The old, old story

 

John 1: 1-5, 14-16, 18
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
January 4, 2026

Photo of a neon sign hanging in a large picture window that reads "What is your story?". Through the window there is an office space with a large table/desk with two screens on it and other assorted items.

“In the beginning was the Word”. The word logos, Greek for ‘word’, can also be translated as message, theory, idea, motive, reason, wisdom, and probably the best one of all—story. In the beginning there was a message, a theory, an idea, a motive or reason, there was wisdom, there was a story, and this story was with God, and the story was God. All things came into being through this story. Without this story not one thing came into being. What has come into being through this story was life, and the life was the light of all people.



I *love* stories. Everything from fairy tales and fantasy to psychological thrillers, from science fiction to documentaries. I love the line that says that a northern story starts with “once upon a time” but a southern story starts with “y’all ain’t gonna believe this one.” I love listening to your stories—how you met your life partner, your spiritual journey, how you came to find this church, your happy stories, your family stories, even your sad stories of grief and loss, because you’re entrusting me with your story.



So, it should come as no surprise that the stories found in the Bible are also some of my favorites. At Easter and Christmas my parents gave me children’s books depicting Bible stories and I still have most of them. I love these stories because they captured my imagination, particularly the ones about Jesus.



New Year’s Eve my family and I watched the latest “Knives Out” movie and this quote about faith by a priest made me pause to get the time stamp: “The question is…do these stories convince us of a lie? Or do they resonate with something deep inside us that’s profoundly true? That we can’t express any other way except storytelling.”



Back in December, in one of the Facebook clergy groups I belong to, one colleague was expressing her frustration and weariness in having to write yet another sermon for Christmas Eve. Many others commented that they don’t or no longer preach on Christmas Eve—they let the story tell itself.



While I can well understand the weariness of telling an age-old story in a new way once again, it is a story that bears telling, repeating again and again, especially in the light of the current state of the world. We keep telling the Christmas story because it resonates with something deep inside us that’s profoundly true, that we can’t express in any other way except storytelling.



We don’t know when or how Jesus was born, but we tell the story of him being born at night because we need a stronger light when it looks like the shadows are winning. We like to say he was born in a stable because of our western ideas about animals but he was most likely born in a room crowded with distant family members that also had a feeding trough for the animals that lived just outside. Which makes it a story more about disrupting our lives, making room and sharing what we have. And then we remember that there are two different stories, one we tell on Christmas Eve and one we tell twelve days later, each of which are their respective gospels in miniature form.



Stories that tell us how power and evil are threatened by kindness, mercy, and vulnerability. Stories that tell us that God favors the poor, the outcast, the oppressed, mothers of all ages, and men who take responsibility for the care of others. Stories of wise ones who bring extravagant gifts, who are willing to go out of their way for hope. Stories that tell us that evil cannot always be stopped but also that it will not win.



It’s important to tell the old, old story, especially now. The editors at PolitiFact, a non-partisan fact-checking organization, have dubbed 2025 the “Year of the Lies”.



It’s important to tell the old, old story, especially now because there are those who are trying to tell a different story, one of sanctioned violence and dehumanization of anyone deemed ‘other’, a story intended to provoke fear, hatred, and violence in the hearts of the oppressed.



There are those who are retelling the old story of empire, of peace through strength rather than peace through justice.



There are those who are retelling the old story of White supremacy, that it was rugged individualism that built this country rather than stolen, enslaved labor.



There are those telling the story that they can redact files of sexual assault and human trafficking of minors and call it transparency.



There are those telling the story that immigrants, Muslims, transgender friends and neighbors are the ones to blame rather than the billionaires who profit from others’ exploitation and misery.



There are those who are telling the story, all of which is a lie, that we can circumvent our constitution, ignore due process, use our military forces as if they are international law enforcement, bomb a sovereign nation, remove their own problematic leader, and seize one of their most lucrative natural resources. One of the oldest stories of all time: rich White men stealing wealth from non-White lands, but tell us we can’t afford universal healthcare, food stamps, and childcare.



There are those telling the story that the government can do all these things and we can still call ourselves a Christian nation.



Yesterday was the birthday of J.R.R. Tolkien, one of the greatest storytellers of our time. A devoted Catholic his entire life, he wrote, “No half-heartedness and no worldly fear must turn us aside from following the light unflinchingly.” And so we continue to tell the old, old story of this Table fearlessly with our whole hearts, a story of betrayal and desertion, a story of unflinching, unconditional love, a story of community that disrupted its life and bound its fate to the poor and to one another, a story that does not give death the last word.



We tell this old, old story with our lives and with our life together, a story of liberation and healing and wholeness, a story in which we do not lose our love or God’s love but hang on to it with all our might, to witness what love is going to do next in this world through us. Amen.

Benediction


In the midst of trauma,
in the midst of pain and uncertainty and wondering
I don’t know that it does us good
To pray to be stronger people
And for power equal to our tasks
But instead to be human
Which is the miracle
And the story
To know love and grief
And still be human
As Jesus was human
Full of grace and truth

Amen.