There are shepherds and angels on the lawns of my neighborhood this month.
Angels and shepherds on the Christmas cards for sale in stores, in the carols we sing this month, in the pageant we are rehearsing at Trinity for Christmas Eve, announcing and testifying to the coming of Jesus – angels and shepherds all over the place, and not a single sign of John.
He’s just as colorful a character, and probably an even more powerful witness to the coming of the Messiah, but no glittery or glowing representations of John show up in our world as we remember the coming of God into the world two thousand years ago.
This is probably just fine with John.
He is not the light. He is not the star of the show, and he knows it. And I think he likes it that way. When asked who he is, the very first thing he says is “I’m not the Messiah.”
Not anybody else famous or important, he goes on to say.
I’m just a voice in the wilderness, he says. My only job is to get your attention so that you notice the coming of the Messiah.
I’m the witness.
He came to testify, to bear witness, so that no one mistakes or misses or doubts what God is doing.
The gospel of John (not attributed to the John we are talking about today) lays a lot of emphasis on the role of this John as a witness, as the one “testifying to the light”. Making sure that people know what is happening, as God comes into the world in the person of Jesus.
Which makes me wonder what would have happened (what might be happening) if Jesus had come unwitnessed, unannounced, unnoticed.
What if no one but his family cared when a baby was born in the town of Bethlehem long ago? That’s pretty normal, after all. Then what if John didn’t get anyone’s attention, and the miracles of healing that Jesus performed went unnoticed, attributed to luck, or herbal teas, or magic?
What if Jesus taught his revolutionary news about God in his local synagogue, and everyone was just thinking about their shopping lists during the sermons?
And then what if Jesus dies, and no one pays enough attention to his tomb to notice the resurrection?
One thing I know is that if no one noticed, no one would have told the stories. We wouldn’t know it had happened. We wouldn’t have Christmas; we wouldn’t have church, and carols, and cards. We probably wouldn’t have Christians.
We would still have had an incarnation. Still have had God made flesh, walking the world among us, living and dying like us, and rising from the dead like no one ever before.
But like a tree falling in the forest with no one to hear, does an unheard Messiah, an unnoticed incarnation of God, actually impact the world? Does it matter, if no one noticed it?
The actual answer to that question is a little above my pay grade. But one thing I can know for certain is that John believes it’s important – no, essential – not only that God comes into the world, but that we notice, appreciate, and pay attention to this coming of God.
And, given the role John plays, I suspect that means it matters to God, too, that we notice. That we hear and see and feel the impact of God coming among us, God with us.
There’s very little danger that someone living in southern New Jersey in these days could miss the signs of celebration, the habits and activity of the remembrance of Jesus’ first coming, the revisiting of that incarnation so long ago and far away.
On the radio, in stores, in media, on lawns, in schools, workplaces, government offices, it’s hard – nearly impossible – to miss the signs of celebration.
But we could be in danger of missing what John is focused on, what John is testifying to so we don’t miss it – the actual presence and power and action of God, miraculous all those centuries ago; current and vivid and transformative now.
Many of us might easily miss our impractical encounters with awe, the miracles we weren’t looking for, the good news we find improbable or foolish.
It might even be the bustle and busyness of celebration and remembrance of God’s actions long ago that make us miss the actual presence of God, the nearness of God with us now and here.
Or the demands for joy and activity can make us miss the real presence of the God who holds quiet and grief and loneliness and weariness – all the burdens of incarnation, as well as the joys – and makes it holy.
And…if no one notices the coming, the nearness, the presence, the action of God – does it make a sound? Does the real nearness of God matter, make a difference in the world now if we don’t notice, react, respond?
(Still above my pay grade.)
But – if we take John seriously – the need for John, pointing the way to God in a busy and indifferent wilderness all those years ago – there’s a good chance that you and I, here and now, also need to be “testifying to the light” – to be pointing to the coming of the Messiah – now, and here.
Which means, first, that we ourselves have to notice. To expect, and attend to, and respond to the signs of God’s nearness, and the experience of God’s power and presence in our own very busy and indifferent world. To look where John is pointing, to receive what he’s testifying to, so that we can point the way there for others.
And when we need to notice what God is showing us, when we need to show that to others, it’s also possible that the angels and the shepherds on the lawns and the cards, the celebratory trappings of Christmas remembered, the busy celebrations, can help. Help us notice the divine light still coming into the world, and bear witness to the realities of God’s presence with us now.
Some years, there’s one carol or another that tugs at my heart and soul, and makes real the beauty of God’s presence, or the longing that brings God nearer, or the joy of finding God’s love. This year, my heart keeps singing “It came upon the midnight clear” – with its consciousness of the “weary world” we live in, and the promise of peace for now and soon (as well as long ago and half a world away) making me notice the reality of God’s restorative, healing presence with us.
Sometimes it’s the cards – glittery and full of love – or the gifts, or the gatherings, all forcing me to take note of the presence of God, the divine connections, in the people around me.
Often, though, it’s the light.
The lights in the windows and on rooftops and trees and anywhere else you can illuminate. Lights that signal celebration, and also, accidentally or on purpose, are a tiny little real shining bit of the light John wants us to notice in the world. The glowing presence of God in and on and around the everyday structures of our world.
And when I tell someone else about the light – of how I see the glow of God’s presence in the twinkling, flashing electric strings and the seasonal candles – when I testify to the light, the nearness and reality of God become more vivid to me.
I notice. I see, and I hear. As again and again, God comes, and comes, and comes among us, powerful and real and near.
And I never want to know the answer to what happens if we didn’t notice God.
Because I don’t want to consider missing this. I don’t want you to miss it either. John doesn’t want us to miss it. God doesn’t want us to miss it – this wonder and awe and miracle and love.
So notice it.
With John.
With me.
With God.
God, with us.
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