John 1:1-18
Isn’t that beautiful, elegant? The English prose of John is so rich and polished, so carefully crafted by gifted translators to convey this gospel’s great theological concepts into our language.
Hold that thought.
As many of you know, I’ve been a writer for many years. And like most writers, I have a fascination with and a passion for the English language. I am trained and sensitive to its nuances: to the grammar and cadence of well-wrought prose. And like a musician who cringes when he hears notes out of tune, I cringe when I hear flawed grammar and inelegant prose. And while the fascination and passion are excusable, I’ve certainly been guilty of the sin of assuming that those who speak or write inelegantly are less intelligent, less discerning and less profound than those of us who see ourselves as crafters of words. Or, put plainly, it ain’t seldom writers ain’t snobs.
God has a winsome way of putting our prejudices in our faces. And so I found myself, several years ago, sitting and listening to the Christian testimony of an inarticulate, ungrammatical, tough and rough-edged maximum security prison guard. He could not complete one sentence with proper verb tense, pronunciation or even correct word choice. When he got up and began to talk about his faith in Jesus Christ, I cringed. Not only was it painful to listen to him mangle the English language, but I assumed from his inability with the language, and his station in life, that he probably didn’t have much of value to offer theologically. He was obviously not well educated, and probably not very bright. What could he have to say?
He told the tale of being caught in the middle of a large and well-planned prison break, organized by political terrorists inside and outside the prison. The initial escape was thwarted and its leader killed during the attempt. But the prison authorities believed another attempt would be made – an assault on the prison by an armed paramilitary squad – to free the remaining members of the group.
As a result, the prison took the unusual step of putting wrist and ankle shackles on the remaining members and spiriting them out of the prison. By dispersing them to several locations they hoped to make an assault more difficult. This guard was assigned to one of them and was sent to sit with him alone in a motel room, waiting for the siege to begin. Everyone was convinced an assault would take place that night, and because the initial breakout showed evidence of inside information and help – the prisoners were armed during their escape attempt – it was assumed that the terrorists even knew the location of the leaders who had been moved into hastily rented rooms in motels.
With his chained prisoner on the couch, this guard sat in a hard chair in the middle of the room, facing the door, gun in his lap, fully expecting to die that night. And he began to review his life. He thought about his wife and daughter, but took no comfort even in memories, because he had utterly alienated both of them. They never spoke anymore.
He had become hardened by his years of prison work. He believed his job was to stand guard over human scum – and he did not mind at all the opportunity to injure them if they got out of line. They had it coming. He was a vicious and angry man, and he took his anger out even on his family – until they left him in disgust.
No one would mourn his dying.
Now he had nothing but his anger, his hardness, and his impending death. And so, facing death, he for the first time was brought face-to-face with his own sinfulness, with the monster he had become, with the horrible way in which he had treated even those closest to him – how he had driven them away – and he realized he was powerless to do anything about it. Nor had he any time. He would die shortly in a hail of automatic weapons fire as his prisoner was freed.
He had gone to church in years past, when his wife and daughter insisted, but he thought it was silly nonsense. He spent his days with prisoners who had committed great atrocities. There couldn’t be a God who would create a world with creatures like these in it. So there couldn’t be a God, and if there was, then he hated Him. As he grew harder, and farther from his wife a daughter, he quit even the pretense of going to church. And now wife and daughter were gone, and he was alone. No family, no faith, no God. Death imminent.
And so, in that moment, with no hope left, and nothing more to lose, he turned to Jesus Christ. Frightened, the gun in his lap, ready to die, he realized his deep loneliness, his estrangement from his family and from his God, and his heart cried out for salvation. The big, tough prison guard wept in front of his prisoner. He remembered, at the end, the promise of forgiveness and healing which comes with faith, and he gave up the tough shell, and the will power, and the belief in himself alone. He asked Jesus to come into his heart and change him. Whether he lived or died, he no longer wished to continue in the way he had lived.
Jesus was good to his word, as he always is. The feared assault never materialized. The prisoners were collected and returned to their cells. But that night, in that small, darkened room, the angry, vicious old prison guard did die – and a child of God, a new Christian, was born.
When he returned home that day he called his wife and daughter and told them what had happened. They were taken aback, doubtful, wary, but agreed to see him. They found a humble and transformed man, and though moved by his testimony they remained cautious. They told him they needed time to adjust, and to see if this was real, or just a temporary change brought on by fear and exhaustion. But his conversion was quite real and lasting.
He is fully reconciled and living again with his family now. Both he and his wife are active in their church, and in Cursillo, which is where I met him, and became a leader in prison ministry at the very prison where he was a guard. Rather than abusing men he considered scum of the earth, he is redeeming them from lives of crime.
As I listened to this man’s testimony, I wept. Rarely has anyone spoken of the grace of God, or the salvation available in Jesus Christ, with such power and eloquence. Through it, God put me face-to-face with my prejudices about language and education and even intellect and showed me the depth and power of one who has direct experience of God.
This is the nature of the Gospel of John, which you’ve heard read today. The English translation is very elegant. The Greek is terrible. This is not a book written by a scholar. This is a tradesman’s gospel, or a farmer’s, or a prison guard’s. It lacks elegance and erudition. But it is written by a man who experienced Jesus Christ. He witnessed the miracles. He heard the teachings. He was present at the transfiguration. He knew the man, and he understood deeply, directly, who he was. The other three Gospels tell us what Jesus did. This one tells us, with great power, who he is.
This is theology – but it is not a distant and intellectual theorizing. It is raw, abrupt, explosive street language from a son of Thunder. It comes not from thinking about who Jesus might be, how he might fit into a theological and religious framework. It comes from profound, deep, direct and life-changing experience with God incarnate.
These are only the first few sentences of this gospel. If you make no other resolution for the coming year, let the one be this: to read the gospel of John. Whether for the first time, or the hundredth. Do not rush it. Read it slowly, imbibe it, reflecting, even praying about each sentence as you read it. Listen to his testimony. Hear it in its roughness and directness.
If you do this, if you and I do this, then we will hear the power of God which is there, and we will be invited to experience it ourselves. Like the prison guard, and like John, each of us can enter into a direct and personal relationship with Jesus Christ. He will be as good as his word and will answer our call. He is, as the angel said to Mary, Immanuel – God with us.
Praise God for the testimony of this humble man John. Let us take it to our hearts.