Blessed Epiphany to you! We have traveled through the darkness and waiting of Advent, the dawning of Christmas, and now burst into the extraordinary brightness of the season of Epiphany. On Epiphany Day, January 6, we hear the story of the magi who followed the star to worship and rejoice over the Christ Child. The season of Epiphany then continues until Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. In this time, we will hear stories that reveal Jesus as the Light of the World, the true light that enlightens everyone.
The theme of “light” in the Epiphany season begins with the light of a star. Magi – not kings or wise men, but astrologers and star-gazers – from the East (probably Persia) were studying the stars and noticed something out-of-the-ordinary. They consulted their books, and one another, and determined that this was the sort of star that announced the birth of someone very important. So they packed up their charts and tools and maps, carefully wrapped up some gifts fit for a king, and they followed the star.
We don’t really know what this process was like, but we can imagine that the journey was long and difficult – months, maybe even years, of traveling. Through long, dusty days and cool desert nights they journeyed, consulting the sky and following that star. They didn’t know where they were going. They didn’t know what waited for them at the other end. They couldn’t have been sure that they would find anything of note. It could be that after wandering around searching for this baby king they will realize that all their months of exhausting travel and their expensive gifts were for nothing.
And yet, they kept going. Kept following the star. Kept trusting that guiding light. And then, finally, it stopped over the place where the child was, and they were overwhelmed with joy. The journey was not for nothing! There really was a baby king, even if they found him in a simple house rather than in the king’s palace. The star had led them to the right place, and they knelt down and paid him homage, offering their worship and their gifts to the child who the heavens declared to be king.
I think most journeys are like this – a mystery. Even if we know where we are going and what we are traveling toward, we can never know what the journey itself will bring – fair weather or storms, unexpected delays or detours, unanticipated difficulties or adventures.
As we embark on the journey of a new year, I wonder where you find yourself on the path. Are you just starting out, consulting maps, making plans, and packing your bags? Are you turning around after yet another detour, determined to keep going? Are you stalled on the side of the highway with a flat tire? Are you overwhelmed with joy, having finally arrived at your destination?
What about as a congregation? As we venture into this new year, we will be spending more time talking about the topics raised in the cottage meetings this past fall. What are we called to do? Who are we called to be? How do we continue to be the Church in the midst of uncertain and constantly-changing circumstances? How do we best use our resources and engage our people and live out our baptismal calling? This, too, is a journey – one for which we cannot see the ending. The road is hazy, and rocky. It does not look like the path we have walked thus far. There are no signs, no shortcuts, no tried-and-true methods.
But, we are not without hope. We, too, are following a star. The light that shines on our path is the light of Christ, crucified and risen. This light leads us to Jesus – found in word and water, bread and wine. By this light we see our neighbors – those like us, and especially those who differ from us. By this light we see God’s grace and mercy and forgiveness, for us and for all. By this light we are encouraged, empowered, propelled forward.
We also take comfort that this journey is not one that we travel alone. We have our traveling companions, the saints of all times and places who join us in following the light of Christ. They nudge us along when we get discouraged, and help shoulder the load when it becomes too much for us to bear. They keep us company in the detours. They remind us of the gifts we carry, and celebrate with us when we finally arrive.
In closing, I’d like to share with you a poem by Jan Richardson, entitled “For those who have far to travel: An Epiphany Blessing”:
If you could see
the journey whole
you might never
undertake it;
might never dare
the first step
that propels you
from the place
you have known
toward the place
you know not.
Call it
one of the mercies
of the road:
that we see it
only by stages
as it opens
before us,
as it comes into
our keeping
step by
single step.
There is nothing
for it
but to go
and by our going
take the vows
the pilgrim takes:
to be faithful to
the next step;
to rely on more
than the map;
to heed the signposts
of intuition and dream;
to follow the star
that only you
will recognize;
to keep an
open eye
for the wonders that
attend the
path;
to press on
beyond distractions
beyond fatigue
beyond what would
tempt you
from the way.
There are vows
that only you
will know;
the secret promises
for your particular path
and the new ones
you will need to make
when the road
is revealed
by turns
you could not
have foreseen.
Keep them, break them,
make them again:
each promise becomes
part of the path;
each choice creates
the road
that will take you
to the place
where at last
you will kneel
to offer the gift
most needed—
the gift that only you
can give—
before turning to go
home by
another way.
We have far to travel. The road is difficult, and uncertain. But despite these challenges, we rejoice that the light of Christ is leading us, now and forever. Amen.
The theme of “light” in the Epiphany season begins with the light of a star. Magi – not kings or wise men, but astrologers and star-gazers – from the East (probably Persia) were studying the stars and noticed something out-of-the-ordinary. They consulted their books, and one another, and determined that this was the sort of star that announced the birth of someone very important. So they packed up their charts and tools and maps, carefully wrapped up some gifts fit for a king, and they followed the star.
 |
| Photo by Neale LaSalle from Pexels |
And yet, they kept going. Kept following the star. Kept trusting that guiding light. And then, finally, it stopped over the place where the child was, and they were overwhelmed with joy. The journey was not for nothing! There really was a baby king, even if they found him in a simple house rather than in the king’s palace. The star had led them to the right place, and they knelt down and paid him homage, offering their worship and their gifts to the child who the heavens declared to be king.
I think most journeys are like this – a mystery. Even if we know where we are going and what we are traveling toward, we can never know what the journey itself will bring – fair weather or storms, unexpected delays or detours, unanticipated difficulties or adventures.
As we embark on the journey of a new year, I wonder where you find yourself on the path. Are you just starting out, consulting maps, making plans, and packing your bags? Are you turning around after yet another detour, determined to keep going? Are you stalled on the side of the highway with a flat tire? Are you overwhelmed with joy, having finally arrived at your destination?
What about as a congregation? As we venture into this new year, we will be spending more time talking about the topics raised in the cottage meetings this past fall. What are we called to do? Who are we called to be? How do we continue to be the Church in the midst of uncertain and constantly-changing circumstances? How do we best use our resources and engage our people and live out our baptismal calling? This, too, is a journey – one for which we cannot see the ending. The road is hazy, and rocky. It does not look like the path we have walked thus far. There are no signs, no shortcuts, no tried-and-true methods.
But, we are not without hope. We, too, are following a star. The light that shines on our path is the light of Christ, crucified and risen. This light leads us to Jesus – found in word and water, bread and wine. By this light we see our neighbors – those like us, and especially those who differ from us. By this light we see God’s grace and mercy and forgiveness, for us and for all. By this light we are encouraged, empowered, propelled forward.
We also take comfort that this journey is not one that we travel alone. We have our traveling companions, the saints of all times and places who join us in following the light of Christ. They nudge us along when we get discouraged, and help shoulder the load when it becomes too much for us to bear. They keep us company in the detours. They remind us of the gifts we carry, and celebrate with us when we finally arrive.
In closing, I’d like to share with you a poem by Jan Richardson, entitled “For those who have far to travel: An Epiphany Blessing”:
If you could see
the journey whole
you might never
undertake it;
might never dare
the first step
that propels you
from the place
you have known
toward the place
you know not.
Call it
one of the mercies
of the road:
that we see it
only by stages
as it opens
before us,
as it comes into
our keeping
step by
single step.
There is nothing
for it
but to go
and by our going
take the vows
the pilgrim takes:
to be faithful to
the next step;
to rely on more
than the map;
to heed the signposts
of intuition and dream;
to follow the star
that only you
will recognize;
to keep an
open eye
for the wonders that
attend the
path;
to press on
beyond distractions
beyond fatigue
beyond what would
tempt you
from the way.
There are vows
that only you
will know;
the secret promises
for your particular path
and the new ones
you will need to make
when the road
is revealed
by turns
you could not
have foreseen.
Keep them, break them,
make them again:
each promise becomes
part of the path;
each choice creates
the road
that will take you
to the place
where at last
you will kneel
to offer the gift
most needed—
the gift that only you
can give—
before turning to go
home by
another way.
We have far to travel. The road is difficult, and uncertain. But despite these challenges, we rejoice that the light of Christ is leading us, now and forever. Amen.
Comments
Post a Comment