John 1 - Advent

What word is there for nothingness?

What utterance from me can give you formless? 

How can I help you see void?

Not a mere void, a formless one. 

Not simply nothing, but nothing without form, without bounds. 

Boundless void, nothingness that never ends.

Deep darkness, but how does one measure the depth of dark? 

A span of space –

is there any way to know the joy of this unfettered, pre-world world? 

In the midst of this nothingness

as I grope for a word to tell you how to experience that which is not,

I wonder,

where do words began?

Can I trace it back, as a linguist? 

Can I trace the genealogy of words until I find

the most pure word

and know

that it is the mother of all the other words? 

Can I find the common word-ancestor? 

Can I draw a map of this story,

the story of words,

and would it look like a family tree?

Can I show it to you,

and can we begin to see the beginning of it all?

Why does it matter where words begin –

well, what good is a story without its words? 

And why am I here but to tell a story? 

Perhaps not a story, but the story –

the story of something from nothing,

of life from non-life,

of light from darkness –

or was it darkness from light? 

What was it like, when the first word was uttered? 

Was it earth-shattering –

or was there not yet an earth to shatter? 

Did it roar like a waterfall –

or was there even water-falling yet? 

Did it sound like a meteor shower rushing through the void –

but who has ever heard such a thing,

what does that sound sound like? 

That first sound? 

What was it like in that instant of creation –

when the Word was uttered into the utter depths of utter darkness,

into the utter boundlessness of the utter nothing? 

Was it an instant or an eternity? 

If there was nothingness and then everything,

if all God had to work with was God,

is everything

of God,

by God,

for God? 

It is as if at creation God

shattered

into an uncountable measure of slivers,

as though the biggest cistern you could imagine was thrown off of a cliff

and it seemed

to disintegrate

but really

the pieces are so small

and so many

that if you were to go to the place of its

disintegration

you could spend

eternity

finding

the

shards. 

Was it the Word itself

when uttered

that created everything -

every word has since tried to express something of?

Was it the uttered Word that created? 

What was first or does it matter,

was it one single instant,

a Word and then all this,

all of creation,

suddenly

suspended

in the midst

of the void? 

Was each thing spoken as it became

or before it became

or sometime later? 

Was each thing whispered or shouted,

was it in every language or some forgotten language that only God knows –

only God, the breath and the Word. 

Isn’t it a wonder that we stand here,

we take our turns

and take our time here

and utter little words hoping they pile all up

into something

prophetic. 

A prophetic word we long to hear and long -

perhaps more, perhaps certainly more,

to speak. 

Perhaps the word we long to hear

is that the words that piled up from our lips

could be categorically prophetic:

God-speak, or speaking of God,

is it the same,

do we even dare to hope so?   

This is the life we have chosen or which has chosen us,

a life devoted to chasing words

and plopping them down for others,

hoping they say something.

What word is there for life?

Could the mystery of life, of miraculous aliveness be spoken? 

Through a Word, the Word, all life once became,

and without this Word nothing became which became –

nothing became which became. 

What is this Word,

this Word that means life,

that is life,

that doesn’t just describe it but creates it? 

If I knew this Word, would I dare speak it? 

Would I speak it freely or only sometimes,

when I’m with those whom I want to have it. 

Would I be discriminatory with the power of this Word

or would I be loose,

letting it tumble from my lips without filter.

Is this Word too precious to be spoken casually? 

Should I

dress

a certain way to say it,

look

a certain way,

be

a certain kind of person? 

Am I the right kind of person at all, anyway? 

Should I even be asking those questions,

should I waste little words with questions

when I could be searching for that other, life-giving Word? 

How will I know when I have found it?  

Will things spring to life in front of me? 

Entirely new things or once dead things,

is it a Word for

creation

or

resurrection

or

both? 

Is it a Word that means hope and power and love? 

Does it look like the stars in the night sky and feel like with warmth of sunlight?

Does this word for life shed light on the mystery of existence,

does it illumine the darkness of the unknown? 

What word is there for light?

What word is there for light?

Can you imagine what it would have been like in the primordial darkness

when the first light roared onto the scene –

maybe it didn’t roar,

maybe light doesn’t make sound –

was it gradual, like a sunrise? 

Was it sudden like an explosion? 

Was it chaotic or did the sun and stars simply float into their places,

into their space?

In that instant before the Word – what did the Word do? 

Become light, release light, find light and set it free? 

In that instant just before

could we ever imagine the depth of the dark –

how does one measure darkness?

Since that moment, in all of our attempts of putting this into words,

darkness has become a thing to be feared,

darkness has become a way to talk about the absence of true Light -

Before there was light, there was no darkness. 

All was dark, but even the darkness did not know it’s own darkness

because it wasn’t “dark”, it just was. 

But then there was light,

and the darkness had to consider itself,

noticing that it was unlike this new presence… once the light came,

darkness was forever destroyed. 

How else could we say this and yet -

since the darkness goes alongside the word destroyed

perhaps we come to believe the darkness needed destruction,

and maybe it did,

what do I know? 

But in that instant before light it could not have been so terrible

because whatever was,

before that first dawn,

was God, the breath and the Word,

and what are they,

what is God but goodness and love and joy?

Darkness didn’t even exist until the light appeared and then in the same instance

it both became

and was eternally affected

by the presence of light. 

Total darkness is no longer possible –

it never was, there wasn’t a dark until there was a Light.

From its first instance of affecting the color of the formless void,

light has glimmered, and darkness can never overtake it,

these shattered fragments of God sent out into the everything and everywhere.

Light was made, or drawn out of the Word which was never made,

and it is impossible to break because broken light is just new light –

it’s just redirected light,

perhaps a new shimmering,

like light caught in a crystal that casts not shadows

but fractured arrays of new light -

an infinite explosion of other light. 

If you saw such a thing, how could you not speak of it, witness to it?

What word is there for witness?

For one who saw something and must speak of it? 

The one who experienced someone and must tell the truth of that experience?

If you were there don’t you think you’d want to say something? 

If you looked up and saw –

but didn’t even know yet that you were looking because it was dark,

but suddenly it was no longer dark and you could see –

wouldn’t you spend the rest of your days

and all of your words

trying to show others

that moment? 

To describe something you yourself don’t even understand,

perhaps that’s where understanding happens,

out in the midst of us,

in the void between us

when our words intermingle.

What does it mean to speak of that which can only be experienced? 

What does it mean to give word to the indescribable,

to devote yourself to describing that which cannot be contained with words? 

Why would you do such a thing? 

Isn’t there something better to give your words to? 

Isn’t there something else?

Isn’t there?

Is there? 

Or is this our only hope,

our only chance,

our only option,

to witness concerning the light,

glimmering with hope that through this witness,

all may believe?

This light is needed by all, and yet,

it’s inescapable,

it’s everywhere,

within and around us –

what good does it do for the light that I dare speak of it?

But I have no choice. 

It captivates, this light,

it captivates,

captures me;

I capitulate into speaking words that I don’t even dare to understand

or believe

because I need someone else to be

convinced

of its reality,

I wonder if that’s prophetic. 

What even is it that I dare speak of,

this indescribability of a Word –

perhaps the mother of all words,

the purest,

most true,

real-ist word -

I’m trying to find my way back there,

just stringing these little, less-light words together,

hoping they make something more than a pile at my feet,

trying to wind my way back to that moment that it all began

because I wonder if I can find the place where – where what? 

At the moment of creation,

when the shards scattered for the first time,

where the cistern was pushed from the cliff –

before there were cisterns,

before there were cliffs -

maybe

I can start to make sense of it all. 

I’d stay there forever

just to gather the slivers together,

trying to make it back to that first, earth-shattering –

before there was an earth – Word. 

I know the Word was there, in the beginning, with God,

and through the Word all became,

and without the Word nothing became which became,

and in the Word was life

and the life was the light of humankind,

the light of humankind that lights all humankind in the whole entire world.

What word is there for world?

Is it the same as earth,

is it the spinning blue and green sphere suspended in the void –

who holds it there,

who spins it and

why? 

How do we know if it’s green and blue or green or blue,

maybe just shades of the same hue,

depending on the light, green, blue,

who told you that

and why

did you believe them? 

Is this world, the great round thing,

what word is there to encompass all that we could possibly know?

Or is world the part of the earth that I can see,

is it you and is it me? 

Are there worlds within each of us,

just as indescribable as the world we share,

and which world am I speaking of now,

and do I even know,

do you,

and does it even matter? 

What word is there for everything –

is that what I mean by world,

everything,

all of the things that became when the Word was uttered,

all that became through the Word and none of the things that did not become because there was nothing –

nothing,

what word is there for nothing? 

Or is world

not everything,

not the impossible whole,

but the sum of the pieces,

all of the little somethings that make up my everything,

if I push the words together that describe everything I’ve ever touched,

all that I’ve ever known,

will they somehow pile up into world and not just words?

And what word is there for Word?

I keep thinking if I can just put the words together just right, just so,

they’ll become prophetic,

or reveal prophetic,

or sound prophetic – is this so? 

Is it prophetic or just pathetic? 

How do I know if these are the right words or the wrong words

and if you were to try to tell me which words you would use,

what words describe words? 

What Word describes word – not just describe, but is. 

I don’t want to paint a picture,

I want to give it to you – see? 

These words fail because they change the Word into a picture,

something to be seen,

or an item,

something to be given,

and that’s not what a Word, the Word, is. 

At least, I don’t think so.

In the beginning was the Word

and I am trying to trace these little, present words,

these little promises of the now,

back to that first, impossible Word,

the Word that changed everything. 

Changed?  Created. 

But even if I made it there could I find my way back here,

to you,

to this place where we stand,

one after another,

piling up words on top of words? 

Would I even want to,

should I even want to? 

But isn’t that why I follow the words to the Word

so that

I can be a witness to the Word, the true light that lights all humankind –

is it still a Word, or a light, an illuminating word, perhaps?

And even if I made it back would I remember how to describe what I saw there?

The Word that is not held by words because the Word is words - is all, everything, all of this, every little thing, every little tiny word is a fragment, shards of broken – are we trying to string them together to make a path to trace our way back to that first Word, that mother-word, that common ancestor Word, that most true word, that purest, real-ist word?

The Word was in the beginning.

In the beginning was the word, and the Word was with God and God was the Word; the Word itself in the beginning with God and

Through the Word all became, and without the Word nothing became which became. 

In the Word was life, the life was the light of humankind and the light shown in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it.  The Word was life, the life was light, the Word is life, life is light, the Word is light and life, life and light is the Word. 

Witnesses came, sent by God, witnesses concerning the light that all may believe through him.  The witnesses were not the light, but they witnessed to the light, of the light, for the light, about the light.

That was the true light, that lights all mankind.

That true light was coming into the world, and was always already in the world, the world through the Word became, and the world did not know…

The Word was life, and the life was light, the Word is life, life is light, the Word is light and life, life and light is the Word…

The true light is coming into the world, and is always already in the world, for the world through the Word became, and the world does not know….

We should tell them.