almost 700,000 and every home was disturbed . . . The church,” Lila wrote, “should be able to afford leadership for world activities as well as moral and intellectual inspiration for all, comfort in time of sorrow, peace in time of distress.” She continued by noting, “We bought New Testaments of the best army type, and gave one to each of the boys from our church going into the service.” Lila lists over a dozen names, including four brothers: Elmer, Ira, Roger, and Owen Barr.
Can you imagine the burden of the Barr family? Can you hear the mother’s prayers for safety, the calls for God to protect her children? Let us hear the prayers that came on December 7, 1941. And November 22, 1963. And April 4, 1968.
How many Christmases of the 157 have been during times of great uncertainty, calamity, confusion, and pain? And yet, people have continued to come. They came in 1955 when Rev. Dr. Buckley Rude and Dr. Walter F. Anderson’s family, together made FPC the first integrated church in all of Greene County.
Not all came here for the same reasons. Such is true tonight. Some are here as a family tradition. Others still for the music. And, as always, a faithful core because they believe in this story of God showing us how we are to live.
What we experience collectively tonight, though, through hearing the tale of Jesus’ coming into the world, is a continuation of the call made by Rev. Smith: that we extend love and good deeds to one another. That we gather together because it is important. By being here, you are part of an ongoing effort to live up to Lila Reed’s declaration that this place be a voice of love in affairs both international and local. We counteract the darkness of the world by following the light of God’s star.
I think we celebrate Christ’s birth best by following his teachings. By being here tonight, you help the mission of this church: to be a place that is open to all who come, meeting them as they are and declaring them beloved of God.
One hundred fifty-seven Christmases and counting. The Christ child has come again. We sing our Alleluias. We squeeze one another’s hands. And we feel that Emmanuel, God With Us, is more than just a name. Emmanuel is a statement of fact. God is with us.
I leave you tonight with the words of Rev. Dr. Buckley Rude, who resigned this pulpit in 1966 because the threats against him and his family proved to be too much.
“Our church for tomorrow,” he said in his last sermon, “must seek out and become the home of the stranger as well as the longtime resident.” And to that, let the people of the church say, Amen.