In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. – John 1:1-5
These mystical words open the Gospel of John and echo the beginning of the Bible in Genesis, which describes God speaking light into existence at the dawn of time. Coded deep into the imagination of our spiritual ancestors is the connection between God, light, this physical world, and Jesus’ role in revealing divinity to us. Significantly, our creation myth describes God creating light on the first day, before God created Sun and Moon and Stars. So whatever else this light might be, it is beyond physical light.
We are now in the season of Epiphany, the Greek word that means “illumination.” Epiphanies happen when we suddenly realize something. It was there all along, of course, but we don’t always see what is right in front of us. Light is that which reveals what already exists.
This Epiphany, I want to suggest something about the nature of that original Light, beginning with a story. This week in Tuesday Noon Eucharist I opened the circle by inviting people to become deeply present to everything going on in their hearts, bodies and minds, with unconditional compassion, without judgment. Take a moment, if you’d like, to do that for yourself now. Next, I asked people to extend that same unconditional compassion to those around them, in the room, then to their families and friends, and finally to the world. Ironically it’s sometimes hardest to extend compassion to those we know the best: our parents, our spouses, our children. What was interesting is that I noticed, after asking people to extend compassion to themselves and those in the room, is that I myself started seeing people in the room differently. Now I know the people who attend noon eucharist quite well; we’ve been meeting for years and I love them all dearly. But I noticed that I was seeing them as if for the first time, with a soft open-heartedness, with curiosity and somehow a greater ability to see the genius in their insights and expressions. It’s not that I didn’t know their wisdom before. But somehow, with the deliberate attempt to extend unconditional compassion to myself and then to them, I saw their divinity more clearly. I could see that first and foremost, they were sacred, their hearts were made of God. And this made a difference in the energy of the room, from my perspective. It was subtle, but real.
This made me think that perhaps one ray of the Light created by God in the beginning is compassion; that compassion helps us see reality more clearly. It is the light through which we see what is right in front of us, but which is often hidden to us. Many things get in the way of compassion: our own prior unhealed hurts, fear, assumptions about other peoples’ motives, anger about things people have done, or simple self-absorption. Now we might assume that compassion hides reality from us, that it makes us see through rose-colored glasses instead of being honest about the trouble in this world. But if we believe the most true thing about people is that they are made in the image of God, compassion helps us see their faults as exceptions to the rule of their divine sacredness.
This Epiphany, I invite you to consider practicing compassion—first, for the totality of what is in your body, mind and spirit; offering yourself unconditional loving acceptance. And second, extending that same compassion to others. Is not this the essence of our baptismal covenant to “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves”? What difference would that make in the way you experience the world, and how you show up in it?
May you be filled to overflowing with the fullness of the love of God, with the Light that is your birthright and that reveals God everywhere.
With great love,
Lisa
