Margie Quinn
A few weeks ago, I told a story at the communion table that I’d like to share again. It’s one that Anne Lamott claims she tells her Sunday school kids every year, and of which they never tire, though she thinks that has something to do with her weekly distribution of snacks.
“A young girl is having a hard time falling asleep one night,” Anne recounts, “and calls out for her mother. Her mother comes in and gently tucks her in again and assures her that Jesus is there in the room with her, so she needn’t be afraid. This goes on and on, each time the increasingly annoyed mother saying basically the same thing until finally, in the dark, the little girl says plaintively, “I need someone with skin on.”
“This,” Anne writes, “ is the main instruction I would leave my family in my swag bag of spiritual truth: be goodness with skin on.
Be goodness with skin on.
All four gospels begin very differently. Matthew, our resident historian, starts with an account of the birth story that begins with a breakdown of Jesus’ family tree. Mark, our energizer bunny, jumps right into describing our locust and honey-eating friend, John the Baptist, who is already running around in the wilderness and baptizing people. Luke, Mr. Justttt Right, tells us that he has decided, after investigating everything carefully, to write an orderly account of what happened regarding the birth of Jesus (which he does very comprehensively). And John, our final gospel author and resident artist, (you know the type– one walking around in the woods and pointing at beautiful lichen or intricate flower pattern, waxing poetic on life’s beauty), begins his gospel like this:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God.”
Such a poet.
“All things came into being through him and, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
Isn’t he a beautiful writer? Isn’t it all just a little hard to follow? Which is why we should lean in a little closer and bask in his telling. John goes on to describe Jesus as the true light, who enlightens everyone, who is in the world even though the world doesn’t always know him, who has the glory of someone full of grace and truth.
Light. Glory. Grace. Truth.
Those are nice words, words we have heard a lot in the church. But I find myself, like the young girl calling out for her mother, needing words with skin on. Luckily, John tells me that this is exactly what happened with the Word: It became flesh and lived among us.
The word went from being this intangible light, glory, grace and truth to embodying them in the three or so decades he had with us. The Word became goodness with skin on.
Jesus embodied Light by going into dark caves to heal people that everyone else had given up on. He embodied Glory through his resurrection, triumphing over sin and evil. He embodied Grace, washing the feet of friends who would deny him, abandon him, and betray him. And he embodied Truth, fighting the systems of power that spread lies of scarcity while he showed us a more honest way to live.
That’s all well and good, Jesus being these big words with flesh on, but what does this have to do with us? Is Jesus the only one who gets to embody these lofty words?
Episcopal Priest and author Barbara Brown Taylor says this:
“Almost everyone has a word that he or she has a gift for bringing to life. For one person the word is ‘compassion.’ For another it is ‘justice.’ For someone else the word is ‘generosity.’ For another it is ‘patience.’
Until someone acts upon these words, they remain abstract concepts–very good ideas that few people have ever seen. The moment someone acts on them, the words become flesh. They live among us, so we can see their glory.”
I love this. Everyone has a word that we have a gift for bringing to life. When we act on these words, they go from being swirly concepts to being goodness, or patience, or justice…with skin on.
Last night, I asked my boyfriend, Collin, what my word was.. He said “open-hearted.” That was very nice of him. My friend Mariah says that I am a “Walking-Exclamation-Point.” That’s three words but I’m hyphenating. I’d like to think I have a few other words, maybe “authenticity” or “humor,” or as my nephew called me once when I chopped all of my hair while living in Seattle, “Cool Uncle.” I think, I hope, I bring these words to life.
At my sister-in-law, Tallu’s, funeral, her dear friend, Priest Scott Owings, shared what he viewed as Tallu’s “God-Word.” “Her God-Word was Bread,” he said. She was good at baking it, breaking it and sharing it. She nourished people with it and fed them, which became her life’s calling, starting the “Nashville Food Project” to grow, cook and share delicious food with our community. “Bread” is a word that Tallu made come to life.
After Eva’s funeral yesterday, I wondered if her word might be “Flower,” not only because she loved them, or because she smelled good, but because she made everything more colorful and more beautiful. She bloomed when she saw you. What a good word to embody.
Open-hearted. Bread. Flower. These are nice words. Sometimes though, we don’t love the words we embody. As we enter the New Year, I can already feel myself starting to put skin on words like “Busy” or “Weary” or “Hopeless.” In those moments, I wonder if it’s most helpful to ask the people who love us what our word is.
What’s your word? What abstract concept do you bring to life simply by being who you are?
Perhaps Vine Street also has a word it embodies. Perhaps we are “Music” with skin on. Or “Service.” Or “Welcome.” What do you hope our word could be this year? What are the words you hope visitors from our church leave with? It is never too late for us as a church to bring one of God’s life-giving words to life.
In the final verses of this passage, John claims that no one has ever seen God, but in Jesus, we have. We have seen God with skin on. We have seen a man who took these abstract words like grace, truth, glory and light and embodied them so that we may have a better idea of how to be those things ourselves. And at a time when many people feel like the young girl who has a hard time falling asleep, who needs someone with skin on, we get to be witnesses, as John the Baptist said, “to testify to the Light made known in Jesus.” We testify to his light not just by talking about or reading about him, but by living like him. Out loud. Embodied. With skin on.
This New Year, I’m not making a list of resolutions or goals. I’m just going to try to be goodness with skin on. And, like St. Francis of Assisi encouraged, I’m going to try to “preach the gospel at all times, and when necessary, to use words.”
After the service, ask someone who loves you what your word is. Tell me, or Thomas, or write it on a notecard and stick it on your mirror. Let’s live life out loud, embodying these abstract words by making them real, fleshy, and present.
May it be so.