Epiphany Sunday
Scripture Readings:
Hebrew Scriptures – Isaiah 60: 1-61
1Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. 2For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you. 3Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn. 4Lift up your eyes and look around; they all gather together, they come to you; your sons shall come from far away, and your daughters shall be carried on their nurses’ arms. 5Then you shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice, because the abundance of the sea shall be brought to you, the wealth of the nations shall come to you. 6A multitude of camels shall cover you, the young camels of Midian and Ephah; all those from Sheba shall come. They shall bring gold and frankincense, and shall proclaim the praise of the Lord.
Gospel Lesson – Matthew 2: 1-122
1In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, 2asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” 3When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; 4and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. 5They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: 6‘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.’” 7Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. 8Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.”
9When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. 10When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. 11On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 12And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
“All Too Often We Don’t Expect Enough.”
As long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by the patterns of light in the sky. As a very young boy I used to go outside before bedtime and lie on my back in the darkness looking up at the explosion of stars that’s typical of the crystal clear night sky at twelve-and-a-half degrees above the equator. The sunsets that splashed the clouds with color off the island of Aruba were always spectacular, as well. As I grew older and came to learn that my bio-rhythm responded to the very early morning, I remember one in particular when I got up before dawn and jogged up to Colorado Point – the easternmost point of the island from our house – to watch the sun come up. As I made it to the top of the hill, there was just enough light for me to be able to negotiate the last fifty yards over rocky outcroppings to the face of the cliff from where we used to jump into the surf to go spear fishing. By then the first rays of the sun had begun to show on the horizon. I was alone on top of the world. Not another soul was in sight. Gray dawn began to turn to pale purple, and into shades of red and orange, then to vivid streaks of yellow that looked to me like pure gold. From my perch on the rocks the sky stretched from horizon to horizon between my outstretched arms – and I embraced it all in wonder. The broad sweep of the Caribbean Sea made a chalice into which the sun poured its ever increasingly brilliant light. I’ve experienced few epiphanies that have matched those moments of the coming of the light. With its dawning also came a clarity of vision and warmth. For the next hour I either stood or sat there in awe before turning my back and heading home. It was an hour spent bathed in the wonder of light.
This Epiphany – today – is yet another time for us to reflect on the place of light as a deeply spiritual symbol of our relationship to all that it is holy in our lives. And let’s assume – just for today – that our story of the Magi from Matthew happened, at least in some significant way, just as he tells it. These wandering astrologers, while studying the darkened heavens, unexpectedly saw an uncommonly bright star that showed up in a part of the sky that they thought they knew well. Its appearance must have some significance! It first appeared to their West, and the most important place off in that direction was the city of Jerusalem. Could it be a sign of a new king for the Jews? For whatever reason they felt compelled to follow it.
We’ve no idea just how long these Persian priests traveled. The story says that they didn’t arrive on the night of the child’s birth. They didn’t trail the shepherds to the manger – as the story is so often told. They traveled for miles – maybe even for many months. There must’ve been times when one or more of them wondered what in the world they were doing. Had they just dreamed that they’d seen this star? Because, as Matthew’s narrative tells it, they’d seen it back where they lived far to the East, and yet it only reappeared after they’d left Jerusalem – after they’d learned that Bethlehem was their real destination.
As a child, I never remember a night without stars; they only disappeared as I grew older and came to learn that my world could lose its clarity and become enshrouded in fog. Where do you go on a starless night? If you’re looking for a star, where do you turn when everywhere you look none can be seen? Today that question has become ours. We’ve celebrated Christmas. We’ve visited the manger, seen the baby, followed the star. We’re encouraged by what we’ve seen and heard. But where do we turn when the wonder of this season begins to fade, when the rest of the world seems to have forgotten (or has paid no attention to it at all), when the story begins to sound like a dream – even to us? Do we continue to feel the joy of our discovery, or do we turn back, feeling just a bit foolish over all of the celebrating? We’ve made a commitment to this child grown up, and to follow in his footsteps – even in those days when we wonder if we’ve lost our way. Where do we find our assurance at times of those dark nights of the soul?3
Those travelers did go to Bethlehem; and they didn’t find what they’d originally expected – a king in a palace. But, oddly enough, they still believed that they’d seen the star and that it had a message for them. So this is also a story of expectations. What do you and I expect from this baby in the manger? These Persian astrologers looked for greatness and for glorious things to come from his birth. All too often we don’t expect enough. We’re content with a cute little baby, loved by his mother, protected by his father, adored by some shepherds, gifted by some wise men. What do you and I do when our expectations are not met?
And so Epiphany is a time for us to reflect on the place of light in our lives and the symbol that it can become for our spiritual lives. Madeleine L’Engle wrote about the power of light in relationship to freedom and justice:
The painters and writers who see the abuse and misuse of freedom and cry out for justice for the helpless poor, the defenseless old, give me more hope; as long as anybody cares, it may be possible for something to be done about it; there are still choices open to us; all doors are not closed. As long as anybody cares it is an icon of God’s caring, and we know that the light is stronger than the dark.4
Nature’s light – like the love of God come in one Jesus of Nazareth – can’t be owned or controlled. It will shine on and move wherever it will. “Arise, shine…your light has come,” says Isaiah; and the gifts of wisdom and grace that once belonged to Israel, the whole world now receives from the church. And yet even the church will not be able to control the ways in which this light works in the world – even on a starless night.
* * *
1 The prophet’s words are situated at the end of the Babylonian captivity just as the exiles are returning. The city of Jerusalem is called to rise from its mourning and darkness, because her exiled people now have come home. And even though the city was devastated during that time of the destruction of the Temple and the people’s deportation to Babylon, ironically they return laden with gifts from surrounding nations. As the prophet points out, however, the people of Israel haven’t become “a chosen race,” just for their sake alone. God’s action on their behalf is to be a witness, a testimony of the very nature of God.
2 Those who come from the East bearing gifts are identified as magi. The Greek word refers to a member of a priestly caste, who are known for their wisdom, their astrological knowledge, and their ability to interpret dreams. The “East” here more than likely refers to Persia or Arabia – maybe even Babylon itself; and in the theology of that era the motif of a star at the birth of a significant person would be understood by gentile and Jewish readers alike.
3 The phrase "dark night of the soul" emerged from the writings of Saint John of the Cross, a Carmelite priest in the 16th century. “The Dark Night of the Soul,” the name of both a poem and its theological commentary, are among the Carmelite priest's most well-known writings. The texts tell of the priest's mystical development and the stages he is subjected to on his journey towards union with God.
“The Dark Night of the Soul” is actually divided into two books that reflect the two phases of his dark night. The first is a purification of the senses. The second and more intense of the two stages is that of the spirit, which is the less common of the two. “The Dark Night of the Soul” goes on to describe the ten steps on the ladder of mystical love, previously described by Saint Thomas Aquinas (also, curiously enough, by Aristotle). The text was written while John of the Cross was imprisoned by his Carmelite brothers – who opposed his reformations to their Order.
Here’s the text of that extraordinary poem:
Upon a darkened night
The flame of love was burning in my breast
And by a lantern bright
I fled my house while all in quiet rest
Shrouded by the night
And by the secret stair I quickly fled
The veil concealed my eyes
While all within lay quiet as the dead.
(Chorus)
O, night thou was my guide!
O, night more loving than the rising sun!
O, night that joined the Lover to the beloved one!
Transforming each of them into the other.
Upon that misty night
In secrecy beyond such mortal sight
Without a guide or light
Than that which burned as deeply in my heart.
That fire 'twas led me on
And shone more bright than of the midday sun
To where He waited still
It was a place where no one else could come.
(Chorus)
Within my pounding heart
Which kept itself entirely for Him
He fell into His sleep
beneath the cedars all my love I gave.
From o'er the fortress walls
The wind would brush His hair against His brow
And with its smoother hand
caressed my every sense it would allow.
(Chorus)
I lost my self to Him
And laid my face upon my Lover's breast
And care and grief grew dim
As in the morning's mist became the light.
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair.
[See: http://frimmin.com/poetry/darknight.php - arranged and adapted by Loreena McKennitt, 1993]
4 Madeleine L’Engle, from Glimpses of Grace (HarperSanFrancisco Pub. Co., 1998), p. 174.