There are times when I wish I had paid more attention to my fourth form French teacher. One such time was at the beginning of my academic study in 2006. During the Principal’s opening address, which was intelligent and engaging, he told a joke, in French, and everyone, it seemed, apart from me began to laugh. I just smiled ignorantly at the African student beside me, and waited for the Principal to move on to something I could understand.

Another time was Christmas Day last year. Having completed my first term at college in London, and experienced the lights and crowds of Oxford Street on top of a double-decker bus, we escaped to the south of France, to a little village not far from the historic town of Carcassonne, where friends of ours were busy restoring a chateau owned by some American Investment Banker. It was cold, and on Christmas morning, the children having opened their presents, and the adults indulged in a glass of champagne, croissants, and an oyster or two, I was the only one to head out the door to church.

The church was, as could be expected in a small rural village in France, a Catholic church. I was greeted at the door by a member of the community. She was polite and friendly, and I responded with the little French I did know - ‘Bonjour! Joyeux Noel’.  Then I slipped inside, sat at the back (as all good Anglican’s do!), and did my best to follow what was being said up the front by the priest; which I have to say was not a lot!! But there was one part I did recognise…at least I knew the English translation.

‘Et la Parole a été faite chair…’ ‘And the Word became flesh…’

I have thought about those words, and also that experience of hearing but not understanding what was being said, a lot over this past week. Too often, it seems, the words spoken by the church sound like a foreign language, and we struggle to understand the message, or alternatively they are so familiar that their power to transform and to enrich our lives is lost in translation.

For example, at this time of year, we sing the much loved Christmas carols and hymns, and some of us are taken back to childhood days, when we sang those same songs in a crowded church or around the tree at home; or we watch with joy as children, dressed up as angels and shepherds and wise-men, act out the story of the Nativity with such innocence, and we come to believe Christmas is really for the young; or, like tonight, we hear the words of the Gospel, and we look at each other wondering what it is all about.

‘Et la Parole a été faite chair…’ ‘And the Word became flesh…’

Rowan Williams, in a sermon preached a couple of years ago, described the manger scene, with Joseph and Mary, the animals, and the baby Jesus, as the ‘engine room’ of God.  In this way, he was making the point that beyond the trappings of this season, the presents, the parties, the plays, we catch in this scene a glimpse of the way God works. God, the creator and sustainer of all life, the source of all hope and joy, the one whom the author of Hebrews tells us ‘spoke in fragmentary and varied fashion through the prophets’, comes to us in human form. God becomes what we are; God speaks in a language we can understand; so that we may know the fullness of what God is like.

So, what is God like? What do we learn about God from the manger scene? To answer this question, I suggest we need to listen again to the story that lies at the heart of our faith; we need to be attentive to the cries of the Christ child as he is born into our world; for it reveals God as the one who from all eternity gives of his very being in love for the sake of the world. In Jesus, ‘the Word became flesh’, as John says; ‘he came to dwell among us, and we saw his glory, such glory as befits the Father’s only son, full of grace and truth.’ It is for this reason, that the message of Christmas is the same as that of Easter: God’s life is revealed as an act of self-giving love; God’s life is poured out for you and for me, in a cradle and on a cross, to restore us to our full humanity, forgiven and forgiving, in a life lived in union with God.

‘Et la Parole a été faite chair…’ ‘And the Word became flesh…’

But still, you may ask, what does this mean for us here tonight? Let me suggest if we have listened carefully to the language of God, to the language of love which transcends all other languages, we will know there is nothing we can do to stop God reaching out to us: God’s love is infinite; God’s life is eternal. It is us who choose not to hear; it is us who refuse to understand. But if we open our ears and our hearts to the message; if we can see in a manger the fullness of God dwelling; and if we allow ourselves to be loved by that which is ultimate, and to love in return; then we will have begun to grasp the truth: In Jesus, the Word became flesh.

And more than this, if we can listen and love, then the possibilities for our world are endless. If we can reach out to others with the same love that God reaches out to us; if we can see in the other, both friend and stranger, what God sees in us; and if we can speak a word of hope and peace, into a world torn apart by violence and despair, just as in Jesus God speaks to us; then we too will have learnt the truth about Christmas: the Word becomes flesh!

So from this inattentive French student to you all…
Joyeux Noel! Happy Christmas!

A sermon preached in St Alban’s Anglican Church, Eastbourne, on Christmas Eve (midnight) by the Reverend Damon Plimmer.

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