Incarnation--that's the theological term we use to describe what happened when "the Word became flesh and dwelt among us."

Expository, topical, narrative, and other forms of sermons will be preached this week as clergy attempt to communicate a least a bit of the Incarnation's significance in twenty to thirty minutes. Frankly, it's an impossible assignment. If John required his entire Gospel to explore the matter, how can a preacher hope to do the matter justice in a sermon?

We may, though, attempt to share at least a single insight.

For example, the longer I reflect on the Incarnation, the more I am struck by God's incurable optimism. Given the history of humankind up to the birth of Jesus, how could God expect even the Incarnation to turn us toward him? He simply refused to give up on women and men. Instead of withdrawing from the world, he plunged into it. God dared believe his presence, words, actions and self-sacrifice might break sin's hold on us and turn us to him.

God, of course, was right. The world was changed and continues to be transformed for the better by Jesus, by God with us.

All of which leaves me to wonder: Do we share God's incurable optimism?

The proof lies in our actions. When faced with the obstinate power of sin, the wilfull cruelty of people, and the tendency of religion to become twisted, we sometimes lose heart. Too many of us retreat from the world. We try to build high walls around our churches, families and individual lives. We justify such a response on the basis of the need to guard our purity, to separate ourselves from sinners, or--when honest--fear.

Surely when we withdraw from the world we grieve God. We, the people of God, refute God's optimism. We distance ourselves not only from the world but from the God who chose to immerse himself in the world.

Incarantion is God's way. If we would follow Emmanuel, we had best accept it as our way as well.