One day, God stood up from his throne, so that he could see everything that he had created. Angelic attendants waited on him, and as he looked down at the earth and all its inabitants, he wept. This tiny jewel of the universe, this wonder of creation, unique in the vast galactic panoply, the work of wonder that he had made for love and with love, but it was ruptured, torn, and scarred. Great gashes were torn across the fabric of its green fields. Rubbish was piled on the mountaintops. Dark slicks of oil stained the deep blue waters. Humans - made in God’s image and likeness to be neighbors to one another - regarded each other as little more than potential customers, or commodities, when they regarded one another at all. Ethnic and religious hatreds drew sharp lines of separation between cultures and classes, nations and languages. The quest for power, and land, and water, and money shaped human relationships more than the common spirit of humanity, blood was easily and often spilled in violence. And there was a scent, like a mixture of sulfur and venom that God could detect when he stooped down and sniffed.
Calling on his attendants, God decided to do something about all that he saw on earth, and in order to do it, he decided he must first undress. He set aside the diadem from atop his head, placing it on a cushion of plushest velvet. Even without his crown, God’s head was surrounded by a ring of light, which is a feature of the light that simply comes from God. Then God took off his royal cloak, made of living ermine, who link their feet and arms to form a coat of majesty around God, and who nuzzle God’s face and neck with their own furry faces, delighting to breathe the breath that comes from God’s nostrils. So they unlinked their limbs and gathered together at God’s feet in a ring around the throne of heaven. Underneath God’s royal ermine robe, he wore a majestic mantle made of all the stars, and all the planets, and everything that twinkles in the sky, which he removed and laid aside. And underneath the mantle that twinkled with the night sky, God wore a suit of strongest armor, stronger than any blacksmith could ever forge, and yet light, and nearly weightless. And his attendants unbuckled every buckle and every strap, and carefully removed the helmet, and the breastplate, and the greaves, and the gauntlets, and the spurs, and every glistening piece of metal, and stood it all in a corner of heaven, beside a great shield and a sword of omnipotence. And underneath his armor, God wore a kind of chain mail that was made of interlocking rivulets of water, as though slender, intricate waterfalls all wove themselves together to protect the divine person, and the angelic attendants did this and that, and the rivulets of water receded into the source of all water, and the suit of mail disappeared. Beneath the mail of waterfalls, God wore a kind of sacred vesture woven of gold and silver and a thread that seemed to be made of light: there were seven layers of sacred vestments, which were buttoned up with buttons made of pearls, each of which was carefully unbuttoned by two attendants (there were thousands of buttons, and two times that many attendants to unbutton all God’s buttons, and it was accomplished in the blink of an eye). And beneath the seven layers of the sacred vesture, God wore a frock of purest wool, that came from sheep who were kept forever in the pastures nearby the courts of the Lord, to graze there safely in case their wool should ever again be needed. And God removed the woolen frock, and the attendants folded it it just so, in a way that leaves no creases in the wool. And God wore a long linen shirt beneath the woolen frock, a shirt of linen so fine that it seemed to glow faintly, and God removed the linen shirt. And beneath the linen shirt, God wore a kind of silken pyjamas that were made of silk spun by silkworms who were treated like kings, and lived in an endless grove of mulberry trees beside the sheep’s pastures. And God took off the silken pyjamas, and set them aside, and when he draped them over the arms of an attendant, they looked like clouds, and they were perfumed with the scent of rain that has fallen on rose petals.
There God stood, undressed and naked, and asked his attendants how he looked. Being angelic attendants, whose only home had ever been heaven, they only knew how to speak truth; they could not lie, nor would God have wanted them to. And as they beheld God naked, and stripped of various layers of grandeur, they told him that he shone with a radiance that was brighter than a thousand suns, and that he was beauty itself, because this was true. And God knew that their assessment was correct. So God knew that he had more to do before he was ready to act.
So God took a deep, deep breath - a breath so deep that the universe stood still for a moment. Then he exhaled gently, before taking a second deep, deep breath, and then exhaled again. Then a third time, God took a deep, deep breath: a breath so deep that God began to draw his own immensity into himself, as though God could draw the outside of himself inside of himself, to a deeper recess and storehouse of holiness that was within God’s own self, like a hidden pocket; or like a black hole, if a black hole was made of light that shines on a spectrum that you cannot see, so that all you could see of God (if you could see God), when God had drawn God’s own self entirely inside himself, would be God’s lips, as if God’s lips were all that existed in the universe, and everything else had been drawn up into God’s own being when he drew his own breath so deeply within himself, his own Spirit, his own self within himself, so the universe (without even knowing it) was now inverted, drawn up inside God’s own self, as he held his breath.
And God thought (for he was holding his breath); God thought, How do I look? And the angelic attendants, who knew what God was thinking, because he wanted them to, and who now knew themselves to be inside of God, feeling a little like Jonah, in that they never expect to be in here, looked at God, and smiled at him radiantly, from within, as if to signal that God had divested himself of his divine majesty, and could now proceed with his plan.
And before God let out his breath, he moved his lips just a tiny bit to form an almost (but not quite) imperceptible Word that had existed eternally within God’s heart, and almost (but not quite) silently, God spoke the Word that God had only spoken once before. It had never been necessary to speak it a second time until now, although the sound of the Word had echoed through creation for all eternity. And the Word went forth from God’s lips out into the darkness of the inverted universe, before God opened his lips and the Word fell back into God’s still opened mouth, as if he had just caught the most divine jelly bean in his mouth. And the Word began to tumble gently through the inverted universe, toward earth, eventually landing in one specific spot.
And then, God exhaled slowly and gently, making himself and the universe right-side-out again, returning himself to his majestic immensity, and sending all creation back outside from the secret pocket, or the black hole of light into which all had been drawn for a moment, so that God could make himself small and vulnerable, and speak the Word in a way that was small and vulnerable too.
And the Word was made flesh in a stable in a town called Bethlehem, in the person of a baby boy. And that child dwelt among us, and he grew in power and wisdom beyond our comprehension. And when he had grown up, he taught, and he healed people, and he gathered people together, and he fed people, until he was killed by a lesser power, who knew not what they did, for death could not contain him, and it never did. But that’s another story.
This, at least, is the story that has been passed down by generation after generation of shepherds who abide in the fields near Bethlehem. Legend has it that one angel was permitted to swoop down low and whisper all these details into the ear of one of the shepherds, of how once, God undressed, dismantling himself in order send his eternal Word into the world with all humility, and with a power that was made perfect in weakness.
The angels didn’t describe how God dressed himself again, but whenever the shepherds look up at the night sky and see the twinkling stars, they remember the majestic mantle made of all the stars and planets and everything that shines in the night sky that is one of the layers of God’s royal raiment. And the story strikes them as very likely to be true. And they themselves are humbled to recall what God did for them, and for all of us, so that God could be with us, could be like us, could be one of us, and save us.
Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
27 December 2020
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia
