Second Sunday of Christmas
John 1:1-18
Sunday Readings
- Jeremiah 31:7–14
God will gather the scattered people and turn their mourning into joy. - Psalm 147:12–20
Praise the Lord! God protects, blesses, and gives guidance. - Ephesians 1:3–14
God adopted us, making us heirs through Christ Jesus. - John 1:(1–9) 10–18
The Word became flesh and lived among us.
The Word became flesh and dwelt among us
Pope Francis
The Gospel of today’s Liturgy offers us a beautiful phrase that we always pray in the Angelus and which, on its own, reveals to us the meaning of Christmas. It says, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (Jn 1:14). The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. If we think about it, these words contain a paradox. They bring together two opposing realities: the Word and the flesh. “Word” indicates that Jesus is the eternal Word of the Father, an infinite Word, existing from all time, before all created things; “flesh”, on the other hand, indicates precisely our reality, a created, fragile, limited and mortal reality. Before Jesus there were two separate worlds: Heaven opposed to earth, the infinite opposed to the finite, spirit opposed to matter. And there is another polarity in the Prologue of the Gospel of John, another pair: light and darkness (cf. v. 5). Jesus is the light of God who has entered into the darkness of the world. Light and darkness. God is light: in him there is no opacity; in us, on the other hand, there is much darkness. Now, with Jesus, light and darkness meet: holiness and guilt, grace and sin. Jesus, the incarnation of Jesus, is the very place of encounter, the encounter between God and humanity, the encounter between grace and sin.
What does the Gospel intend to announce with these polarities? Something splendid: God’s way of acting. Faced with our frailties, the Lord does not withdraw. He does not remain in his blessed eternity and in his infinite light, but rather he draws close, he makes himself flesh, he descends into the darkness, he dwells in lands that are foreign to him. And why does God do this? Why does he come down to us? He does this because he does not resign himself to the fact that we may lose our way, going far from him, far from eternity, far from the light. This is God’s work: to come among us. If we consider ourselves unworthy, that does not stop him: he comes. If we reject him, he does not tire of seeking us out. If we are not ready and willing to receive him, he prefers to come anyway. And if we close the door in his face, he waits. He is truly the Good Shepherd. And [what is] the most beautiful image of the Good Shepherd? The Word that becomes flesh to share in our life. Jesus is the Good Shepherd who comes to seek us right where we are: in our problems, in our suffering…. He comes there.
Dear brothers and sisters, we often keep our distance from God because we think we are not worthy of him for other reasons. And it is true. But Christmas invites us to see things from his point of view. God wishes to be incarnate. If your heart seems too contaminated by evil, if it seems untidy, please, do not close yourself up, do not be afraid: he will come. Think of the stable in Bethlehem. Jesus was born there, in that poverty, to tell us that he is certainly not afraid of visiting your heart, of dwelling in a shabby life. This is the word: to dwell. To dwell is the verb used in today’s Gospel to signify this reality: it expresses total sharing, a great intimacy. And this is what God wants: he wants to dwell with us, he wants to dwell in us, not to remain distant.
And I ask myself, you and everyone: do we want to make room for him? In words yes, no one will say, “I don’t!”; yes. But in practice? Perhaps there are aspects of life we keep to ourselves, that are exclusive, or inner spaces in which we are afraid the Gospel will enter into, where we do not want God to be involved. Today I invite you to be concrete. What are the inner things that I believe God does not like? What is the space that I keep only for myself, where I do not want God to come? Let each of us be concrete, and answer this. “Yes, yes, I would like Jesus to come, but this, he must not touch; and this, no, and this…”. Everyone has their own sin — let us call it by name. And he is not afraid of our sins: He came to heal us. Let us at least let him see it, let him see the sin. Let us be brave, let us say: “But, Lord, I am in this situation but I do not want to change. But you, please, don’t go too far away”. This a beautiful prayer. Let us be sincere today.
During these days of Christmas, it will do us good to welcome the Lord precisely there. How? For example, by stopping in front of the Nativity scene, because it shows Jesus who came to dwell in all our real, ordinary life, where not everything goes well, where there are many problems: we are to blame for some of them; others are the fault of other people. And Jesus comes. There we see the shepherds who work hard, Herod who threatens the innocent, great poverty… But in the midst of all this, in the midst of so many problems — and even in the midst of our problems — there is God, there is God who wants to dwell with us. And he waits for us to present to him our situations, what we are living. Let us talk to Jesus about our real situations, in front of the Nativity scene. Let us invite him officially into our lives, especially in the dark areas: “Look, Lord, there is no light there, the electricity does not reach there, but please do not touch, because I do not feel like leaving this situation”. Speak clearly and plainly. The dark areas, our “inner stables”; each one of us has them. And let us also tell him, without fear, about the social problems, the ecclesial problems of our time, our personal problems, even the worst ones, because God loves to dwell in our stable.
May the Mother of God, in whom the Word was made flesh, help us to cultivate greater intimacy with the Lord.
Angelus 2/1/2022
Being Actively Faithful
Kathleen Rushton
The Gospels introduce Jesus in different ways. In Matthew’s Gospel, the Magi follow a star to the infant Jesus in Bethlehem and worship him (Mt 2:1-12). In Luke’s Gospel, angels announce Jesus’s birth to shepherds who “went with haste” to Bethlehem (Lk 2:8-16). Both stories have outsiders discovering that Jesus is born and who respond as a group to be with him.
In John’s Gospel Jesus’s coming is not expressed as a birth. John says that the Word became “flesh (sarx) and lived among us” — literally “pitched a tent in us” (Jn 1:14). Jesus’s becoming is neither as a male person (aner) or a human person (anthropos). “Flesh” recalls the Old Testament (OT) view of the human person as an undivided whole. In biblical as well as other ancient writings, “flesh” has a range of meanings which link human persons with other living creatures.
Ancient Understandings
While “In the beginning” (En arché) evokes Genesis 1, at the time when John’s Gospel was written, this Greek expression had cosmological and philosophical meanings. It was about what was there before anything else. It was a causal explanation for the world and its wonders that did not have to be explained.
Jesus is “the Word” (logos, Jn 1:1, 14). This recalls the dynamic energy and power of the “word of God” in the OT as well as in Hellenistic (Greek) understandings. The extent of logos is illustrated by Plato who, according to French philosopher Remi Brague, “uncovered the principle of creation and gave it a Greek name that evokes a thousand resonances: logos.” The Greek word pánta, translated as “all things” (Jn 1:3), was one of the names of the universe and its totality.
The Prologue introduces the tone, the language, the time and characters and vital clues for the unfolding of the gospel story. “The Word became flesh” (Jn 1:1-5, 9-14) and is plunged into what we understand is God’s unfinished, evolving universe where people choose either to “receive him” or “not accept him” (Jn 1:11-12). The Prologue read in the liturgical seasons of Advent and Christmas offers disciples today the same choice.
The Verb “to Believe”
Although faith and belief permeate John’s Gospel, neither noun is used in the Gospel text. John uses dynamic verbs — doing words and action. The verb “to believe” (pisteuein) occurs 98 times which contrasts with 11 times in Matthew, 14 times in Mark and 9 times in Luke. In John, 74 of the 98 uses of pisteuein occur in the first part of the Gospel in the Book of Signs (Jn 1-12) where Jesus is giving people the option of believing. Later, in the Book of Glory (Jn 13-21), Jesus is speaking to those who believe.
For us, “believe in” may suggest an intellectual faith or belief. In the ancient Middle Eastern world, these words along with fidelity and faithfulness, bound one person to another. They are sentiments that come from the heart, the centre of a person’s being, which give expression to the social and emotionally rooted values of solidarity, commitment and loyalty. All this underpins “believing into.”
“Believe into”
John 1:12 tells us: “But to all who received him, who believed into (pisteuein eis) his name, [Jesus] gave power to become children of God.” “In” and “into” in this context have distinct meanings. Sometimes bible translations use “believed in” which is correct, however, ‘in” does not accurately translate “into” (eis) when it is written in one of John’s favourite phrases. He uses it 36 times — to “believe into” God twice; to “believe into” Jesus 31 times; and to “believe into” the name of Jesus four times.
There is a dynamic quality to faith in John’s Gospel — faith is not a past event but a continuing attitude that unfolds throughout life. “Believing into” denotes this active commitment.
The expression pisteuein eis is found only in the New Testament. Raymond Brown says it is “an active commitment to a person and in particular to Jesus … it involves much more than trust in Jesus or confidence in him; it is an acceptance of Jesus and of what he claims to be and a dedication of one’s life to him.” It describes a willingness to respond to God’s invitations as they are presented in and by Jesus.
We can see how “believing into” the mystery of Jesus unfolds in the Gospel story. For example, after Jesus fed the 5,000 (Jn 6:1-14), many of the crowd went looking for him and asked: “What must we do to work the works of God?” (literal translation). Jesus answered them: “This is the work of God, that you believe into him whom [God] has sent” (Jn 6:28-29).
“The Work of God”
This “work of God” continues in time all over the world. We participate by “believing into” Christ and doing God’s unfinished work in the world — the work of creating community, seeking truth, reconciling, making peace in our complex, evolving, beautiful, suffering world.
Palestinian theologian Mitri Raheb writes that “God had done [God’s] part. The ball was now in the court of humankind … The transformed faithful were to engage the world … and to live the life of an already liberated people … belief in Jesus as the yearned for Messiah replaced the idea of divine intervention with the direct intervention of the faithful.”
Gospel: John 1:1-18
Fernando Armellini
Authors give emphasis on the first page of their books to give the reader a bird’s-eye view of their work. The page does not only say that it is a pleasant and attractive material to read but it also sets the tone and prepares the reader to comprehend the things to come. The first page should highlight the key features of the book to whet the interest and curiosity of the reader.
To introduce his Gospel, John composes a sublime hymn, so high as to merit him, rightly, the title of ‘eagle’ among the evangelists. In this prologue, as in the overture of a symphony, we will try to identify the reasons (to be further developed upon in subsequent chapters): Jesus—sent by the Father, source of life, light of the world, full of grace and truth, the only Son in whom the glory of the Father is revealed.
In the first stanza (vv. 1-5), John seems to take off on an image dear to the wisdom and Rabbinic literature: The ‘Wisdom of God’ depicted as a beautiful and delightful woman. Here’s how ‘Wisdom’ introduces herself in the book of Proverbs: “The Lord created me first at the beginning of his works. The abyss did not exist when I was born. The mountains were not yet set in their place, nor the hills when I was born. I was there when he made the skies, when he made the sea with its limits when he laid the foundation of the earth, I was close beside him” (Prov 8:22-29). This is personified in the book of Sirach, which states that Wisdom embodied herself in the Torah, the Law, and set up her tent in Israel (Sir 24:3-8,22).
John knew these texts well and—perhaps even with a little polemic against Judaism—adopts them and applies them to Jesus, who, according to him, is the ‘Wisdom of God’ who came to make his dwelling among us. It is Jesus, and not the Mosaic law, who reveals to the people the face of God and His will. He is the Word, the last and final Word of God. He is the same Word by which God, in the beginning, created the world.
Moreover, unlike the personified Wisdom (Sir 24:9), the Word of God—in that Jesus became flesh—has not been created, but ‘was’ with God, existed from eternity, and was God. For Israel, Wisdom is “a tree of life to those who clasp it” (Prov 3:18). John makes it clear: The Wisdom of God manifested itself fully in the historical person of Jesus. He is no longer the law, but the source of life.
The coming of this Word into the world divides history into two parts—before and after Christ; darkness before (without him), light after (in his presence). The Word that, like a sword, penetrates deep into every person and separates in him the ‘son of light’ and the ‘child of darkness.’ The darkness will try to overpower the light, but will not succeed. Even the negative response of man will suffocate and, eventually, light will prevail in the hearts of each one of us.
The second stanza (vv. 6-8) is the first narrative interlude that introduces the figure of John the Baptist. It does not say that ‘he was with God.’ John is just a man raised up by God for a mission. He was to be a witness to the light. His role is so important that it is mentioned three times in just two verses. He was not that light, but was able to recognize the true light, and to point him to one and all.
The third stanza (vv. 9-13) develops the theme of Christ—the light and the people’s response to his appearance in the world. The hymn opens with a cry of joy: “The true light was coming to the world.” Jesus is the true light, as opposed to the illusory glitters, wisps, mirages, and the misleading glow projected by the wisdom of the people.
A lament immediately contradicts this enthusiastic cry: “The world did not know him.” It is the rejection, opposition, and closure to the light. People loved darkness rather than light because their deeds are evil (Jn 3:19). Not even the Israelites—“his own people”—welcome him. Yet they would have recognized in Jesus the ultimate manifestation, the embodiment of the ‘Wisdom of God’, the wisdom that “among all the people had sought a resting place in which to settle,” and in Israel, she had found her home. The Creator of the universe had given her this order: “Pitch your tent in Jacob; Israel will be your homeland” (Sir 24:7-8).
The rejection of light and life by people, even the most prepared and well-disposed, is surprising. Jesus, too, will be surprised one day of his own countrymen’s incredulity (Mk 6:6). This means the light that comes from above is not imposed, does no violence, leaves free but places people before an inescapable decision: they must choose between “blessing and curse” (Dt 11:27), between “life and death” (Dt 30:15).
The verse ends with the joyful vision of those who believed in the light. Believing does not mean giving one’s own intellectual approval to a package of truth, but to accept a person, the Wisdom of God, who identifies himself with Jesus. To those who trust in him shall be granted an unheard of ‘right’: to become the children of God. It is the rebirth from above, of which Jesus will speak to Nicodemus (Jn 3:3), a rebirth that has nothing to do with natural birth linked to sexuality, to the will of man. In a nutshell, the generation from God is of another order; it is the work of the Spirit.
The fourth stanza (v. 14): “And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us” is the highlight of this prologue. This is the Gospel’s words we will listen on our knees. The first Christians are still full of admiration about the mystery of God, who for love strips himself of His glory, empties Himself, and takes up His abode under our tent.
‘Flesh’, in biblical language, connotates man in his appearance of being weak, fragile and perishable. One senses here the dramatic contrast between “flesh” and “Word of God”, expressed so effectively in the famous passage from Isaiah: “All flesh is grass and all its beauty as the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will forever stand” (Is 40:6-8).
When John says that the “Word” became flesh he does not simply state that Jesus took a mortal body, overlaid with muscles, but that He became one of us, becoming like us in everything, including feelings, passions, emotions, cultural conditioning, tiredness, fatigue, ignorance—yes, also ignorance—temptations, the inner conflicts …. exactly like us in all things but sin.
“And we have seen his glory.” The Biblical man was aware that the human eye is unable to see God. One may only contemplate his ‘glory’—that is, the signs of his presence, his works, his acts of power in favor of his people. “I will have glory at the expense of Pharaoh, his army, his chariots, and horsemen” (Ex 14:17).
The expressions filled with intense emotion of the first letter of John are echoed in this phrase of the prologue: “That which has been from the beginning, and what we have heard and have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, I mean the Word who is life…The Life made itself known, we have seen Eternal Life and we bear witness, and we are telling you of it. It was with the Father and made himself known to us. So we tell you what we have seen and heard, that you may be in fellowship with us, and us, with the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. And we write this that our joy may be complete” (1 Jn 1:1-4). Here, John speaks in the plural sense because he intends to report the experience of the Christians of his community. With the eyes of faith, they are able to grasp—beyond the veil of the “flesh” of Jesus, humiliated and crucified—the face of God.
The Lord has often manifested His glory with signs and wonders, but he never revealed himself so clearly as in his “only begotten Son, full of grace and truth.” “Grace and Truth” is a biblical expression to imply ‘faithful love’. We find it in the Old Testament, when the Lord appears to Moses as “the God full of pity and mercy, slow to anger and abounding in truth and loving kindness” (Ex 34:6). The fullness of God’s faithful love is present in Jesus. He is the irrefutable proof that nothing can overwhelm the goodness of God.
The fifth stanza (v. 15) is the second intermission. The Baptist reappears, and this time he speaks in the present: He ‘testifies’ on behalf of Jesus; he ‘shouts’ to people of all times that He is unique.
The sixth stanza (vv. 16-18) is a song of joy, representing the community’s overflowing gratitude to God for the incomparable gift received. The law of Moses was also a gift of God but was not definitive. The external provisions it contained were not able to communicate the “grace and truth”, that is, the force that enables man to respond to the faithful love of God. “Grace and truth” are given through Jesus. His name appears here for the first time.
No one has ever seen God. It is a statement that John often recalled (5:37; 6:46; 1 Jn 4:12,20). It is already found in the Old Testament: “You cannot see my face—God says to Moses—because man cannot see me and live” (Ex 33:20). The events, apparitions, and visions of God, as told in the Old Testament, were not of material vision. They were a humane way to describe the revelations of the thoughts, the will, and the plans of the Lord.
However, now looking at Jesus, one can actually and concretely see God. To know the Father, one need not indulge in philosophical reasonings, or lose oneself in elaborate discussion. It is enough to contemplate Christ, to observe what he does, what he says, what he teaches, how he behaves, how he loves, whom he prefers, people he frequents with, with whom he goes to dinner, and whom he chooses, rebukes and defends. It is enough, above all, to contemplate him in the height of his ‘glory’, when he was lifted up on the cross. In that highest manifestation of love the Father has said it all.
