Lenten Blog--Day 1
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
“In him was life, and the life was the light of men.” (v.4)
I admit to not being a very nostalgic person. I strain my muscles to reflect on good times of days past. Maybe because photographs took more effort growing up—the newfangled process of 1 Hour Photo still required a drive to the mall. Sometimes it seems that memories only began for me when my son was born and I really put the 21st century to frequent use in documenting every moment of tummy time. But going back further, I can dust off the photographs and still frames in my mind. And I see broader strokes, bolder colors, larger than reality people and characters—subtlety melds from the snapshot to a kind of moving picture, a woven story of my life. A personal Timeline, without all the privacy concerns. Except, of course, that God was there the whole time, weaving it altogether. And so, when I think back knowing that there was a Director, I see the dark room negatives must have some meaning, some purpose. I wish I knew what those were. I would probably be more nostalgic then.
John’s reflection on Jesus at the opening of his account is poetic and probably more profound that I give it credit for. Jesus Christ is the Word—the logos, the central reality of the universe that makes everything else make sense. And going back to the beginning where Jesus as the Word communes with the living God. . . it’s the kind of reflection on the past where the actual facts exceed the hype you and I might conjure for our biggest “one’s that got away.” It’s not just enough for John to say that “Jesus Christ was God” and move on to John the Baptist arriving on the scene. The writer composes this picture with the kind of things that only God could do—not just slapping a label on Jesus as Divine, but portraying the power of the Creator create new life residing within the Word made flesh.
The Word pierces through the darkness—fiat lux not by vocalization, but by his very living and breathing personhood. His life. And even the darkness washes back like the Red Sea, the Jordon River, and the Veil of the Temple.
I wonder today about the dark places of memories buried. I wonder if my great-great grandchildren will know of me more than a place holder on a tree. I wonder if my story would make for an interesting read. And yet, I wonder as well in the logos of new life in Christ: “In him was life, and the life was the light of men.” Life that is my light in the darkness. Life that is bigger than me without the expiration date. Life that is bigger than the hype. Sentimentality and nostalgia moves to logos. That would be life worth remembering.