Tag Archives: Epiphany

Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, EP, YC, January 5, 2025

12 Wednesday Feb 2025

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Many Episcopalians find their way to the Episcopal Church from another way – another denomination or even no faith at all.  One common theme among those making their way to the Episcopal Church is that they are fleeing a faith that is “black and white,” or “either/or.”  They find comfort in the Episcopal Church because the Episcopal Church embraces the “gray,” or the “both/and.”  The appeal of those other traditions is obvious – there is no ambiguity or need for discernment in a “black and white” faith.  Something is either right or wrong.  That kind of clarity is refreshing in a world that is always complex, complicated, and ambiguous.  But our Episcopal tradition does not offer the comfort that comes from absolutes.  Our tradition helps us find comfort within, not despite, the complexity and ambiguity of both our sacred and secular lives.

Take our gospel lesson today.  We could easily read the Epiphany story, the story of the visitation of the Wise Men or Magi, and make easy, defendable categories:  Herod is bad, the Magi are good.  But before we dig in too deeply in that dichotomy, we are going to be good Episcopalians this morning and look into the gray.  We start with the Magi.  There is something quite magical about these wise people of thought.  Their magic is not in how they used their mental capacities to track a star to find the Messiah.  What is magical about the Magi is their response to finding Jesus.  Matthew tells in the literal translation that the Magi “rejoiced with a really, really big joy.”[i]  These Magi, who know very little about the life, death, and resurrection of the king of the Jews feel something, feel really, really big joy in the Christ Child because they, unlike most of us, have “mastered the art of hoping in God.”[ii]

Ellen Davis, Old Testament scholar, explains there is a Proverbs verse that helps us understand the Magi.  Proverbs 10.28 says, “The hope of the righteous is gladness.”  She goes on to explain, “Those who train their sights on the faithfulness of God, ‘the righteous’ – they already experience joy even before they see their hopes fulfilled, even if they never live to see (in this world, at least) the clear fulfillment of all that God has promised…That is the kind of joy that burst forth that night on the streets of Roman-occupied Bethlehem, like flowers springing suddenly out of stone pavement.  It was joy that takes root in nothing more (or less) substantial than hope itself.”[iii]

The Magi’s hope does not teach us that because God is born in Jesus all is right in the world.  I am not sure any of us would believe that anyway, given the current state of the world.  Instead, as Davis explains, “Christian hope is something very different from the natural feeling of elation that comes when things are going our way.  No, hope is not a feeling that ebbs and flows.  Rather, it is a way of living that we choose; and gradually, day by day, we learn to be graceful in it.  Hope is a way of living beyond our own limited vision and natural fears, a way of living into God’s faithfulness and there finding fullness of joy forevermore.”[iv]

Now, we could easily stop our interpretation there, and say, “Don’t be bad like Herod, be hopeful and righteous like the Magi, and all shall be well.”  But remember how I told you about the ambiguity of the Episcopal Church?  Let’s go back to Herod – the supposed “wrong” to the “right” of the Magi.  We know Herod is a horrible, power-hungry, paranoid ruler.  We are told that when these foreigners come out saying a new King of the Jews has been born, Herod is afraid.  He’s not scared of a baby – he’s scared about the threat to his power.  And so, he pulls together his own biblical scholars in secret, and then talks to the Magi in secret to get them to find this baby – not so that he can worship him, as Herod claims, but so that he can kill the threat to his power.  And when that does not work because the Magi go home another way, we find out in the verses following our text today, that Herod has all the boys in Bethlehem under the age of two murdered – just to make super sure that his power is secure.

But the problem of making Herod out to be the villain is we skip over one key point.  The text says, all of Jerusalem is frightened by this new king too.  As Davis explains, “Herod could not have secured the deaths of all those children, if he were the only one who was afraid.  Matthew is pointing to the clearly documented fact that fear is contagious, and [fear] readily crosses party lines…Fear spreads like plague through an unhealthy system, infecting not only those who are powerless to defend themselves – the Jewish families in Bethlehem – but also infecting the relatively powerful, the ruling elite in Jerusalem, who sensed (with that gut-gripping fear that comes in the middle of the night) the fragility of the base on which their power rested.”[v]

So, before we try to simplify again – Magi are good, Herod (and the people of faith in Jerusalem) are bad,” Ellen Davis encourages us to see another way.  She says, “This is not a simple picture of them and us, as we would prefer to believe.  Rather, if we read the story deeply and honestly, I think we will identify both with fearful Jerusalem and with hopeful Magi; for they both reveal aspects of our own situation that we have not seen clearly before…there is judgment for us in that picture of Herod and all Jerusalem.  Matthew holds [that judgment] before us like a mirror, challenging us to acknowledge our fear, to recognize the violence that springs from fear and will doubtless perpetuate [violence].  Yet Matthew does not consign us to despair.  For alongside that mirror is a second one – you might call [the second mirror] a glass of vision, for [the second mirror] show us something a little ahead of where we are now.  [The mirror] shows what we as a church can and will look like if we stand against the tyranny of self-perpetuating fear.  We will look like the Magi.”[vi]

I cannot think of a better time to read this “both/and” text, this “gray” text where everything is not so rigid as we might prefer.  Many in our communities are full of fear right now – fear from what the changes of a new administration will do in power, fear of violence like the wonton killing of those in New Orleans this New Year’s, and even fear of financial instability in these volatile times.  We do not honor the Magi today because their message is “Just have hope and all shall be well!”  Instead, as Davis argues, Matthew, “challenges us to be the community of resistance that the church has been…from the beginning.  [Matthew] challenges us as a church to examine and deepen our understanding of the systems that generate fear for ourselves and others.  He challenges us as a church to find ways out of those systems – not to despair, though the systems are large and powerful, but to find and commit ourselves to the small steps by which we may depart from the country governed by fear and go by another road to our own country, that place we call the kingdom of God.  Matthew’s Gospel challenges us to live boldly in the hope of the Magi, so that having rejoiced with them at the first coming of Christ, we may at his second coming know fullness of joy forevermore.”[vii]  That may not be the “right/wrong” word you were looking for this morning.  But I think the beauty of the gray of Holy Scripture today is exactly what we need.  Amen.

[i] Ellen F. Davis, “Stargazers,” January 5, 2003, Sermons from Duke Chapel:  Voices from “A Great Towering Church,” William H. Willimon, ed. (Durham, NC:  Duke University Press, 2005), 337.

[ii] Davis, 338.

[iii] Davis 338.

[iv] Davis, 339.

[v] Davis, 340. 

[vi] Davis, 341.

[vii] Davis, 341.

Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, EPD, YB, January 7, 2024

14 Wednesday Feb 2024

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When you are preparing for ordination, you get asked lots of “big picture” questions:  Who is Jesus to you?  Why do you think you need to be a priest to live out your call?  Where do you see God in your daily life?  Fortunately, or not, those are not really questions we ask each other in our everyday lives.  We sort of settle into a comfort zone with our faith, hoping that just being in church, or maybe being in a study group, or doing some sort of devotional practice will help us grow in faith.  We likely feel connected to God, but we may not regularly engage in the rigorous questioning of our faith.

Our gospel lesson today opens up for us how easily we can miss the activity of God if we aren’t paying attention.  Today we celebrate the feast of the Epiphany – the revelation of Jesus’ identity as the Messiah through the journey of the Magi.  But before we get to those cool, and slightly odd gifts, we learn a lot about the context of Jesus’ arrival.  First, we are told about King Herod – a man desperate to hold on to power by whatever means possible.  Who, when hearing a child has been born, a tiny little baby – who might, one day – threaten his power, is terrified.  And so, Herod goes to the scholars to confirm where this threat is.  Then, he proceeds to meet with the Magi in secret, pretending that he too wants to honor this new leader (as if that would ever be something a paranoid, power-hungry leader would do), and schemes to make sure he can find this threat through the Magi.  And we learn, well after this passage, that his terror is so strong that he kills a whole generation of male children to ensure this supposed future king cannot threaten his power.  Herod is so obsessed with power, he is blind to the extraordinary thing happening in front of him.[i]

Then we are told about the people of faith.  We are told that the Magi’s news terrifies all of Jerusalem too.  For a people of faith who were eagerly awaiting a Messiah, we now see how the system of oppression and fear that Herod has created has paralyzed them.  Though a Messiah would free them, they only know that in their day-to-day life, any threat to Herod means havoc and suffering in their lives.  Even the Biblical Scholars of Herod’s day miss the movement of God.  They very clearly state that the Messiah is to be born in Bethlehem.  One would think that even if strangers tell you the Messiah has come, your scholarly training might make you curious enough to follow the Magi and see if a revolution is coming.  But even their academic training does not embolden them for action.[ii]

Instead, strangers to faith – the “unchurched” as we might call them today – are the ones able to point to God.  These are people who study.  These are people who do not just bury themselves in books, but also keenly pay attention to the world around them.  These are people courageous enough to confirm their conclusions – even if confirmation means traveling quite far.  These are people willing to ask for directions, open to help to understand their suspicions.  These are people capable of great joy, gratitude, and reverence for something that is not even a part of their sense of identity.  And they are vigilant and attentive, willing to keep responding upon further dreams and insight, going another way to their home.[iii]

The good news for us today is that even when we are overwhelmed by fear, even when we are stuck in our faith life, even when we have the truth in our hands but are missing the living Lord, God will find ways to break through the mess of life and break into our lives.  As one scholars says, “Just as the powers that be try and fail to prevent the resurrection, so they try and fail to prevent the birth of God’s child.  God’s purposes cannot be thwarted; God’s purposes will prevail.”[iv]  If, then, God appears anyway, our invitation is to open our hearts, minds, and lives to receptivity to that presence.  Maybe that happens in your daily spiritual practices of prayer, journaling, or study.  Maybe that happens by surrounding yourself with people – churchy types or those foreign to the faith – who are already attuned to God and can help you see the movement of the Spirit in your own life.  Or maybe that happens simply by committing not just to being in church regularly, but being fully present when you are here, cultivating the practice of openness to Jesus.  The promise of accepting that invitation is a journey of adventure, not unlike the Magi – full of learning, joy, and wonder.  Come join the great pilgrimage!

[i] William R. Herzog, II, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 215.

[ii] James C. Howell, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 214.

[iii] William V. Arnold, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 212, 214.

[iv] Herzog, 217.

Sermon – Matthew 17.1-9, LEP, YA, February 19, 2023

01 Wednesday Mar 2023

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Historically, Lent has been my favorite season of the Church year.  I know to many people they enter Lent with a feeling a dread:  everything feels more somber, the music seems, to quote an unnamed choir member, dour, and the defeat of the cross looms large, literally shrouded in black the whole season.  But for me, those are the very things that make Lent so rich.  I love an intentional time of reflection, I enjoy music that speaks to the mourning of our souls, and I appreciate how the starkness of Lent feels like an honest mirror, reflecting the starkness of our humanity.  There is a physicality to Lent that feels authentic and important to a sincere spiritual journey.

Despite how that has been historically true for my own journey, this year, I find myself grudgingly walking toward Lent instead of purposefully and gratefully entering Lent.  Perhaps after many years of pandemic living I have had my fill reflecting on sinfulness and suffering.  Or maybe my excitement about our mutual sabbatical has me itching to get started on the joy instead of journeying through the work.  Or maybe there is self-work I have been avoiding, and I am not thrilled the Church year is taking me to task.  Whatever is happening, I find myself wanting to linger in Epiphany, to team up with Peter and make some dwellings for all the goodness that has been revealed to us since Christmas.  I find Peter’s words, “Lord, it is good for us to be here…” echoing in my ears as a plea for basking in the warmth of the transfigured Jesus for just a while longer.

In the Gospel lesson from Matthew today, when Jesus appears before the disciples with Moses and Elijah, in clothing dazzling white, Peter’s impulse in many ways indicates how Peter “…’gets it.’  He discerns the presence of God is there and seems to be making an attempt to rise to the occasion.”[i]  And as scholar Debie Thomas concludes, “Peter is absolutely right.  It is good to set aside times and places for contemplation.  It is good to gaze upon Jesus, whenever and however he reveals himself to us.  It is good to move out of our comfort zones and confront the Otherness of the divine.”[ii]  Who among us has not been an amazing retreat, had a powerful moment through music, or literally been on a mountaintop and felt a holy connection to God like nothing else?  We too have wanted to not just to linger a little longer, but maybe build some dwelling places to stay for a long while.

But as Debie Thomas also reminds us, “….it’s not good to fixate on the sublime so much that we desecrate the mundane.”[iii]  I remember many years ago reading The Quotidian Mysteries by Kathleen Norris.  In her book, she describes her journey to find the sacred in the mundane:  in folding laundry, washing dishes, even cleaning up the altar after church.  For the longest, she resented that work, especially knowing how often women are regulated to this mundane work.  And yet, slowly, she began to discover what Peter discovers today:  that no matter how glorious those mountaintop experiences are, they are not the fullness of experiences with the sacred.  As one scholar explains, “In this story the ascent to the heights of the mountain and ‘peak’ experiences of encounter with God is followed by descent into suffering and service in the valley of need where God’s calling beckons.  Ascent and descent are inextricably bound for the followers of Jesus, just as they were for him.”[iv]

If you are feeling a bit of dread about Lent this year too, there is hope in the text for all of us.  As the disciples are cowering in fear, Jesus does something incredibly mundane.  Jesus touches the disciples, whispering words about not being afraid.  Stanley Hauerwas tells us, “Jesus’ touch is significant.  By touching them Jesus reminds them that the very one who is declared by a voice from heaven to be the Son is flesh and blood.  In this man heaven and earth are joined”[v]  But also in that touch, we are reminded that although mountaintop experiences hold a significance in our hearts, our work is really about “…finding Jesus in the rhythms and routines of the everyday.  In the loving touch of a friend.  In the human voices that say, ‘Don’t be afraid.’  In the unspectacular business of discipleship, prayer, service, and solitude.  In the unending challenge to love my neighbor as myself.”[vi] 

By all means, take this last Sunday in Epiphany to enjoy the spectacular:  the music with drama and flare, the stories of otherworldliness, the excitement of intimacy with glory.  Celebrate and enjoy the spectacular today.  And, know that your invitation today is also to relish the unspectacular.  Our lives are spent in the valley between the mount of transfiguration and the mount of Calvary:  the valley where Jesus walks with us, helping us see the spectacular in the mundane.  If you are feeling unsteady, remember Jesus’ hand is on your shoulder – either metaphorically or through the touch of someone else with you in the valley.  This week, Hickory Neck joins together down this mountain and into the valley of Lent.  Maybe the valley won’t be so mundane if we walk together.  Amen.

[i] Anna Case-Winters, Matthew.  Belief:  A Theological Commentary on the Bible (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2015), 213.

[ii] Debie Thomas, Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories:  Reflections on the Life of Christ (Eugene, Oregon:  Cascade Books, 2022), 111.

[iii] Thomas, 112.

[iv] Case-Winters, 215.

[v] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew:  Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006), 155.

[vi] Thomas, 112.

Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, EP, YA, January 8, 2023

11 Wednesday Jan 2023

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When I first read our Isaiah text today, I had not remembered that Isaiah had predicted kings coming to the Messiah with gold and frankincense.  I was thrilled to see the pairing of Isaiah and Matthew today, thinking of how wonderfully the Old and New Testaments’ stories were being woven together.  And since Matthew is known for emphasizing the idea of Jesus being the fulfillment of the Hebrew Scriptures, I thought we could not have a better invitation today than to “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.”

But the more I read this week, the more I realized that the math is not so simple.  We do not simply get “Isaiah plus Matthew equals fulfillment.”  In fact, the introduction of Isaiah 60 helps us see that Jesus’ story is much more complicated than Jesus’ story appears at first glance.  Isaiah 60 is written about the city of Jerusalem.  About 600 years before Jesus is born, the people of Israel return to Jerusalem after exile, to a ruined city.  To these disheartened peoples, Isaiah writes this poem to encourage them and to predict the ways in which Jerusalem will return to Jerusalem’s former glory.  The poet believes that Jerusalem will be a hub of international trade, becoming once again a prosperous, productive city where, “Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” 

The wise men from the East in Matthew’s gospel likely knew of Isaiah 60.[i]  They journey to Jerusalem because they know about this text, and they bring their gold, frankincense, and myrrh because Jerusalem is where they expect to find this king of peace and prosperity.  But when they finally arrive to inquire of Herod about this new king, Herod panics.  Herod runs to his own advisors, demanding an explanation of Isaiah 60, wanting to hear all about these multitudes of camels and these extravagant gifts.  That is when the story takes a twist.  According to Herod’s chief priests and scribes, Isaiah 60 is not where these wise men should be looking at all.  Instead, the prophecy they seek comes from Micah 5, which says, “And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.”[ii]  Herod calls for the wise men, tells them the actual location of this new king, and the rest is history.

What is interesting in this switch within Matthew are the differences between Jerusalem and Bethlehem.  Jerusalem is the city that Isaiah promises will be the thriving, prosperous city – where the king of kings could easily make his home.  And yet, Bethlehem is where the king actually appears.  Not in the thriving, bustling, shiny city, but in a rural, dusty, unpretentious town.  No one expects such a place for their king.  They expect their king to live in the beautiful, prosperous city they have developed, not in some shabby town that does not hold the same prestige as their glorious, revitalized city.

I have been wondering in what ways we too might be like most of the characters in this story – expecting to find greatness in our lives in the obvious places as opposed to in the less likely places.  As we emerge from the pandemic, we find ourselves tentatively trying to return to a sense of normalcy.  But the trauma of these last few years sometimes fills us of with longing about pre-COVID times instead of wondering what our new reality can be.  Yes, the pandemic hurt and continues to hurt many people, sending more people into unemployment, to food pantries, and to government assistance.  But in those supposed glory days before the pandemic, many of us were spending more than we had, assuming lives we could not afford, and forgetting the poor in the process.  In some ways our prosperity gave us permission to forget each other and encouraged us to focus solely on ourselves.  We got lost in the prosperity instead of finding the kind of people that God invites us to be.

What is interesting to me in our story from Matthew is the reaction of the wise men.  They do not scoff at Herod’s insight.  They do not hear about Bethlehem and begin to ponder whether they really want to see this journey through or not.  They, as learned intellectuals and powerful men, do not second-guess Herod’s new interpretation through Micah over Isaiah.  Instead, “rather than hesitate or resist, they reorganize their wealth and learning, and reorient themselves and their lives around a baby with no credentials.”[iii]  The funny thing is that Bethlehem is about nine miles south of Jerusalem.  These men, who have done numerous calculations, a detailed study of prophecies, and have already made a long journey following a star, have missed their mark by nine miles.  Though Herod shares the insight about Micah for personal gain, imagine how different the story would be had Herod’s chief priests and scribes not remembered Micah 5, let alone if the wise men had been too proud not to hear this fresh insight. 

The response of the wise men is one of letting go of one’s own expectations and trusting that God continues to reveal truth that may not be congruent with what hard work and experience would lead one to anticipate.  As one scholar explains, what the wise men learn is that the journey with God is “not about security and prosperity, but about vulnerability, neighborliness, generosity, a modest future with spears turned into pruning hooks and swords of plowshares.”[iv]  The wise men show us that the truly wise are always willing to accept that God may reveal truth that is counter to anything else we know, but that is full of greatness and joy.

Our invitation today is an invitation into the same boldness of the wise men.  Our invitation is to let the vulnerability of Micah disrupt the self-congratulation of Isaiah, realizing that although we might expect God to redeem us in the way we anticipate, granting us favor and privilege, we might instead experience that God redeems us through much more simple, humble ways.  Our invitation is to be bold enough to keep journeying with God, even when we are presented with information that might steer our journey in a direction we never expected or desired.  Our invitation is to remember that nine miles may not be a lot, but nine miles can be the difference between a manipulative, power-hungry king, and a humble, vulnerable king who can transform our lives into ones focused not on ourselves but on our neighbors and the greater good of all of us.  The question for us, both as individuals and as a community of faith, is what dusty road we have been avoiding.  The promise is that the dusty road will lead us to a connection with our Savior, who is so tremendous, that we too will drop everything and pay homage to our King.  Amen.          

[i] Walter Brueggemann, “Off by Nine Miles,” Christian Century, vol. 118, no. 35, December 19-26, 2001, 15.

[ii] Matthew 2.6

[iii] Brueggemann, 15.

[iv] Brueggemann, 15.

Sermon – Luke 9.28-36 (37-43), TRS, YC, February 27, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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Well, we finally made it.  After a season of epiphanies about Jesus:  from the Magi with gifts, the voice of God at Jesus’ baptism, the water into wine, the fishes bursting from nets, and lessons about life with Jesus from the Sermon on the Plain, we get to the mother of all epiphanies – Transfiguration Sunday.  In this event is everything we need to know about Jesus.  Luke tells us everything starts with prayer – life with Jesus is rooted in prayerful relationship with God.  Then, Jesus’ divinity is revealed as his entire appearance changes, with everything becoming dazzling white.  Moses and Elijah appear, which many argue represents the prophets and the law confirming Jesus’ identity and significance.  We even hear a conversation between the three figures about Jesus’ pending journey to Jerusalem and ultimate departure.  And, as if we needed to know even more about who Jesus is, God comes down in a cloud and says, clear as a bell, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”  We can’t get a lesson more epiphanic than this!

This story in Luke is so dramatic, that the lectionary says we can skip the next seven verses.  If you notice in your bulletin, those verses are in parenthesis.  And if I am really honest, as your preacher, I seriously considered eliminating those verses today.  I wanted to stay on that mountaintop with Peter, John, and James.  I want to be overwhelmed by the majesty of the moment, I want to gobble up the crystal clarity of this event, I want to breathe in the confidence of that comes from knowing this is the Messiah, the answer.  I might even want to build those dwellings or booths Peter is talking about for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah.  This is a mountain of wonder, of joy, of understanding, of specialness, of the sacred.  I want to stay here.

But the text is not having such comfort today.  Nope, in Luke, the very next thing that happens after this rich, shocking, full epiphany and the disciples’ stunned silence, is they go back down the mountain and face another person who needs to be healed.  And this is not a simple request for healing, but a report that the man begged Jesus’ disciples to cast out the demon first, but they could not.  So not only do Jesus and his disciples go back to work, but also we learn that the disciples are not very good at the work.  In other words, they have work to do.

Sometimes, when we are tired and weary – and believe me, we have had a lot of tired and weary in the last two years – in those times we slip into the mode of thinking Church is an “escape from” place.  We face illness, and death, and war, and suffering, and poverty, and discrimination, and persecution, and brokenness every single day of the week, and we just want our mini-Easter on Sundays.  We want to climb a mountain, pray with Jesus, and bask in Jesus’ radiance.  And that is okay.  Luke would not tell us so many times in his gospel that Jesus escapes to pray if Jesus’ praying (and our praying) were not important.  But the danger in thinking of Church as an “escape from” place is that we risk not seeing the brilliance of Jesus in all the other days.

A couple of weeks ago, I was at a doctor’s office that serves patients from a broad range of socioeconomic backgrounds.  One such client had arrived for one of the daily walk-in appointments only to be told arriving at 9:00 am meant he had missed the available appointments.  The staff very graciously gave him a list of other places he could try and encouraged him to come back earlier next time.  The client sat there a bit stunned and dejected and I began to avert my eyes to give him some privacy for his grief.  But a minute or so later, an older gentleman came up to him and asked to see the paper the staff had given him.  He proceeded to show the younger man which alternatives were best, and then whispered the secret that although the staff said to come at 7:00 am, the real trick was to arrive by 6:00 am.  The young man’s face slowly relaxed under the loving tutelage of his elder fellow struggler in life.

Luke does not leave us on the mountaintop because Luke knows the danger the artificial divide between the sacred and the secular.  As scholar Debie Thomas warns, “Desperate for the mountain, we miss the God of the valley, the conference room, the pharmacy, the school yard.”[i]  The story of the healing in the valley is the “so what?” of this last grand epiphany story before we head into Lent.  “The story of the transfiguration of Jesus loses its power if [the transfiguration] does not include that moment when Jesus and the disciples come down from the mountain.”  By seeing Jesus differently today, we are enabled to see ourselves and others differently too.[ii]  We are able to see God in an elderly struggling man taking a young struggling man under his wings.  We are able to see God in the way an older child shepherds a younger child to Children’s Chapel.  We are able to see God in our gut-wrenching conversations of the presence of evil in the world and how to navigate war in a way that demonstrates all life is sacred.

This week, our invitation is to take this hour not as an “escape from” but as an “empowerment to” – an empowerment to go out in the world seeing the God of the valley, the God of the medical clinic, the God of the grocery store, the God of the Zoom meeting, and to be agents of God in all those places.  We come from a long line of disciples who were not always good at healing the suffering of this world.  But we enter a season of intentionality in these coming six weeks that will embolden us to keep trying.  We know from this hour of empowerment who Jesus is.  Now we get the chance to show Jesus’ face to others in our everyday lives.  Amen.

[i] Rohr summary about the sacred and the secular and quote from Debie Thomas, “Down from the Mountain” February 19, 2022, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=2944 on February 26, 2022.

[ii] Lori Brandt Hale, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 456.

Sermon – Luke 6.27-38, EP7, YC, February 20, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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Last week, we talked about the differences between Matthew’s version of Jesus’ famous beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount and Luke’s version of the same beatitudes from the Sermon on the Plain.  If you recall, in Luke’s version, Jesus comes down to a level place, and speaks to the disciples eye to eye, conveying an intimacy to his instructions with the disciples.  In Luke’s beatitudes, the epiphany we have is not so much about Jesus’ identity, like in the visitation of the magi, his baptism, or in the wedding of Cana, but instead is an epiphany about what living with Jesus will be like:  loving our neighbor, seeking and serving Christ in others, striving for justice and peace, and respecting the dignity of every human being – the very promises we make in our baptismal covenant.

In today’s lesson, Jesus goes from making eye contact with us to turning our eyes to make eye contact with those around us.  When we love our neighbor, seek and serve Christ in others, strive for justice and peace, and respect the dignity of every human being, Jesus tells us those neighbors and those others must include our enemies.  And this is where this week’s epiphany becomes more difficult.  This passage often hits us in the gut by that simple word, “enemies.”  Our minds go to the worst:  the violent murderer, the manipulative sexual offender, the blatant endorser of racial discrimination, or the oppressive governmental dictator.  But the harder enemies are those “little” enemies much closer to home:  the disruptive neighbor who disrespects common space, the colleague with whom you avoid certain topics of discussion to keep the peace, the student at school who is so subtle with their bullying no one else sees her as a bully, or that anonymous writer in the Last Word whose opinion makes you seethe with anger.  When we consider those “little enemies,” Jesus’ instruction to not judge, not condemn, to forgive, to share, and to love become a checklist of good behavior we are not sure we can keep. 

A few years ago, the Greater Williamsburg area kicked off a commitment to becoming a community of kindness with a rallying event.  The former Mayor of Anaheim, California, Tom Tait, who had run on a campaign of kindness, was the keynote speaker.  Mayor Tait talked about his time on City Council in Anaheim, how part of his work felt like a game of whack-a-mole.  Each month, some crisis or community problem would arise – violence in the community, the prevalence of drugs, problems in the public schools.  And the City Council’s response felt trying to put a Band-Aid on another problem – to whack at the problem to temporarily knock the problem out.  But those solutions never really made a deep impact.  What Mayor Tait saw was all those problems were like symptoms – symptoms of a city that was facing an internal sickness.  The only way to heal the internal sickness was to commit as a city to transform their entire way of operating.  Mayor Tait believed transformation would occur by committing to kindness.  To many, the idea sounded a little too pie-in-the-sky.  But once elected, Mayor Tait was forced to try to live out the reality of kindness.  With every decision, every major action, the community wondered together what would reflect kindness.  And slowly, the illness in the system began to heal.  Kindness was not a Band-Aid, but a system-altering antidote to a host of problems.

In a lot of ways, that is what Jesus is talking about today.  Yes, the things Jesus is talking about are commands – a list of ways to love one another – even our enemies.  But Jesus is not just talking about commands.  As one scholar describes, “Jesus isn’t offering a set of simple rules by which to get by or get ahead in this world but is inviting us into a whole other world.  A world that is not about measuring and counting and weighing and competing and judging and paying back and hating and all the rest.  But instead is about love. Love for those who have loved you.  Love for those who haven’t.  Love even for those who have hated you.  That love gets expressed in all kinds of creative ways, but often come through by caring – extending care and compassion and help and comfort to those in need – and forgiveness – not paying back but instead releasing one’s claim on another and opening up a future where a relationship of …love is still possible.”[i] 

What Jesus is doing is trying to, “inculcate, and illustrate, an attitude of heart, a lightness of spirit in the face of all that the world can throw at you.”  We are to assume this new way of being because “that’s what God is like.  God is generous to all people, generous…to a fault:  [God] provides good things for all to enjoy, the undeserving as well as the deserving.  [God] is astonishingly merciful…”  As N. T. Wright adds, “…this list of instructions is all about which God you believe in – and about the way of life that follows as a result.”[ii]  When we take Jesus seriously, and embrace this new way of being, the way that leads to love, life can be “exuberant, different, astonishing.  People [will] stare.”[iii]

That is our epiphany invitation today:  to loosen our grip on love and allow love to flow as freely as the abundance of God’s love for the world.  This is not an invitation to grin and bear niceness, like a grumbled “bless his heart.”  Instead, this is an invitation to live in way that is contrary to our very human nature.[iv]  As you imagine all those little enemies you may be feeling today’s invitation is impossible.  And on your own, loving those little enemies is impossible.  But you are not on your own.  Not here at Hickory Neck.  You have a community of faithful seekers – of people who long to follow Jesus – and who have just as many little enemies as you – in fact some of them may even be in this room.  But with Christ and this community of the faithful, we leave this place knowing that the Holy Spirit will enable us to let go of our desperate, possessing grip on God’s love, and instead allow that love to flow through us to everyone – because there is more than enough love for us all to share.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Epiphany 7 C:  Command or Promise?” February 22, 2019, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2019/02/epiphany-7-c-command-or-promise/ on February 19, 2022.

[ii] N.T. Wright, Luke for Everyone (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 73-74.

[iii] Wright, 74.

[iv] Charles Bugg, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 384.

Sermon – Luke 6.17-26, EP6, YC, February 12, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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Today’s gospel lesson is Luke’s version of what is called “the beatitudes” or set of blessings from Jesus.  Most of us are more familiar with, or maybe even prefer, Matthew’s version of the beatitudes.  Matthew’s version has eight blessings as opposed to Luke’s four.  Matthew’s version happens on a mountain and is part of a larger section called the “Sermon on the Mount.”  Matthew’s full sermon is 107 verses, whereas Luke’s is just 32.  Matthew’s version of the Beatitudes within the Sermon on the Mount is more poetic and flowery – claiming the “poor in spirit” are blessed, making us all feel included, whereas Luke simply says “blessed are you who are poor.”  Matthew’s version has been set to music by masters like Sweet Honey in the Rock.  However, some scholars argue that Matthew’s Beatitudes “domesticate the radical pronouncement so that it comfortably fits ‘us’ who by no means meet its criteria,” and that over generations “the prophetic word became hollow and even more watered down than Matthew had rendered it.”[i]

Luke’s version we hear today is quite different, and often sits with us much more uncomfortably.  Luke’s version of the Beatitudes is not delivered from high on a mountain, but instead on the plain, or on “‘a level place’ with the disciples and the multitude, not on a mount above them.”[ii]  Aesthetically, Luke’s version is more plain, more abrupt, and quite frankly, a little “judge-y.”  Whereas Matthew has eight blessings, Luke pairs his four blessings with four woes.  So, if the poor are blessed and to whom the kingdom of God belongs, woe to the rich, for they have received their consolation.   Whereas the hungry are blessed and promised full bellies, those who are full now are promised hunger later.  Even those laughing and honored in their communities are promised tears and shame.  There is no sentimentalizing Luke’s beatitudes.  Most of us read Luke’s gospel and know that we are in for a lot of woe!

Of course, there is a reason we get Luke’s beatitudes this Epiphany season.  In this season of revelations about Jesus’ identity, the beatitudes follow a long run of epiphanies.  We started with the Magi in early January; heard of Jesus’ baptism and the pronouncement of Jesus’ blessedness (and shared that same pronouncement with our beloved Reed and Zenora); we heard of the changing of water into wine in Cana; the pronouncement of Jesus as the coming of the Messiah – a message so strong he was almost pushed over a cliff; and last Sunday, of an instruction by Jesus that led to so much fish nets almost broke. 

Today’s beatitudes from Luke are another epiphany – but not an epiphany of who Jesus is:  more an epiphany about what life with Jesus is.  As we look at Luke’s beatitudes this week, I do not think Jesus is being all that judge-y after all.  We already see in this version that Jesus is not speaking down to us but speaking among us in the level plain.  We also find that although Jesus opens his mouth in Matthew’s version, in Luke’s version, Jesus focuses his eyes.[iii]  The text says, “Jesus looked up at his disciples…”  There is an intimacy to Luke’s version of these blessings.  But perhaps more telling is looking at the word “woe” itself.  Karoline Lewis tells us that the word “woe” in the Greek lexicon is an interjection.  “Jesus, is not about pitting blessings against curses or favor against judgment.  Jesus is trying to get the disciples’ attention.  He is trying to get our attention.”  And so, as Lewis argues, perhaps instead of reading these “woes” as curses – or as the word W-O-E – we should read the woes as “whoas” – W-H-O-A.[iv] 

“Whoa!  Listen closely,” Jesus says as he gets down to our level and looks us in the eyes.  Whoa, you who are comfortable.  “The poor and the hungry know the reality of their situation.  They are totally dependent on God and therefore are disposed to entrust themselves to God’s care and mercy, which is the foundation of grace and a right relationship with God.”  Us, however, whoa!  We are “disposed to take comfort in [ourselves] and [our] resources, thereby finding it more difficult to trust [ourselves] to the mercy and grace of God.”[v]  Jesus is not telling us to glorify suffering and persecution with the hope of a future reward.  Jesus is saying, “Whoa! It’s time to ‘reorient relationships and reverse social, economic, and political injustices so that [we] gain right standing in the eyes of God.’[vi]

Our invitation today is to hear what whoas God has for us today.  Maybe we have gotten a little too comfortable with our creature comforts, maybe we have forgotten the hungry, maybe we have ignored those who are grieving and struggling – especially in this pandemic, or maybe we have begun to believe the hype about ourselves – resting in the respect people grant us instead of earning that respect.  Jesus’ whoa today is not a curse.  Jesus’ whoa today is an intimate pulling aside and an invitation to remember what following Jesus is all about:  loving our neighbor, seeking and serving Christ in all persons, striving for justice and peace, and respecting the dignity of every human being.  We made those promises just a few short weeks ago.  Jesus is simply telling us, “Whoa!  Remember who you are as a disciple – as a baptized child of God.”  And I like to imagine, since we are on a level plain, Jesus gives us solid pat on the shoulder, and tells us to get back out there and share those blessings with others:  because he knows we can.  Amen.

[i] David L. Ostendorf, “Theological Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 356.

[ii] Ostendorf, 358.

[iii] Gay L. Byron, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 359.

[iv] Karoline Lewis, “Woes and Whoas,” February 6, 2022, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/woes-and-whoas on February 12, 2022.

[v] Howard K. Gregory, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 358.

[vi] Byron, 361.

Sermon – Isaiah 60.1-6, Matthew 2.1-12, EP, YC, January 9, 2022

12 Wednesday Jan 2022

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About a month ago, we were gathered for Youth Group, and the activity was assigning parts for the Epiphany pageant.  When we started, no one was particularly excited about the exercise, many committing to reading the parts for the night but not necessarily to performing the parts at church.  By the time we were done, youth were repeatedly asking when they should plan to be in church for the pageant, where they would get costumes, and when to schedule the dress rehearsal so they could coordinate the rehearsal with their other sports practices and commitments.  Their sparks of enthusiasm release a glint of hope in me:  maybe, after almost two years, with vaccinations for kids 5 and up, and with masking, maybe we would be able to finally have our beloved Epiphany Pageant.  And over the Christmas season, hope bloomed in my heart.

And then, five days ago, everything came apart at the seams.  We moved not along a spectrum of restrictive options, but completely shut down gathered worship altogether.  And although we have survived shutdowns before – even thrived in them – this one, on the Feast of Epiphany, is hard.  A day that is designated for the last of our Christmas celebrations instead feels like a day to recognize we are not yet done with this pandemic.  Instead of marveling at gifts and epiphanies, we feel like we are sitting in ashes.

I think that is why, even though we are celebrating the epiphany that occurs when the magi arrive in Matthew’s gospel, I am instead drawn to our lesson from Isaiah.  To understand why, we need to remember the context of this Isaiah lesson.  The lesson is a lesson proclaiming the favor of Jerusalem.  The lesson claims that although darkness covers the earth, nations shall come to Jerusalem, bearing gifts, and wealth, and abundance.  Maybe none of that sounds too remarkable – Jerusalem has always been the favored city of God.  But here’s what we might not realize about this passage of favor and blessing.  This passage is written to the exiles from Judah as they wait in Babylon.  As one scholar explains, “In the middle of the sixth century before Christ, things seem as dark as they have ever been, with little left to sustain the hopes of the Judeans.  They are exiled from their land; the temple has been destroyed; and the dynasty of David has come to disastrous end.” But, Isaiah says, “…the poverty and shame of exile will be overcome when all the wealth of the world pours into Zion and the city of exiles becomes a light to the nations.  Isaiah bids the people, ‘Arise, shine; for your light has come.’” [i]

We know all too well the darkness of exile.  If anything, this pandemic has been an exile of sorts – an exile from the physical plant of our church, an exile from family and friends, an exile from a way of life we probably never fully appreciated.  Into this darkness, Isaiah dares speak to the people a word of light:  not just the promise of the presence of light, but an instruction to be light.  “Arise, shine,” Isaiah says.  “Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.  Lift up your eyes and look around; they all gather together, they come to you…you shall see and be radiant.”[ii] 

On this feast of the Epiphany, the first revelation of God to the Gentiles (the Gentiles being those magi that come from another land to see the Christ Child), we do not get to watch our children reenact the epiphanous moments of Christ’s birth narratives.  But maybe this year that is okay.  Because the story of the magi is not a story about sitting back and watching.  The story of the magi, as Isaiah reminds us, is not about observation but about participation.  This year, the question to us is not just how the magi or the exiles of Judah are epiphanies, but as Karoline Lewis asks, “how are we epiphanies of God’s glory?”[iii] 

When Isaiah says, “Arise, shine…be radiant,” our question and invitation is to consider how we can be radiant epiphanies of God’s glory in a time of darkness for our communities.  We mourn the lack of our youth and our children not being here to lead us in a pageant not because they are endearing, but because they model for us what embodying God’s light means.  The pageant is a physical reminder of the embodiment of faith we are invited into every day.  And without the pageant today, we lean into Isaiah who does not give us a free pass.  Even as we gather across the internet, we are invited to be light, to shine, to be radiant in the communities around us: to our families who maybe we’re a little tired of spending time with, to our neighbors who despite proximity may feel deeply alone, and to the weary world around us who needs Christ’s light more than ever.  And Isaiah reminds us we do not have to make light – the glory of the Lord has risen upon us already.  Our invitation is to not cover the light, but to let God’s light shine through us – to be radiant for others.  Maybe as nations come to our light, we might be able to lift up our eyes and look around and see the radiance they see in us.  Arise, my loves.  Shine.  For your light has come.  Amen.

[i] Kendra G. Hotz, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 196.

[ii] Isaiah 60.1, 3-5.

[iii] Karoline Lewis, “Sermon Brainwave #822:  Epiphany of Our Lord – January 6, 2022,” January 3, 2022, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/822-day-of-epiphany-jan-6-2022 on January 8, 2022.

Sermon – Mark 9.2-9, TRNS, YB, February 14, 2021

17 Wednesday Feb 2021

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I do not know about you, but lately, I have found myself at a weird emotional place with this pandemic.  Eleven months ago, the pandemic got so bad, our church buildings closed and our experience as church as we know was forever altered.  Then the rollercoaster began.  Cases went up and down.  Schools were in and mostly out.  Masks were optional, then required, and now even recommended to be doubled.  And then there is the death toll.  We went from a couple of thousand a week to lately as much as 25,000 a week.  The introduction of the vaccine feels like the great white hope.  And yet, just this week I learned of a dear family friend who died a rapid death from the virus.  And we know there will be more death before there is life again.

I think that is why I am struggling this year to find the Transfiguration to be a source of joy.  As I read the familiar words this week, I wanted to be mesmerized – by the dazzling white of Jesus’ clothes, the appearance of none other than the law and the prophets:  Moses and Elijah.   Even God speaks words of revelation to the disciples.  Despite all the wonder and awe on this last of epiphanies in the season of Epiphany, I find myself unable to rally in this epiphanic moment.

The good news is the tension I have been feeling this week might not just be a case of my own emotional journey through this pandemic.  The tension we feel today is intentional on Mark’s part.  If you can remember all the way back in Advent, when we read the very first words of Mark, we read, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God,” Mark tells us right away who Jesus is:  Jesus is the Christ, and Jesus is the Son of God.[i]  First, Mark tells us Jesus is the Christ:  the Messiah, the person the people of God had been awaiting, the victorious redeemer of the people, the mighty restorer of the kingdom of God.  Since that day in December when we heard this brief introduction by Mark, we have been celebrating the Messiah who was born.  Even today, as Jesus’ clothes turn dazzling white, and Elijah and Moses appear, we are filled with anticipation:  this is what we have been waiting for – Jesus the Messiah!!

And yet, somehow in the birth stories, and the epiphanies, and the dramatic healing stories, we forget the other half of Mark’s introduction:  The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  You see, just as Jesus is the Messiah, the Christ, Jesus is equally something else:  the Son of God.  Now the Son of God is not a title of honor so much as a reminder of what will happen to Jesus.  The Son of God is destined to lay down his life for the people of God.  Jesus is the suffering servant we hear about in Isaiah – the one who makes the ultimate sacrifice so that new life might come.

So what does any of this have to do with the Transfiguration?  Pretty much everything.  You see, in this victorious Messiah-like last epiphany moment before we head into Lent, the temptation is for us to linger on the mountain, to stay with the Jesus who makes us feel good, who makes us feel powerful, who makes us feel victorious, who dazzles us with shiny clothes.  That euphoric feeling is not unlike the feelings stirred up by the hope of vaccines – a hope so strong that some governors in our country have lifted pandemic restrictions all together – no more masks, no more distancing, no more waiting.

But as we begin Lent this week, we descend this mountain and walk our way to another mountain – the mountain of Calvary that reminds us of the other truth of Jesus:  that Jesus is the Son of God, sent to redeem us through the darkness of the cross.[ii]   Even on the mountain of Transfiguration, God reminds us of this truth.  God does not shout to the disciples, “Jesus is the Messiah!!”  Instead, God whispers the gentle reminder, “This is my Son, the beloved.”  Even God knows we will want to linger on the goodness of who Jesus is – the brilliance of a Messiah.  But as Mark tells us from the beginning:  Jesus is both the Christ and the Son of God.

This week we will begin the long journey of Lent.  We will reflect on our relationship with Jesus, our failings and faults, and our gifts and goodness.  The work will feel hard and tedious at times, especially clouded by this unrelenting pandemic, and we may prefer to hold on to the Messiah on today’s mountain.  But as we walk from today’s mountain to Good Friday’s mountain, we also hold in tension with Jesus the Christ, Jesus the Son of God.  In our weakness, we find a savior who is also weak.  In our dark days, we find a savior mired in darkness.  In our despairing, we find a savior lost in despair too.  Jesus’ identity as the Son of God gives us as much comfort as Jesus’ identity as the mighty Messiah.  When we hold all of who Jesus is in our hearts, we can be more tender with all of who we are. 

I am grateful to walk the Lenten walk with you.  I am grateful to hear about your struggles and victories, your darkness and light.  I am grateful to be surrounded by a community of people – whether virtually or in person – working through valley of two mountains so that we can come through the redemption of the resurrection.  Today’s Transfiguration Sunday offers us sustenance for the valley, fuel for the work, fire for the renewal.  This is the beginning of the good news of Jesus the Christ, the son of God.  Amen.

[i] This understanding of Jesus’ identity was presented by Thomas P. Long at a lecture on February 9, 2018.

[ii] The idea of framing Lent between two mountains come from Rolf Jacobson, in the Sermon Brainwave podcast, “#768: Transfiguration of Our Lord (B) – February 14, 2021,” February 7, 2021 as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/768-transfiguration-of-our-lord-b-feb-14-2021 on February 10, 2021.

Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, Isaiah 60.1-6, EP, YA, January 5, 2020

08 Wednesday Jan 2020

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At our 9:00 am service today, we honor the feast of Epiphany with our annual Epiphany Pageant.  Every year I love watching the children and youth bring the Christmas story alive one more time.  Part of what makes the service special is hearing the story with fresh ears – not from a clergy person reading from the aisle like every other Sunday, but with a variety of voices narrating and enlivening the words, making the incarnation story more incarnate.  I love how the pageant keeps us in the Christmas moment one more week, and I love how the story brings all our Christmas characters under one roof, reminding us of the continual unfolding of the mystery of the incarnation.  Though there is something certainly endearing about the whole experience of a pageant, there is also something quite profound in a pageant too.

But what pageants can sometimes do is focus our attention so intently on the manger – on Jesus and his family – that we forget what happens outside the manger is just as important as what happens at the manger.  Even our beloved carol “We Three Kings,” draws us to the experience of the magi’s adoration in Bethlehem, without insight into what happens in Jerusalem.  This year, after hearing of registrations, of humble births, of angel choruses, of everyday shepherds spreading the Gospel, and of cosmic explanations of the incarnation, we turn our attention to Jerusalem.  Isaiah gives us some clue about where our attention is drawn.  “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you…Lift up your eyes and look around…”[i]  The instruction in Isaiah is not for Bethlehem, but the city of Jerusalem[ii] – the city where Jesus’ journey will end, the city for whom Jesus weeps, the city of eventual redemption and salvation.  There, Isaiah foretells of the incarnation, how the people of God are to reflect the light of Christ, and to pay attention to what is happening around them, to God incarnate.

Those words, “lift up your eyes and look around,” have been lingering with me this week.  Instead of looking deep into the scene at the manger or with the holy family, I am drawn by what is happening in Jerusalem.  Three things happen there.  One, we learn more about the magi.  The testimony of the magi is what most of us associate with Epiphany.  Foreigners set out on a quest, more attuned to the cosmic nature of the incarnation than the people of faith.  Their astrological findings do not simply fascinate them, but inspire action – a long, uncomfortable journey to see the incarnation for themselves.  As profound as their witness is, they are not able to complete the journey alone.  They stop in Jerusalem for guidance.  They know they are on the right path, they just cannot quite get to the proper place. And so, the magi stop and ask for help along the way.  They know something significant has happened, but they need guidance from people of faith to fully realize their journey.[iii]

The magi’s insightful question, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” is a question that brings in the second action.  The chief priests and scribes, the ultimate insiders of the faithful, those who hold the revelation of scripture and interpret scripture for the people of God, are given news that should be earth shattering.  When asked about the birth of the Messiah, the religious leaders recall what they know of the Messiah:  the Messiah is to be born of Bethlehem and is to shepherd and rule the people of God.  The religious leaders offer the key – the prophecy of scripture about the coming Messiah.  And yet, even though they have this scriptural foundation, they do not react to the news of the magi.  Even though these wise people profess this awaited Messiah has been born, the religious leaders do not drop everything.  They do not even ask to go with the Magi, just to check and see if this story might have something.  They may be versed in scripture, but their inaction shows that even insiders sometimes need outsiders to be faithful.[iv]

Finally, the third thing that happens are the actions of Herod.  Herod is probably the most fascinating to me.  He is wise too, even if he uses his wisdom for his own nefarious purposes.  Herod knows the announcement, even if from an outsider of a new king being born means his own kingship is threatened, and shows how fragile his rule is.[v]  But instead of acting impulsively, he manipulates those around him.  First, he calls in the religious leaders.  You see, Herod is not a Jew – in fact, he is a Roman, serving at the leisure of the kingdom.  But his subjects are Jewish, and so he is wise enough to seek their counsel on what a king, what a Messiah, might look like.  But instead of sending his religious leaders to check things out in Bethlehem, knowing they might discover a true king among them, he secretly sends the foreigners, hoping to manipulate them into doing the work of finding the king, knowing he will get news from them so he can kill this new king.  Herod is only worried about himself and his power, and he will do whatever is needed to maintain that power.

The foreign magi are so unfamiliar with the people of God, they do not initially understand the weight of their question about the new king.  The scribes and religious leaders are so buried in their scripture, and so keen to keep balance with secular power, they do not realize the messianic fulfillment right in front of them.  And Herod is so bent on keeping his power, he does not fully understand the power of God working all around him.  All three of these agents in our story need the words of Isaiah today – all three need to lift up their eyes and look around.

We are not unlike the characters in our story today.  How often are we so mired in our own power – as people of privilege and comfort, as Americans with power more globally, as members and advocates in this community – how often does a word about the movement of God, the promise of change, and the possibility of giving up some of our power to allow that fulfillment, make us just as nefarious as Herod – just as willing to manipulate the world around us?  Or how often have we steeped ourselves in scripture, scouring God’s Holy Word, longing for some sort of guidance or truth, not realizing truth is being spoken through another right to our faces?  Or how often have we been so intent on a mission, so focused on what we sense God calling us to do, we ignore the consequences of our actions, forget the power of our words?

Today’s scripture reading is certainly about the gift of the magi to us – the revelation of the incarnation, the insight of foreigners, and the abundance and homage the incarnation inspires.  But today’s scripture reading is also an invitation to consider our own response to that incarnation in the modern era, considering the ways in which we have not lifted our eyes and looked around.  Taking up Isaiah’s invitation to self-critique is important because there is also a promise in Isaiah.  You see, when we lift our eyes and look around, we acknowledge the narrowness in our lives, or we acknowledge the ways in which we are blind to our own power, or we discover the ways in which we even hide behind our faith, we are then able to see the promise in Isaiah.  Isaiah tells us to look around because glory of the LORD has risen upon us.  Isaiah says in verse five, “Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.”  When we talk about shining our light on this holy hill here at Hickory Neck, this is what we mean.  The gift of the magi to us is not news that is frightening.  When we are not hoarding power or hiding behind our intellect or comfort zones, the news of the magi is news for rejoicing.  And that rejoicing is light that draws nations, and kings, and neighbors, and strangers, and family members, and friends.  The gift of the magi is the invitation to let go of the things that feel under our control, and embrace the thing in no way we control, but in every way brings us grace, love, and abundance.  That is the kind of living that shines light from this hill and brings others to Christ’s light.  That is the light offered to us today in the magi.  That is the kind of good news worthy of pageants and proclamation today.  Amen.

[i] Isaiah 60.1, 4a

[ii] Rolf Jacobson, “Sermon Brainwave #701 – Day of Epiphany,” December 29, 2019, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=1216 on January 3, 2019.

[iii] R. Alan Culpepper, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 217.

[iv] Culpepper, 217.

[v] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006), 38-39.