December 25, 2007
(The Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ: Christmas Day)

Speaking the Same Language

by The Rev. Canon Susan Sommer

Isaiah 52:7-10  •  Hebrews 1:1-4, (5-12)  •  Psalm 98  •  John 1:1-14
(From The Lectionary Page)

As some of you know, we have a very old cat. Or, if you have cats in your house, you know that probably a more accurate way of phrasing that is that a very old cat has us. Her name is Willow. We've been together now for about 5 years, and she came to us as a sedate, matronly 12-year-old. Our daughter Cady has been petitioning to get a livelier cat in addition to Willow, but we have resisted that siren’s song thus far. In years gone by, we were a 2-cat household. It was not a felicitous arrangement. The two that we had, Chairman Mao and Genghis Khatt, came to us from separate shelters and despite our careful attempts at introductions, the two fought, well, like cats. I don't recall that blood was ever drawn, but no day ever went by without one hissing, growling, spitting or slashing at the other. This went on for 10 years until Mao, our firstborn, went to his great reward.

Now I happen to love cats. I love dogs too, for different reasons. Dogs tend to be much more inclusive. Bring another dog home? Usually no problem. The newcomer quickly figures out who the alpha dog is in the pack and, if it's a smart dog, shows the proper respect right away. Cats, on the other hand, are the rugged individualists of the domestic animal world. Each cat considers itself the alpha -- and the omega for that matter. Unless they were brought up as littermates, cats tend to prefer being a solo act.

Back in the day, Rick and I got our second cat because we imagined cozy scenes of the two of them entertaining each other, snoozing together on the sofa, being good company for one another when we were gone. They, on the other hand, wanted no part of our imagination. Many were the times that I wished I could become a cat, just for a few moments, or failing that, at least speak cat language. Because then I would have said to them, "Look, you both are beautiful cats. I love you both. Please love one another as I love you."

Our gospel for Christmas morning is the prologue to John's gospel. It is magnificent poetry, but is probably one of the most esoteric passages in the whole of the most esoteric of gospels. Where last night, we heard of the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem, with the angelic messengers summoning the ragtag bunch of shepherds to worship the newborn king, today the image is much different. Today we are reminded of the big picture. The very big picture. The one that began in the beginning when God created the cosmos. It's no coincidence that John starts his gospel with exactly the same words as Genesis: In the beginning. John goes on to tell us that just as God spoke the cosmos into being ("Let there be light,"), so God's incarnate Word, Jesus Christ, heralds a new creation.

But the purpose of the new creation, you see, is the same as the original creation. Just as it was God's love that spoke the stars, the moon, the earth, and all that is in it into existence, so it is God's love that led God to give the Only Begotten into the world. For all of John's wordiness and sometimes downright mystifying language, his central message shines forth with almost blinding clarity. We get it in 16th verse of the third chapter, the Bible verse we all can quote from memory: For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son that whoever believes in him may not perish, but have eternal life. That theme of love continues throughout the gospel and is summed up chapters (and years) later when Jesus says to his disciples, "Love one another as I love you. By this the world will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."

History reveals that we humans tend to behave rather more like cats than dogs. As a race of beings, we are not automatically given to inclusiveness. We don't often greet strangers with overwhelming joy. Obedience is not generally a strong suit for most of us. Perhaps it's why many of us are drawn to cats. They seem almost human. Left to our own devices, we have a tendency to be, well, rather self-centered, self-contained. We prefer to call the shots. We're sometimes a bit suspicious of new things, new people. We fight among ourselves, squabbling over who gets ownership of a particular piece of turf, who gets to eat first, who gets to play with which toy.

I don't think it our behavior necessarily surprises God, but I believe that it saddens God. I suspect God imagined a very different thing for the creatures made in his own image and likeness. And so much did God envision a different way for us humans, that God chose to become one for a time and a space, so that he could speak our language. So that maybe we would listen and understand and respond to his voice. The joy and the fullness of the feast of the Incarnation -- Christmas -- is that we have a God who speaks human. Who calls to us all and says, "Look, you are all beautiful. Every last one of you. I love you all more than I can say. Please. Love one another as I love you."

This sermon owes a huge debt of gratitude to a sermon preached nearly 10 years ago by friend and colleague Ms. Victoria Garvey, “A God Who Speaks Human.”