Explaining God

First Sunday after Christmas

December 30, 2007

John 3:17

"For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him."

On Christmas morning, as Julie, and Alex, and I left Port Hope for Indianapolis, with visions of grandson, Oliver, dancing in our heads, while riding in our minivan, I was pondering the sermon that I had just preached. I was really pleased with it, and was thinking that I wanted way more folks to hear it than the 148 that were in Christmas morning worship. But, I’ve never re-preached a sermon, in such a fashion, so I didn’t know if I should do that.

We got to Imlay City. It was 1:00, and we were hungry. We got lesson number one for the day: only gas stations are open on Christmas Day—not a restaurant among the lot of them. Oddly, we found ourselves almost delirious with our gas station hot dogs, and we were back on the road.

On I-69, the other side of Flint, one passes the little town of Durand. A few miles after Durand, Alex, who was driving, said the two words that no one ever wants to hear the driver say: "Oh, oh." The van was now slowing down at a rapid pace. The transmission was toast.

In Durand, there is a very helpful fellow by the name of Ryan Young, but everyone knows him as Chubby and, in Durand, Chubby knows everyone. Chubby has a wrecker service and, within thirty minutes of our breakdown, he was taking the van, and us, back to Durand. Thankfully, Durand has a brand new Quality Inn hotel and, this Christmas night, there was room at the inn . . . but, still no restaurants open. So, across the street we went to the gas station, loading up on every microwaveable sandwich they had. And, just as that afternoon, we were giddy, there in our hotel room, stranded for the night, with our gas station food.

So, what to do? We quickly formulated a plan to rent a car and drive to Indianapolis on Wednesday. Since we lost a day, we would stay one more day—until Saturday—which is the day that I write my sermon. So, long, long, story short, as we wound up having the wonderful vacation with our family, in Indianapolis, that we had hoped to have, I very easily persuaded myself to re-use my Christmas morning sermon. And, here it is.

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How could you explain God, to a person who does not believe, in a way that would make God so appealing that . . . well . . . how could even the hardest of heart resist?

Say this.

What would you say of a God, who is so big that He cannot be contained in all of creation, who became so small that you could hold Him in your arms, and He did it so that He could grow into a man who would die for your sins?

What would you say of a God, who came up with everything about how your body works, but when He gave Himself a body, He had to start from scratch, being weaned on His mother’s breast, his diaper changed just like the next kid, learning to walk and then to talk, and everything else that you had to do, so that He could grow into a man who would then freely give up His body so that you could have your body, forever?

What would you say of a God, who is so rich—well, everything belongs to Him, because He made all of it—he determined what gold would be, and silver, and diamonds, and the whole thing—yet, made Himself so poor that He had to be laid into a makeshift bed, in an improvised delivery room, in a strange town and, when He grew up, made Himself so poor, as He roamed the countryside for three years, that He depended on others for His daily bread and, when the time came, was separated from all of His family and friends—the greatest example of poverty—as He, all alone, suffered in His body—the whipping, the mocking, the nailing—so that you would not have to suffer for your spiritual poverty?

What would you say of a God, who is so kind, that He fills every request asked of Him, by those who trust Him enough to ask of Him, and only answering in a way that is best for the one requesting, as He showed in His earthly ministry of healing the deaf, and the blind, and everyone who sought His kindness, and who, despite our sins, loves to hear our prayers and give us the answer that best serves our lives, as He died so that we can pray, and He lives in heaven to serve us?

What would you say of a God, who is so full of grace, that he takes the weight of His commandments upon His own Son, fulfilling them in the place of every person who would ever live and, with no questions asked, freely gives to mankind the holiness that His Son took to the cross, accounting His death as righteousness to the one who believes?

What would you say of a God, who is so full of love that, despite how we humans show complete and utter contempt for His goodness and will, still forgives our sins, still grants us life everlasting, still saves us from death, devil, and damnation, all because of this Son, whom He freely gave into our flesh and into our sin?

Say that. Say all of that.

Who could reject that? Who could reject the gift of Jesus?

Who could reject a baby? Who could reject his brother? Who could reject a man, who only does good? Who could reject a man, who dies in your place?

Where is there any bad news about this God? Where is there any challenge to you? Have you heard a single word that you have to do something—do anything—to possess all of His kindness, all of His grace, all of His love, given through His Son, Jesus?

You haven’t heard a word of it. And, you won’t. God did not send His Son into the world to condemn you, but to save you.

When a firefighter has a person trapped in a burning home, does he stand at the door and ask the person if he deserves to have him enter the burning house? Does he question him about his life, his sins, his good deeds? No, the firefighter does what a firefighter does. He saves. No questions asked.

That’s what salvation is. It is based in the one who saves. It is a no-questions-asked deal. It is a the-savior-does-everything-and-the-one-being-saved-does-nothing transaction.

This is the beauty of Christmas, which leads to Good Friday, which leads to Easter, which leads to Ascension, which leads to Jesus returning to this world to usher in the eternal, perfect kingdom.

We do nothing. God does everything.

To whomever you know, who does not believe in Jesus, say that. We do nothing. God does everything.

But, don’t you have to believe? And, don’t you have to be baptized, and go to Communion? In other words, doesn’t a person have to do something?

Believing, and receiving Baptism and Communion—those are God’s work, too.

Do you ask the person, who is being saved in the fire, to believe in the firefighter? No. He doesn’t have to believe in the firefighter for the firefighter to be able to save him. Indeed, he can be unconscious, or the smoke and noise can block out the firefighter, until the firefighter grabs him and hauls him to safety.

But, when the one, who has been saved, knows what has happened—when he sees the savior/firefighter—well, who wouldn’t believe?

The firefighter brought faith to the person who was perishing, in the act of making his salvation known to the one who was dying.

Our sins are like smoke and noise, which block out God’s Son, the Savior. Our sins have us unconscious to God’s goodness. Jesus Christ reaches into the fire and hauls us to safety.

Jesus is the object of faith, because He is the Savior. What’s there not to believe? How is that not one-hundred-percent a gift?

As for Baptism and Holy Communion, those are God’s gifts, too. You do nothing, Jesus does everything.

In Baptism, He seals His gifts of forgiveness, life, and salvation. In the Lord’s Supper, He feeds His holy body and blood.

He washes and feeds. We get washed and fed.

To the person, who does not believe, say that. He washes and feeds. We get washed and fed.

No matter what shape your life has taken, Jesus is the Savior. He did not come into the world to shake at you a finger of condemnation. He came to save you.

That’s Christmas.

That’s God’s gift to you.

Say that to your friends, so that they know what you know: Christ the Savior is born; Christ the Savior is born.

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I have something to add to this sermon, that I didn’t say on Christmas. That fella, with the wrecker service—Chubby—doesn’t know that I’m a minister. Since I have to mail him the title to our junker van, and Chubby will give us $100 for it, I’m going to include this sermon, because I consider Chubby my friend, and I hope that he, and his wife, and his two cute little daughters, know that Jesus is their Savior.

What better gift could I give to someone who helped me so much this Christmas? Amen.