The Epiphany

January 6, 2007

Isaiah 60: 1-6; Ephesians 3: 1-12; Matthew 2: 1-12

The Rev. Thomas William Blake

Images of an assassination in Pakistan and genocide in Kenya clouded my Christmastide hope for peace on earth this year. Coupled with events in the Sudan, the Middle East, and even here in our own country, our professed kingdom of God—the light which darkness could not overcome—is admittedly succumbing to my skeptical side; and I wonder why Herod ever felt so paranoid about the birth of Jesus and the coming of this professed kingdom of goodwill.

But nonetheless, today we are called to talk passionately about this kingdom, to embrace it as the center of our faith, and to recognize it as belonging not only to ourselves, but to the whole world: a gift to be shared. So for me at least, the Epiphany necessarily marks a radical reorientation of perspective from skepticism to restored hope, from an “enlightened” belief of the world going to hell in a hand basket to a “childlike” belief of a God actually working among us, actually changing things for the better.

The day, as I like to think of it, is something like the blossoming of a flower, with movement from petals first turned tightly within but then opening up, turning outward, and revealing themselves as something worth sharing, something beautiful, and something holy. The nativity of Jesus has happened, but like the blossoming of a flower, it yearns to be turned outward rather than held inward, and only by being turned outward is its splendor and beauty fully revealed.

My experience has been that the blossoming of a flower always seems to happen mysteriously, when I’m not looking: God’s creative process unfolding not always in flashy ways, but sometimes in subtle ways. Whether flashy or subtle, though, at some point we recognize that there has been movement effecting the change, whether of a bud into a blossom or likewise of our worldly skepticism into hope for the kingdom of God.

Epiphany, then, is more than a day on the calendar; it is the unveiling of our faith—the revelation of our faith as something active and full of motion, the blossoming of God’s kingdom even amidst the thorns and thistles of our world that might otherwise distract us. As we struggle with what to do with the news of Jesus’ birth, with why it should be important not only to us but also to be shared with others, we might imagine ourselves surfing atop petals in transition, getting to that point of revelation by the grace of God.

There is certainly a feeling of movement in the readings appointed for today. Isaiah bids the people Israel, “Arise, shine, for your light has come…. Lift up your eyes and look around…your sons shall come from far away, and your daughters shall be carried on their nurses’ arms… You shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice.” Isaiah paints a picture that comes alive, sweeps us in, stirs us up, and transforms our perspective. There is movement and motion.

Paul writes to the Ephesians, “it has now been revealed by the Spirit: the Gentiles have become fellow heirs and sharers in the promise…. I have become a servant according to the gift of God’s grace given me by the working of his power... to bring to the Gentiles the news of the boundless riches of Christ.” Paul invites us in those words to feel the power of the Spirit, to feel it moving and transforming, refusing to be held back, refusing to be stifled, but sweeping around, stirring up, and pushing the outer limits. Paul’s faith is dynamic.

And Matthew writes of the journey of astrologers from far away, following a star rising until it stops high in the sky, to pay homage to newborn Jesus. Foreign people, non-Jews, strange people who spent their life following and interpreting stars in the sky, were stirred to travel a long way through dangerous terrain, and in the end only narrowly escaped with their lives; whatever they saw, whatever they felt, must certainly have been powerful, active, and stirring. The kingdom of God turned outward like the blossoming of a flower.

All of this is well and good, of course, but what about the disturbing news headlines, the assassinations, the burning of churches full of people, the sicknesses, the disappointments, the very real things that don’t resemble God’s kingdom and that arouse our skepticism about its existence? Interestingly, those very same readings appointed for today, those that reveal the transforming grace of God, don’t exactly hide the darker side of humanity.

Isaiah is speaking to a people suffering, victimized, humiliated, and stripped of every thread of their dignity. And while he speaks mostly about light and hope in this canticle known in the Book of Common Prayer as the Third Song of Isaiah, he is all too aware of the reality of darkness. “For darkness shall cover the earth,” he writes, “and thick darkness the peoples.” He isn’t speaking to people whose lives are perfect or whose faith is exemplary, but to people who live in the real world laden with darkness. That is where the light, God, is to be found.

And Paul, writing about the stirrings of God, knows firsthand about those stirrings. Here was someone whose actions in the first part of his life were deplorable and inexcusable. He persecuted the followers of Christ; he stood by while Stephen was stoned to death; he made people’s lives a living hell. The stirring he experienced on the road to Damascus was sudden and dramatic, but powerful enough to change his life forever. His conversion became a window for all in this imperfect world to see and behold the kingdom and power and glory of God.

And then there was Herod, frightened and paranoid over talk of this kingdom of God, scheming and conniving even to the point of slaughtering innocent children, saying one thing and doing another, forcing the magi to flee for their lives and return to their countries by “another road.” The story sounds an awful lot like news headlines of today. Humanity hasn’t changed, but fortunately neither has God. God’s light still refuses to be dimmed by the powers of darkness.

Epiphany is the turning inside out of our perspectives, not unlike the movement from bud to blossom: from a propensity toward self-centeredness to an embrace of something larger and mysteriously wonderful. There is a temptation to hold our faith to ourselves, even as it longs to be shared; there is a temptation to feel overwhelmed by chaos and a broken world, even as God actively reveals his kingdom; there is a temptation toward skepticism and doubt, even as God brings us hope of a new creation.

Like the opening of a flower, God opens us up, radically reorienting us even though we may be unaware of the movement as it happens. One day, though, we look and there it is: the blossom of God’s splendor miraculously manifest for all to see and to behold. Isaiah assures his community stricken with darkness and devastation: “Arise, shine, for your light has come.” Paul is transformed from persecutor to world evangelist. The joy of the incarnation, as revealed in Matthew’s gospel, transcends nationality, ethnicity and all the other boundaries of division.

So even though we thought our faith was stagnant or even dead, in fact it was active, dynamic, and in motion all along. The news headlines focus on death and despair and a multitude of problems, but, even so, God empowers us to see his kingdom breaking in. Someone receives an organ transplant that saves his life. A community builds a house for a family in need. A family in mourning discovers joy again with the birth of a baby. An alcoholic not only conquers her addiction, but becomes a role model helping others to do so as well. And we all have our own examples, our own glimpses of this kingdom.

I began this sermon expressing my own skepticism, wondering where is God in this broken world and in my broken life, wanting to put the sentimentalism of the Christmas story away for another year. The process of writing this sermon, though, has been transforming: radically reorienting me, opening my eyes anew to the miracles of a God made incarnate and revealed day in and day out, right here among us. My experience, we might say, was an Epiphany, a holy manifestation, a blossoming of faith mysteriously turned inside out and longing to be shared.

Amen.