Sermon preached by the Rev’d Neil Fernyhough, Feast of the Epiphany (January 6, 2008)
Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14; Ephesians 3:1-12; Matthew 2:1-12
“We observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” – Mt 2:2
One of the nice things about living in Sechelt, is being able to see the stars again. On my balcony in Richmond, all I could see at night were the twinkling red lights atop the condo towers, and the twinkling red lights atop the cranes building new ones. But years ago when I lived in Sooke, I would head out after dinner into my backyard amid the silence of the woods around Otter Point, and I would lie on the grass, and just gaze at the stars.
I experience a lot of feelings when I look up at the night sky – perhaps you experience the same ones. Insignificance is the first sensation – the acute awareness that I am but one small frail being, on a small blue orb spinning on the tail of a vast galaxy, swirling amidst at least one hundred billion other galaxies. All that I can see as I lie with the silhouettes of broom and blackberry surrounding me are those few of the four hundred billion stars of the Milky Way that are visible from my little patch of the planet Earth.
It is perhaps as inevitable as it is telling that the feeling of insignificance at this point immediately gives way to stark awe. And with awe comes the transmutation of my sense of insignificance, to one of radical significance. I am a part of all that I see, and all that I don’t see – all things visible and invisible, if you will.
I’m sure the religious impulse must have first emerged from experiences such as these – the wonder and awe of the complexity of creation, and its vastness. Yes, it is true that all the life on this little orb will be destroyed by a dying Sun in a few billion years, that is, if we humans don’t get around to it first. But, really, that doesn’t matter. In the immortal words of the economist, John Maynard Keynes, “‘Long run’ is a misleading guide to current affairs…In the long run, we are all dead.” No. What matters is existence itself – that extraordinary act of divine grace which is the concrete manifestation of divine love. And what matters is the persistence of that existence which overflows even the boundaries of the universe – defined as the entirety of space and time – since God has revealed that existence – life – continues beyond space and time.
The magi were three star-gazers, as well. Incidentally, when a colleague and I were discussing our sermons a few days ago, he told me their names: Jim, Johnnie, and Jack. “What?” I said, taken aback. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s a drink – equal parts Jim Beam, Johnnie Walker, and Jack Daniels.” Anyway, as I say, the magi were star-gazers. The idea that there were three is traditional – the Bible doesn’t actually say. What it does tell us is that they came from the east, customarily believed to be Gentile astrologer-priests or shamans. Their gifts are symbolic – gold, frankincense, and myrrh. They are literally gifts fit for a king – the poem we heard from Isaiah makes that clear. But the gifts are also prophetic – gold representing Jesus’ status as messiah or king; frankincense, for his high priestly role; and myrrh as the oil with which one is anointed for burial.
Of course, a moment’s reflection will tell us that the whole story is symbolic and metaphorical, representing the revelation of God to the nations – hence the sign in the sky, the journey to pay homage, the gifts recognising Jesus’ status. This recognition is magnified through highlighting the fear shown by Herod. He obviously would have had the resources to locate the newborn, located just 10 kilometres away in the small village of Bethlehem. But, again, the story is meant to draw our attention to the challenge Jesus’ claim of kingship makes to the earthly authorities.
And what is that claim? What is it that the three magi – our literary stand-ins – go to see? Why do they risk trekking over desert wastes – or, as it were, field and fountain; moor and mountain – through hostile territory, bearing precious gifts? And, having recognised who this peasant baby is – in an existential sense – why do they risk imprisonment or death by avoiding Herod in their return to their homeland?
It’s simple. They were star-gazers. They “observed his star at its rising,” Matthew reports them as telling Herod. For some, the Feast of the Epiphany is merely the end of Christmas, and a time to take down the Christmas decorations. Speaking of which…Monday…7 pm. But what Epiphany actually commemorates is acknowledgement. Without acknowledgement that he was the manifestation of God, the historical person, Jesus, would have been an otherwise insignificant and ultimately forgotten frail being – this peasant baby of first century Jewish Palestine – just one of the one hundred billion odd humans who have ever lived. For we are, after all, much like stars in the sky.
Epiphany is an acknowledgement, however, of the significance of this particular human being. It is an acknowledgement that we have to see God-with-us for God to, indeed, be with us. It is an acknowledgement that the fullness of divinity came to rest on this child, filling him wisdom and power – the wisdom and power that can only be produced by love. And that love was perfected in Jesus, who saw that love is the material – the stuff – which makes existence possible. And existence, as I said a few moments ago, is unrestrained by the limits of the universe. It defeats time. It defeats matter. It therefore defeats death; and of course, it makes short work of evil.
And, finally, Epiphany is – by extension – an acknowledgement of our own significance, as well. For in the realm of love, there is no such thing as insignificance. It is made null. As St. Paul wrote to the church in Ephesus, through the manifestation of God in Jesus, the plan of God is fulfilled, and, quote, “the wisdom of God in its rich variety…[is] made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places.” In Christ, Paul continues, “we have access to God in boldness.” And when we have access to God, brothers and sisters, we have access to love – in boldness, and with “confidence through faith in him.”
As we embark on this season after Epiphany, let us remember that it is not simply a fallow time before Lent – nor simply the season of the Annual Vestry Meeting. No. Let this be for us a season of acknowledgement. A season of recalibrating our faith, of rediscovering the ministries and mission to which we have been called, as significant participants in the divine journey. Rediscovering the mystery of love we are invited to kindle in the world as Christian women and men, signed with the cross. Rediscovering why it is we roll out of bed on Sunday morning, and make our way to this place. When we do that, we are following a star, and so let us bring our gifts to the one who is Love. Amen.
© Richard Neil Fernyhough, 2008
