“When all things were in quiet silence
and the night was in the midst of her swift course,
then thy almighty Word leapt down from heaven, from thy royal throne”
It is a wonderful image. It speaks to this night of images and to this season of the fullness of images. “We beheld his glory, the glory as of the only-begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth,” we hear in the great Christmas Gospel. Such is the glory of the Incarnate Word, the Word who is the only-begotten Son of the Father, the Word who is “the true light, which lighteth every one that cometh into the world.” Word, Light and Son; these are the great images of Christmas.
Yet, it might seem so strange to hear such words on Christmas night. They stand in such stark contrast to all of the busyness, bustle and bother of Christmas. They signal something so completely different from all the busy images of this season in our contemporary culture; the images of glittering candy canes, jolly fat Santas riding scooters, lighted reindeers, and inflated snowmen, abominable or not, that adorn the lawns and houses along with a few images, too, at least a few, of the holy scene of Bethlehem. How does this emphasis upon the Word of God compete with all these things? By giving them depth and meaning without which they are just so much tinsel and wrap, empty and devoid of significance. Without them we “know only,” as T.S. Eliot puts it, “a heap of broken images.” These words are the antidote to the real poverty of our age, our spiritual poverty. They offer the redemption of images.
In and through all the trappings of the season there is something more, something profound and holy. It is captured in the great readings of Christmas night from The Letter to the Hebrews and from The Gospel according to St. John. Thundering words, we might say, that speak to us about God’s “almighty Word leap[ing] down from heaven, from thy royal throne.”
This image from The Wisdom of Solomon has caught the poetic imagination of the centuries of the Christian Church. It refers, in its context, to political judgment; the Word of God is the heavenly warrior who comes to bring justice and peace. But theologically, the leaping down of the Word of God who takes flesh and is born of Mary is our peace and justice. He is our redeemer and saviour in a much more radical way. And while it may seem odd that these readings make no mention of Bethlehem or even of Jesus by name, they provide the interpretative key to the meaning of Christmas. It is inescapably and fundamentally theological. We are caught up in the mystery of God’s Word coming to us in the intimacy of the humanity of Jesus Christ. We are caught up into the vision of glory in the Word made flesh which dwelt among us. We are in this story.
It is, perhaps, only too easy to take that Word captive to ourselves and our own desires. “The Word was made flesh,” we hear. What, ultimately, can that mean except God’s embrace of our humanity and our world, of our flesh and blood, of our human longings and desires? Matter matters, it seems, but only when it is seen and known in the mind of God. Christmas celebrates the redemption of our humanity and our world in the most radical way imaginable. “Without forsaking what he was,” God, “he became what he was not,” man, as Athanasius puts it, “for there was not when he was not.” Christmas makes little sense apart from that theological idea. In the Christian understanding, Jesus is Emmanuel, God with us, true God and true man. That is the great mystery which we can only behold with a kind of awe and wonder. It is not of our making! It is God’s Word made flesh not by my will and desire or by yours but by God. Herein is love, the divine love which embraces our world and day “that we might live through him.”
The thundering words of Christmas Eve remind us of the real and great wonder of Christmas. It is altogether about what God makes. God is the great poet of Christmas night. Poet in Greek means maker. We cannot make Christmas however much we try. We only exhaust and frustrate ourselves in the attempt, having forgotten the simple and great truth that this is God’s doing and God’s gift to us. The wonderful purpose of Christmas is signalled in this service. We can only enter into what God makes for us. Such is the meaning of creation and redemption which reach a kind of crescendo of fullness tonight. The Word which was “in the beginning” and which is God, without whom “was not anything made that was made,” was himself made flesh and “dwelt among us,” literally, “tented among us.” He comes not to be taken captive to our desires but to gather us into his glory. What is that glory? The glory of the fellowship of God and man, the true and only basis of our fellowship with one another.
By the leaping down of God’s almighty Word, we are caught up into something grand and glorious. It redeems all the sorrows and sufferings of our lives and world. We find our place in the pageant of God’s Word who seeks our eternal good and blessedness, come what may in the ups and downs of our anxious and troubled lives. That almighty Word leaps down to take flesh in our lives, to give purpose and meaning to our lives by gathering us to himself.
The humble scene at Bethlehem shows us the way of God with us, the way of Emmanuel. He takes the little things of the world, little Bethlehem, a lowly maiden, shepherds in the field, and shows us something great and wonderful in and through them. Here is “God’s great little one” who is “God, of God, Light, of Light, Very God, of very God”. We ignore or forget this at our peril. Christmas reminds us of this for our good. Such is the blessing of Christmas, the leaping down of God’s almighty Word to bring us grace and glory. May it be so for you and yours this night and always.
“When all things were in quiet silence
and the night was in the midst of her swift course,
then thy almighty Word leapt down from heaven, from thy royal throne”
Fr. David Curry
Christmas Eve, 2012