Everything Looks Different in the Morning

Text: John 1:1-18

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

            Nighttime has a way of shifting our thinking. When the world shrinks down to the size of the room you’re sitting in, the dark of the night cloaking the rest of the world and partitioning you off in the little sphere of light immediately accessible to your eyes, your thoughts tend to be different than they are in the bright, broad daylight. In such moments, before reaching any kind of decision or choosing a course of action, I’ve found that there is great wisdom in the advice: Things will look different in the morning.

            And it’s true. The sun rises, your mind rests and processes while you sleep, your body restores, and things reset with a new beginning. It’s true even between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. When half-spent was the night, we gathered with the shepherds in startled awe to see the baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger. The world had shrunk down to the confines of a stable. The Gospel of St. Luke takes us to Bethlehem and the activities of that night there in that little town, firmly planted in the soil of that small region, where we spent our candlelit time. On Christmas Eve, we behold the birth of the Lord Jesus from a very local, earthly perspective, from Mary and Jospeh’s point of view, from the shepherds’ recollection of events. Even the angels come down to our lower realms on that midnight clear. We see it all from the perspective of those here on earth.

            But as the new sun dawns on Christmas morning, we get a different view. The Christchild is still here with us, even after the heady dreaminess of the midnight before. We begin to realize that things are going to be different from now on. He did not come down for a brief moment on the earth. He’s staying, even all the way to eternity. So St. John takes us from Bethlehem’s humble scene and rockets us high above, to the very heights of heaven, to see what Christmas is, not from the perspective of the world, but to see the coming of the Savior from heaven’s point of view. This morning we see what the Son of God coming to the world means as it stretches out before us, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. “In the beginning was the Word,” we hear this Christmas morning, “and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

            This Child in the manger is God Himself, the Word of God made flesh, the eternal Son of the Father, who has existed from eternity along with the Father. He is now here, in time, in space—and what a small space He occupies. The infinite Son of God is now fully contained in the very finite flesh and blood of the child of Mary. The angels themselves must bow at the great mystery of how this can be. But this is only known to us mortals by faith. We have not seen God—Father, Son, or Holy Spirit—and so this must be revealed to us by the Word, the very same Word that is now wrapped in swaddling cloths. But He has made it known to us. He has shown us the mystery of Christmas from heaven’s point of view.

            This will be an important view to hold. For it will not always seem like the light is shining in the darkness, or that the darkness is unable to overcome it. As we progress through the Church year—and our own lives—it will sometimes seem as if the opposite is true. Herod will lash out against the innocent babies of Bethlehem. Jesus will not be received by His own in his hometown of Nazareth and will be driven out by angry crowds. He will be mocked and the will of man will set itself against the will of God. Nails, spears will pierce Him through. He will even be betrayed, crucified, and killed. And we too will be rejected by the world for clinging to Him. We will be driven out and mocked. We too will see the will of man war against the will of God, sometimes our own fallen will taking part in the rebellion. We’ll see the shadows lengthen with anger, hate, envy, division, and fear. We will betray and be betrayed. We will suffer, as our Lord did. We will even die. And if we hold only an earthly point of view, it will be easy to despair. So God gives us Christmas morning. He gives us His own heavenly perspective, the way things look like from His throne.

            For light has come into the world—not by any earthly mortal; not by kings or warriors or presidents or philosophers. Light has not come into the world by any who were born of the will of flesh nor of the will of man. It has not even come into the world through the Law given through Moses. But light—the true light that does overcome the darkness, that drives out darkness so that it evaporates in the glory of grace and truth, forgiveness and resurrection—the true light has come into the world by Christ alone. We may even say that the true light has come as Christ alone. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness—the darkness into which He arrived, the darkness of our own earthly walks—and the darkness has not overcome it. And to all who received Him, who received His light, who received all that He brought with Him: grace and truth, forgiveness and resurrection, He gave the right to become children of God.

            Everything looks different in the light of Christmas morning. That’s because everything is different. How could creation ever be the same when the One through whom all things were made has now come to live in it with us? He has. He still does live in it with us. He calls us children of God in Baptism, which remains with us our whole lives. He comes to us in His body and blood in His Holy Supper, just as present there as He was in Bethlehem. The Word made flesh still speaks His words of light and forgiveness, healing, peace, and grace upon grace in the Absolution, with you there in that word. He remains in His creation through His own darker moments, and ours, bringing light to fill those times, to help us see clearly the eternal picture, revealing the fears and envies and petty hatreds of the world to be flickering shadows that dissolve as soon as He exposes them for what they are. He brings joy, healing, peace, reconciliation, and life into those places. As the author of Hebrews told us this morning, “He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power.” That Word—the Word of power made flesh—is on your side now, forever. Things do look different indeed.

            So you, to whom He has given the right to be called—and to be—a child of God, He has raised you to be with Him, to see everything from now on from heaven’s point of view, in the full clear light of His glory, the light of the new day that has begun and will remain forever. In the name of Jesus, the Word made flesh that dwells among us, Amen.