January 5, 2025 Epiphany, This little light of ours

John Bellaimey

This little light of ours

Jan 5 2025, Epiphany St John’s

John Bellaimey

 

In the name of God, who is making all things new.

Last month, I confessed to you that I really have only four or five ideas in me, and the one I most often find coming out of my mouth on occasions like this one is there is nothing really new under the Sun. And today the church has lined up four readings from the Bible for us that say oh, yes there is. Or maybe, oh, yes there will be, and there’s just enough light to see it with. Just hang in there.

 

Beka read that famous poem for us a few minutes ago from the book of Isaiah. Unlike the dark times we are now enduring, a bright dawn is coming. Instead of our loved ones being separated from us, we’ll be reunited. Instead of worrying about what we’re going to eat, or having enough money, it will take a caravan of camels to bring us all the stuff. Including gold and frankincense, the most luxurious things you can imagine.

 

And then Mary read from St. Paul, writing just a generation after he’d seen the light. I am in prison, Paul wrote, but it’s only my body that’s captive. He’s come, he’s come, Emmanuel, and ransomed this captive. I’ve seen the light, the one Isaiah told us was coming, after it knocked me off my high horse. Christ has come, this new way of knowing God, and God’s not a private mystery any more, reserved just for the chosen few. It’s public. Universal. It’s why we’re creating this new thing called ekklesia, the gathering. People will gather from every corner of the world and learn how to be the light, the love, to be gifts to the world.

 

We just got back from three weeks in England. We celebrated Christmas with our son, grandsons, daughter-in-law, and her family. We hadn’t been there before for Christmas. We sang carols in a couple of churches and a couple of different outdoor places, both times with songbooks wisely laminated in plastic against the inevitable drizzle. We said no thank you to seconds of Christmas pudding and mince pies, and yes, please to roast goose and ham and turkey and stuffing and two veg. And we received an embarrassing pile of gifts from our generous hosts. Maybe not gold, frankincense, and myrrh, but scented candles, chocolates, books, and more chocolates. Not because we needed anything, but because gift-giving is the Coe-Noël family love language.

The wise men from the East knew exactly what three gifts to bring to a newborn king. One, a king can never have too much gold. Someday he’ll have to pay an army. Two, he’ll need frankincense, or his priests will, for ceremonies of blessing. And three, like all of us mortals, he will need myrrh one day when his body is given back to the Earth and the people say, the king is dead. Long live the king! The wise men brought perfect gifts.

Back east, wherever the magi were from, at least one of them noticed a new star in the sky. Astrologers study the heavenly patterns. They name constellations, tell stories about planets, and most importantly, they find out what the dark sky is saying about us. It matters, they believe, which star was rising when you were born. Whether the Scorpion or the Great Bear ruled the day you recovered from an illness. In India it tells you when your wedding day should be, and you’d be wise to go with it.

 

The new star could have been a comet. They come and go, and have tails, like those speed lines in cartoon drawings. It pointed west, the direction of all new things, the direction of the sun and moon. Something about the star said “birth” and “king.” And since all the really great kings our astrologers knew of–except for Pharaoh–came from the east, the wise men took note. And saddled up.

Herod’s wise men missed the star. But they did know about the Messiah. There had been lots of predictions. A king, a prophet, a priest, a savior, a conquerer. A peacemaker, even. So when Herod asked them where a new baby king would be born, they told him, David’s town, of course. Bethlehem.

 But the baby they found was no royal prince swaddled in silk. They had to wonder what these poor people were going to do with the gifts. Maybe sell them and buy a place to stay. Or some food, because the animals there obviously didn’t belong to the baby’s parents.

God was beginning something new. Incarnating as a helpless child. God who needed to be fed over and over from his mother’s body. God who could not speak or walk. Who had to cry to get attention and whose parents had to try everything they could think of to comfort him. The Creator of the Universe needed nappies changed. Needed a bath.

I am not sure what the new thing is dawning in my life, or yours. But the Gospel tells us that something new is always being born. It may seem like the same old Christmas stocking, the same old carols. The same calendar turning over, the same days getting longer. But the stars, or whatever the gigantic patterns of divine wisdom are, the stars are pointing to something for me. For all of us.

For me, I suspect the divine light is pointing me toward my new responsibility as an elder. To put away childish things, and to find childish delights. To lay down some burdens and pick up some others. To ask for help and to accept help gracefully, without pride or shame. Being old means accompanying your friends as they get sick and when their time comes, as they die. And holding a baby so close that you have to take your glasses off to see better. Stepping back to let the kids take over the family. Watch them find schools for the kids, go into therapy, and struggle with difficult bosses at work.

Here at church, in our little ekklesia, it’s the next generation that will decide whether to keep meeting here in this building, which I compared last month to Grandma’s House. Whether we need some different art on these walls and who’s going to lead the song of the Church when Chad and Wendy retire. The next generation will look at that big Excel spreadsheet in the Building Reserve Study and decide how much money needs to be raised for such dull things as elevator hydraulic cylinders and attic air handlers. In church, it’s the job of us gray-haired folks to offer advice, to teach when it’s our turn, and to listen. To bring gold, frankincense, and myrrh to whoever this “new baby” is going to be. To show up when we can, and cook dinner, ring chimes, help refugees find work, make friends with other people’s kids, and help Heather with Sunday School.

In Advent, the church calls out, O come, o come Emmanuel, and ransom us captives. At Christmas, it sings, Go tell it on the mountain that Jesus Christ is born. In Epiphany, it pushes us ahead: This little light of mine. This little light of ours. Every little bit of light we can kindle to brighten things. Not that darkness is bad. It’s beautiful, comforting, kind of sleepy! But you can’t see color in the dark. You can’t even see other people in the dark, except by some little light. The point of Epiphany is not to find the light, but to use the light to see what is really there. What we thought was darkly invisible.

If you took some time to look into the darker corners of your life, of your world, what would you see, if you had a little more light? Maybe something you didn’t notice in the darkness of a scary diagnosis. Or someone you forgot about in your close family, who could use your light. Epiphany says: don’t worry. Use the light you’ve got. I’m the light. I’m in you. Call me love or kindness or unselfishness. Call me enlightenment or wisdom or humor or friendship. I’m your light. You don’t even have to make it shine. Just gotta let it shine.

Can we sing a few verses, church?  …one TWO three FOUR

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…

Take this light around the world, I’m gonna let it shine…

In my neighborhood, I’m gonna let it shine…

Here at old St. John’s, I’m gonna let it shine…

Ain’t gonna make it shine, just gonna let it shine….

 

 

First Reading, Isaiah 60:1-6

Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of God has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but God will arise upon you, whose glory will appear over you. 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; your sons shall come from far away,  and your daughters shall be carried on their nurses’ arms. Then 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. A 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 God.

Ephesians 3:1-12

This is the reason that I, Paul, am a prisoner for Christ Jesus for the sake of you Gentiles– for surely you have already heard of the commission of God’s grace that was given me for you, and how the mystery was made known to me by revelation, as I wrote above in a few words, a reading of which will enable you to perceive my understanding of the mystery of Christ. In former generations this mystery was not made known to humankind, as it has now been revealed to Christ’s holy apostles and prophets by the Spirit: that is, the Gentiles have become fellow heirs, members of the same body,  and sharers in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel. Of this gospel I have become a servant according to the gift of God’s grace that was given me by the working of his power. Although I am the very least of all the saints, this grace was given to me to bring to the Gentiles the news of the boundless riches of Christ, and to make  everyone see what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God who created all things; so that through the church the wisdom of God in its rich variety might now be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places. This was in accordance with the eternal purpose that he has carried out in Christ Jesus our Savior, in whom we have access to God in boldness and confidence through faith.

Gospel,  Matthew 2:1-12

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking,”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.” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: `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.'” Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then 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.” When 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. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On 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.And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

This is such a strange story, like so many stories in the Bible. Some wise men come to Jerusalem and start asking around.

-We’ve seen the star, you know.

–What star?

–The new one, the one about the new king

-News to us!

Herod’s wife wasn’t pregnant, as far as anyone knew. Plus, he’d already killed several of his sons for fear they would take the throne from him. Word was, his youngest son was now the heir. Did the old guy die and folks just didn’t know it yet? Old Herod had informers all over town, so the word got to him that some men with clothing and accents from the East were looking for the “newborn king,” So he had them come to the palace, but secretly, maybe through the back door. He pretended to be thrilled at the news. If you find the newborn, let me know where to find him. I want to worship him, too!  Right. And hand over your crown, too? To some unknown baby?

The Christmas star did its job, and pointed them to a stable. Some poor man let them in, and introduced them to his fiancée and her baby. They pulled out baby gifts fit for a king. The man told the astrologers that some shepherds had just been there, too, with a story about strangers telling them to come immediately to the stable. They had acted like the baby was royalty, also.

After the wise men left, Joseph and Mary couldn’t sleep. They had both been visited by strange messengers, too, nine months before, telling them the same kind of story. A baby. A hero who would change the world or something.

The wise men hadn’t been fooled by Herod’s request. Plus, at least one of them had a dream warning them to keep the location of the stable and the identity of the baby a secret. So they sneaked out of town. We don’t know whatever happened to them. Surely they kept listening, over the years, for news from Roman Palestine.

Besides his folks, who first recognized this baby as something new from heaven? Simple shepherds and learned foreigners. Most people were looking for the Messiah, the rescuer, in the wrong places, like the Temple. Or the palace.

 During those centuries, being Jewish was like being Ukranian. Or Sudanese. Or Cherokee. Armies of young men kept sweeping through and taking over, armed with weapons. Lured by promises of fame and looted riches. Right then, it was Roman flags flying over King David’s city, but before that were Greek flaga, and Persian, and Babylonian, and Egyptian. People were waiting for a Messiah who would hang out a new Jewish banner, the star of David, maybe, on the flagpoles.

Matthew had to explain that Jesus, the Messiah, had himself been displayed on the flagpole of Roman crucifixion, and then raised mysteriously to some new kind of life.

Last month, I spoke about how there is almost nothing new under the Sun, but there is nothing quite like this in what we know as the history of God. At least the Judaeo-Christian-Muslim history of God. God had stitched clothes for Adam and Eve, and told Noah to build a boat, and got Moses to tell ol’ Pharaoh to let the Hebrew slaves go. But to incarnate, and not as a prince, warlord, or superhero; never. I am who I am, the Creator, the Master of the Universe, the One Who Knows, and all the other supersized projections of what you think is great. And I am also this helpless baby, this homeless teacher, this unforgettable friend. I’m impossible to understand, and you already know what you need to know about me.

 

10am Service