The Word was made flesh, and lived among us, full of grace and truth. [from John 1]
When I was a little girl, and had learned to read, I became even more fascinated by the gifts under the Christmas tree—well, at least those with my name on the tag. I would move the package under a lamp and try to press the paper flat against the box to see if I could read any words: “Barbie,” “horse,” “Monopoly.” Or maybe something I hadn’t even asked for.
But even if I could read the words, it just increased my desire to get under the paper, inside the box. Because, though the words themselves were delicious, they were really just teasers to whatever was inside. They made me want to hold and touch and play with the actual thing the words described. The word wasn’t enough.
The Word was made flesh.
In John’s gospel, the Word was with God from the beginning, but it wasn’t enough. It was the actual thing, the real person, who was needed. The miracle of a human child, who was unable even to use words himself until he would learn to speak as most any child does, was the realness, the physicality, the essence of the thing. That the eternal Word could be present in a human was beyond imagination. Yet, there it was.
What does it mean for us, who cannot touch the infant, smell his baby breath, see his fingers and toes, hear his cries?
We look for the eternal Word made flesh among us, but we don’t have to look far.
Yes, there are people who do really bad things in this world. But there are also moments when we can point to some person or act and think: There. There it is. That’s how we see eternity right here.
Maybe it’s some random act of kindness. Or the face of your most precious loved one. Some deep goodness you see in a person you know or a stranger.
We have each other. The Word is made flesh anew each day, right here among us.
And we glimpse grace and truth.
© Melissa Bane Sevier, 2013