The Way to Wonder: Sermon for the Feast of the Epiphany 2023

We think we know the story.

We’ve heard it a thousand times, a mash-up from the gospels of Matthew and Luke and the imaginings of a dozen Christmas hymn lyrics.

The angel Gabriel darting around making more predictions than commentators on ESPN. Receptive women and reluctant, doubtful husbands. Waiting. Some singing of hymns of praise. Then, the weary family, a trace of scandal hanging over their unusual pregnancy. The lack of space for them to rest, accepting the indignity of bedding down with the cattle in a cave beneath the inn. The imagined filth and dust as they deliver their child themselves and place him in a feeding trough. Shepherds startled out of their boredom in their fields by flashes of light and angelic pronouncements and hallelujah choirs. And then, a wait, a shift to a house, and sumptuously attired exotic visitors from the East, led by astrological signs to seek out an infant boy whose birth they foresaw in the stars.

It sounds fantastic, like a fairy tale. And we live in a world where fairy tales would have died out completely if it wasn’t for Walt Disney.

Today, we celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany. Epiphany is a Greek word, that means the manifestation or revealing of Christ as the son of God to nations beyond the Jews. The Magi represent the rest of the world being drawn into the embrace of God, as the prophet Isaiah predicted. “Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” And so we have what tradition had named the Three Kings following the light of a star from Persia, to the East—a star that flared into existence to announce the birth of a God. They bring gold and frankincense, signs of wealth and holiness, just as Isaiah described—but also myrrh, a spice used in embalming. Our psalm likewise talks of kings bringing gifts of tribute.

These Kings are also known as “wise men.” Why are they wise? Because, as non-Jews, they know something the “king” of the Jews, Herod, should know. They obviously expect Herod (and everyone else in Jerusalem) to know, and stop in Jerusalem so that they can fine-tune their directions.

Yet, they get their first surprise, for not only do the people of Jerusalem and their king NOT know about the birth of this new king, they are completely terrified by the possibility that there could be a new king on the horizon. One has to wonder why, if the Wise Men WERE indeed so wise, they might not have foreseen this possibility—since the birth of a new king means the end of the reign of the current king, and kings usually don’t take being deposed too well.

So these pagans also accidentally warn the local dictator that there is a legitimate rival for his fraudulent claim to be king. They may be called wise men, but this is a misstep that will later cause Herod to lash out and slaughter hundreds of innocents. They continue on their way with the star leading them, and find what must have been a letdown. No palaces, so sumptuous lodgings, but a poor peasant family, in a house now at least, but still not obviously destined for greatness at first glance, or even second or third. Nonetheless, their hearts tell them they have found what they are searching for, and they present their precious gifts, and worship the little baby. And like good guests visiting a family with a newborn, they don’t overstay their welcome. They have a long journey home in which to make sense of all they have seen. So after their dreams warn them not to go back through the road that goes by Herod’s palace, they return home by another way.

So what is the point of this story to our jaded ears?

At the most basic level, in Matthew’s gospel it is Gentile wise men who are the first to recognize and proclaim of the special quality of Jesus as divine and a holy child at his birth. They come to pay homage to a child born, according to prophecy, as king of the Jews, even though they are, again, not Jewish religious scholars but strangers who nonetheless have the imagination and faith to follow the signs they perceive. Thus the Magi represent that God’s plan and love is for all of us, God reaches out to all who can open their eyes, and have the faith to interpret and see the signs. The light has come to the Gentiles, but the people of Israel do not yet really see the signs and interpret them yet.

But I think the last sentence of our reading holds a key for us, living 2000 years later. After seeing and recognizing Jesus as holy, they go home another way. They are placed on another path.

In other words, worship is easy. It’s joyful, and uplifting. But allowing it to transform us and our perceptions, the way we see and interact with the world and each other and with God? That’s particularly challenging BECAUSE we have become so blind to the idea of the miraculous and the wondrous imprint of God that we encounter in Jesus., and in creation all around us.

The great Episcopal lay theologian and teacher Verna Dozier makes much the same point in her masterpiece, The Dream of God:

“The church missed its high calling to be a new thing in the world when it decided to worship Jesus instead of follow him. We live in a day when it would be equally offensive to those who bear the name of Christian to hear Jesus blasphemed as to see him followed. And yet discipleship, not worship is what Jesus called for….” (Dozier, loc 1120).

She points out that in every instance of Jesus’s adult life, when someone attempted to worship Jesus, he stopped them, asking them instead to do the harder thing and FOLLOW him:

“Worship is setting Jesus on a pedestal, distancing him, enshrining (enshrouding) him in liturgies, stained glass windows, Biblical translations, medallions, pilgrimage to places where he walked—the whole nine yards. Following him is doing what he did, weeping over situation that was so far removed from the dream of God and spending his life to make it different. Following is discipleship…. Following Jesus is having that clear eyed vision of whom we serve.” (Dozier, 1148)

This is where I believe we are called to expand our understanding of what an epiphany is. Epiphany also means a sudden shift in our insight or understanding, a “eureka!” moment in which our perception of the world is completely changed. Even though it is left unsaid, I believe those Wise Men returned to their homes and told what they had seen, yes, but I also am convinced they came back years later to hear that young rabbi preach as he walked the shores of lakes and rivers and taught people from the heights of hills. I believe the shift in their perception as they held that tiny baby in their rough hands began working in their hearts even before Jesus uttered his first word.

Because epiphanies do not usually come in words, but in insight. In being willing to look around with new eyes and see wonders in the ordinary—wonders that reawaken us to the nearness and presence of God in our everyday lives, if we allow the light of God to lodge within our hearts.

The encounter the Magi had with the Holy Family undoubtedly left them changed. It also led them to find their way home by a different path than the one they had taken before. And that’s the way it is with epiphanies, isn’t it? They change you, and they change your understanding of the path that you are on. Epiphanies point us to another way home.

Jesus calls us to enlarge our own horizons, just as the star caused the Magi to enlarge theirs. Specifically, Jesus calls us to worship, and to offering, absolutely—but more importantly, Jesus calls us to be formed and shaped by that worship and that offering to see the world with new eyes. But more importantly, Jesus calls us to USE that insight to join in the work of restoring creation and our relationships within creation so that they are based on healing, reconciliation, and compassion. Jesus calls us to renewal, to reconciliation, to discipleship.

This is a new year. It’s a new opportunity to commit to living with a renewed commitment to our ministry as Christians. The days grow longer with each week; may our hearts and our courage grow just as surely. May we commit ourselves to following the light of Christ, and welcoming it into our hearts, so that we may live unafraid, united, in service to God and each other.


Amen.

Preached at the 505 on January 7 and at the 10:30 Holy Eucharist on January 8, 2023 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.

Readings:

Isaiah 60:1-6

Psalm 72:1-7,10-14

Ephesians 3:1-12

Matthew 2:1-12

Shining Forth: Speaking to the Soul, January 5, 2023

We know now
   the night sky as ancient record-
   the ages and eons required
for the light of each star to fall on our eyes.
If we look up.
                        We may even
look upon what has flared out and died
when life was new and God’s song of creation
echoed still through galaxies, the final blast of light
trailing behind, Schroedinger’s star,
   dead and alive at once,
perhaps memory only, but like all memories
   still serving as guide in the now.

Lured by a star, did they
stop as dawn drew a blue
diaphanous veil between earth and heaven?
                                                                      Or did they
continue westward, shifting their allegiance to the sun?

But here they are now, turning up
   dusty, grimy from the road, uneasy.
They shake sand from their beards as if ruefully disagreeing.

The door is low—bowing they enter,
then bowing again, offering
gold, frankincense, myrrh
power, worship, anointing.
All that meets their eyes
   could be dismissed as humble. Yet
as the infant gaze blinks and falls upon them,
and in eyes as wide and wise as centuries
the star’s birth flares anew,
                        alpha and omega.

After cradling him gently in callused, weathered hands,
   one by one that fire descended and swelled within each heart.
As if awakened from a dream,
they stumbled through the low-slung door
   to draw all nations to awe and praise.
The road is now elsewhere.
They go home now by another way.

This was first published at Episcopal Journal and Cafe's Speaking to the Soul, January 5, 2023

Scripture reference Matthew 2:1-12

Prayer 3292: For the Feast of Candlemas

(Feast of the Presentation of Jesus- Luke 2:22-40)

Most Blessed Savior,
may we praise you in the temple and in the streets,
extolling your many blessings boldly
and witnessing to your abiding loving-kindness
in all we do and say this day.

Make us strong in your wisdom, O God;
let us grow in heart and mind,
sinking deep roots
into the verdant ground of your commandments
loving You and our neighbors
as You love us.
May our own countenance
shine forth with the Light of God's Wisdom,
and with the radiance of your Incarnate Word.

At eventide, let us depart in peace,
having served you humbly, atiently, and with charity,
having looked with eyes of love upon the world,
and knowing that we have seen the Savior
in each face we have encountered.

Keep us all this good day,
and bring us to our rest in safety and assurance,
and pour out your blessing
on those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Signs Along the Road: Sermon for the 2nd Sunday after Christmas C

It’s often good to see familiar places and sights through the eyes of a stranger. It helps you avoid taking things for granted. When I was in college, I had a friend who was an international student. She would be amazed by the strangest things. For instance: convenience stores, like Quik Trip or 7 Eleven. In Tulsa, even more than here, there was literally a convenience store on every corner (here in Missouri, it’s drug stores, if you haven’t noticed). We took convenience stores for granted—they were just so darn… convenient. Stephanie marveled at the fact that when we wanted a study break, we could just walk down the street at midnight and get an ice cream sandwich. At midnight.

I got a taste of what she had experienced the first time I was in France. I got a headache, and suddenly, the lack of drug stores and convenience stores became glaringly obvious. For what seemed like hours, I tried to find some place that sold analgesics—the clerk at the little market around the corner from our hotel had no idea what I wanted. I finally was down to asking strangers in the street—and I really only know menu French and directional French. But I didn’t want escargots at the moment—I wanted Excedrin.

A couple of people would point and tell me that there was a pharmacy just down the street. I stood there, and just couldn’t see it—the shop where he pointed had swanky rows of beauty products. Finally, a sympathetic man pointed up, and I noticed a green neon sign above my head in the shape of a cross. I slunk in, and voila! Yes, they had aspirin (in tubes the diameter of a roll of quarters, but aspirin nonetheless)! Once I realized this, I suddenly saw those green neon signs EVERYWHERE. They had just been part of the landscape and meaningless to me before. I didn’t know what to look for—but once I saw it, I saw it everywhere.

Being able to read the signs was the stock in trade of the visitors in our gospel today known as the Magi. They have seen signs—and those signs set them off on a quest of discovery. They follow a blaze of light—a star that seems to guide them in hopeful expectation.

Matthew’s story suggests that Joseph and Mary are living in Bethlehem, because we don’t see a stable or manger anywhere in this scene. The Magi know nothing of this, of course, and set out from their land not knowing what exactly will be their ultimate destination. They stop off in Jerusalem assuming that of course everyone would both also know about this miracle in their own midst. But only the Magi have seen and recognized the sign dancing above their heads.

These strangers, with their gaudy outfits and strange accents, haul themselves all the way across the burning desert to bring impractical gifts to a baby king. Well, gold was practical—but perfume and an embalming spice? Expensive, but certainly not immediately as useful as say a case of diapers.

The Magi approach Herod, asking for help in pinpointing where they are going. Strangely, Herod provides that help, even though their news makes him uneasy, even afraid that he could be violently deposed and his throne, his only through Roman backing, could be overthrown. He’s afraid of that because that is exactly the way he has operated to become powerful himself.

In our readings today, we specifically celebrate the Epiphany of Jesus. The word “epiphany” can mean appearance, unveiling, disclosure, or manifestation. The story we hear is about the disclosure of Jesus as an sign of hope for not just his own people, but for the entire world. We see that these travelers see the baby in the care of his mother and father—and their response is worship and offering. After we’ve spent weeks wondering what we are going to get, the Magi present us with a challenge—what are we going to offer?

It’s funny—most of us have just spent weeks finding and purchasing and wrapping all kinds of gifts for the people in our lives. Yet what gifts do we have left to offer to Jesus? He asks us for our attention, our trust, our love. And the best way we offer those things to Christ is often to offer them to each other.

The encounter the Magi had with the Holy Family undoubtedly left them changed. It also led them to find their way home by a different path than the one they had taken before. And that’s the way it is with epiphanies, isn’t it? They change you, and they change your understanding of the path that you are on. Epiphanies point us to another way home.

After all that we have endured and experienced in these last many months, who here isn’t longing for that? A whole ‘nother year of pandemic and here comes a wave with a strain so virulent that last Thursday, the US set a record of 580,000 NEW cases of COVID reported in a single day—and the previous day’s record was 488,000 cases in a single day, which in itself is mind-bogglingly tragic. Given the loss of people we loved and admired, not to forget that we lost both the great spiritual leader Archbishop Desmond Tutu and the great American treasure and animal rights champion Betty White in a single week’s time. Given that in a few days it will be a year since the January 6 attack on our capitol and our democracy. In so many of our families, mine included, there has been too much sickness, too much uncertainty, too much stress.

The road we have been on for far too many months and years is one of hatred, division, and self-delusion. It’s not enough to disagree with our political opponents—we are told by too many that we have to hate them, and deny their humanity.

The fact of our lives is this: you really only see what you are looking for. If you are looking for things that make you angry, divided, resentful, bitter, or afraid—things that make you doubt the existence of God, in other words--that is exactly what you will see. 

If you are looking for signs of life, hope, community, exemplars of humanity like Desmond Tutu and Betty White who can inspire you in your daily life—THAT is what you will see. You will see signs of God’s love EVERYWHERE.

I don;’t know about you, but that sounds like a better road to me. And it’s a road that will give you the strength and endurance to confront the forces of injustice, rancor, division, ignorance, malevolence, violence, and hatred that has too much power. It seems ascendant, dominant, in part because people of good heart do not challenge it in the name of love that Jesus embodies and calls us to embody as well.

The road too many of us have been on has not served humanity well. Perhaps it’s time to look for a different road—because we know they exist. People like Desmond Tutu and Betty White show us that. The Magi remind us of that.

But the fact of the matter is, if you want to try a different road, you are the one who needs to put on the blinker, turn the steering wheel, and commit to a change in direction and path. The Magi knew that their original road would lead them back to a tyrant and murderer. They instead chose a road illuminated by the miracle they had just witnessed, with the light of that star now lodged firmly in their hearts.

After finding and worshiping the infant Jesus, the Magi become convinced that they must find another way home. And I am convinced we are like that too. After two years in a pandemic, and with another surge on us, what we have been doing is obviously not working. We long to find another way home. And perhaps we can let that star—the star of hope—guide us.

Jesus calls us to enlarge our own horizons, just as the star caused the Magi to enlarge theirs. Specifically, Jesus calls us to worship, and to offering, absolutely—but more importantly, Jesus calls us to be formed and shaped by that worship and that offering to see the world with new eyes. Jesus calls us to renewal, to reconciliation, to discipleship.

Jesus comes as “God with us” to assure us of how very much God seeks relationship with us, fallible humans that we are. And God doesn’t just pull us close—God shows us another way, a better way, home. A way of hope. A way of love. A way of compassion and justice and mercy. Encounters with God are themselves gifts to us. They help us see with new eyes the signs of God’s enduring love and faithfulness all around us. They are doorways into a new understanding of ourselves, and of those around us.

May we worship and lay our offerings before the newborn Prince of Peace, and look with new eyes for the signs of his love all about us and within us so that we too may travel on the road of love and grace. May we be the sign that the hurting world needs.

Amen.

Preached at the 10:30 am Holy Eucharist, in person and online, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.

Readings:

• Jeremiah 31:7-14
• Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a
• Matthew 2:1-12
• Psalm 84 or 84:1-8

Pulling Back the Veil: Speaking to the Soul, February 11, 2021

When I was eight, my third-grade teacher suspected that I had something wrong with my vision, and she was right. When I would read out loud, I would skip lines. And sometimes at the end of a long school day, the chalk board would get blurrier, like a gauzy veil was drawn over it. Mrs. Mathews was right: come to find out, one of my eyes had weaker muscles than the other. And so for a year I went to eye therapy.

I remember sitting in the waiting room for my appointments, reading old Highlights magazines. After reading all the stories with my new, extra-fragile glass bifocals, I would enjoy the pages filled with visual puzzles, like where you find lists of hidden images in a picture, or a line drawing where you saw a young woman looking over her shoulder, but if you turned the picture upside down suddenly you were looking at an old hag. Or if you looked at the positive space of a drawing you saw one image, but if you concentrated on the negative space you saw something else. Years later I marveled at how that doctor made sure we were working to strengthen our eyes and our perception even in the waiting room.

The eyes work by collecting and focusing light so that it can be interpreted by the brain.

But unless we have some idea what we are looking for, we will seldom find it, because our brains filter out a majority of the images our eyes take in so that we can make sense of what is in front of our eyes. Our brains perceive what is seen by interpreting, based on context, and by filtering out a great amount of input. We see this people who have had their sight restored either by surgery or by correction, or in studies of what newborns see. When asked what they see, they have no way of making sense of the light flooding their eyes. Of those who have the ability to talk, they describe brightness, and later flashes of color. Eventually, their minds learn to interpret the input coming through their eyes. There is even scriptural testimony to this phenomenon: in Mark 8, Jesus heals a blind man from Bethsaida, and after Jesus attempts the healing the first time and asks what the man sees, he says, “I see people, but they look like trees walking.”

In the reading from 2 Corinthians that we will hear this Sunday, we will hear Paul talk about the things that keep us from seeing the gospel as it really is. Paul points out that if we focus on the “god of this world,” we are unable to perceive to see God in unexpected places, or to see the gospel with clarity. Instead, our perception is “veiled.” Perhaps Paul is too generous to make the “god of this world” singular. Power, status, self-righteousness, money, material possessions, fame, greed, entertainment—all of these things we may worship, as we offer them the priority for our attention, our time, and our striving. There are so many gods we focus upon and elevate that we think will take the place in our hearts that belongs to God. One thing is certain: the gods of this world reign by being easily perceptible all around us, while many complain that they do not see signs of the true God anywhere. Once again, depends upon what you are looking for, and where you focus your attention.

As we prepare to enter into Lent, we are encouraged to expand our perception. We end the season after Epiphany each year with stories of transfiguration to give us the courage to allow our eyes to adjust to the seeing of who Jesus REALLY is in our lives, much like those disciples who witness his transfiguration in our gospel. Too often we seem to expect a bearded man, wearing a loose linen tunic, sandals, gorgeously-tressed hair. We fail to perceive him in other guises: the frazzled dad working three jobs to help put food on the table; the teenager hungry for someone to take her under their wing and counter the story she hears at home about being ugly inside and out; the neighbor with whom we have been feuding for so long we no longer remember why; the panhandler on the corner we sneer at for having a cell phone.

But the point of the transfiguration is not to focus on how Jesus has been changed. Rather, what if we looked upon him and realize that the veil has been pulled back: Jesus reveals just a tiny bit of who he really is, and once we perceive that, it is we who have been changed. In a year when even the everyday and commonplace has sometimes become a struggle, we may not perceive the ways in which the Christ-light has been revealed to us, much less within us.

The season of Epiphany is about drawing back the veil and joyfully encouraging us to see God’s presence everywhere and for everyone. Jesus’s transfiguration calls us to embrace our own, so that we ourselves may perceive that that same glory and light resides within each of us. As Jesus transfigures us, he urges us to leave behind the gods of this world. “Come, follow me. Be the light you need to see within the world.”

This was first published on Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on February 11, 2021.

Each Day a Miracle: Sermon for the Fifth Sunday after Epiphany

In 1967, what was then the greatest rock group in the world, The Beatles, released their album, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Part of the album was the story of a fantastic carnival. As the crowd noise and applause fades, the album segues into an altogether different scene, depicted in the song, “A Day in the Life.” The events recounted in the song reveal the highs and lows of one day in the British news. It moves from someone being killed in a car crash, to a story of potholes so numerous they could fill the Albert Hall. And in the center of the song is a recitation of the way that a British everyman begins his day as recounted by Paul McCartney:

Woke up, fell out of bed
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup
And looking up, I noticed I was late
Found my coat and grabbed my hat
Made the bus in seconds flat
Found my way upstairs and had a smoke
And somebody spoke and I went into a dream....(1)

Up until last year, perhaps, many of us could have recognized ourselves in that hurried depiction of our days: rushing around in the morning, caffeinating ourselves to make up for lack of sleep, arriving at every place seemingly just on the verge of not making it in time, and then settling into a routine of the workaday world that passes like a dream.

It’s often the way that we treat our days with a casual disregard. Yet, as the writer Annie Dillard notes, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing.”(2)

I don’t know about you, but when you put it that way, I am brought up short. When you apply the microscope to the ways in which I use my precious time in each and every day, it appears I am not doing too well with what Mary Oliver challenges us when she asks: Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?(3)  Because my answer is, too often, thinking less about the present than I should, looking too much at the future that the day I am in flows past me unaware.

But what we have seen in the last two weeks in our gospels has been Jesus’s rootedness in the present. We see here in our gospel today and last week a depiction of how Jesus spends one of his days, and not just any day, but a sabbath day, a day that should indicate a particular holiness and dedication to God’s values and God’s sovereignty. He starts it in study and teaching in the synagogue. Jesus teaches with an authority that is previously only granted to the elite scribes who were part of the dominant class in the religious life of that time. Jesus heals, but with an eye to restoring people from being outcast to being welcomed back into being productive members of the communities in which they lived.

Today, in case you did not notice, we see the very first woman mentioned in Mark’s gospel. Now, Mark doesn’t give her a name—nope, she gets defined by what her relationship is with a male relative. She is Peter’s mother-in-law. But then again, at least she gets a mention—Peter’s wife is completely off stage.

Thus the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law is significant in many ways. Jesus moves from the synagogue—a world in which only men spoke and dominated, a less-public space accessible only to insiders who belonged to that synagogue, to a house. This is a public space, as this reading makes clear, where the entire town can approach Jesus. The synagogue was the domain of men. Yet immediately afterward, Jesus now enters a private home, which, although it may belong to Peter, is where women are primarily the actors.

Peter invites Jesus into his home, apparently knowing that his mother-in-law is ill with a fever. Peter has just seen that Jesus is the only one who can heal her, as he's coming off the heels of casting out a demon. Notice that this unnamed woman is defined only in terms of her relationship to a man, and since we get no mention of a husband, we can assume that she is widowed and has been taken into Peter's household to be cared for. Yet in taking in his mother-in-law, the structures of the time would also demand that she is a woman of some in authority in the household, exercising some authority over her daughter by virtue of her status as mother. Therefore for her to be unable to take care of guests entering her home would be a matter of some shame. Hospitality was not a matter of servitude, but honor in this context.

Jesus hears of the woman's fever, goes to her, takes her by the hand, and “raises her up.” The verb used here is the same one used for resurrection. The story then goes on to say that immediately upon her healing, the mother in law gets up and begins to “serve” them, using a verb also used to describe discipleship.

So then the question arises: Was she healed so that she could put together a meal and do the “wimmin’s work” for Jesus and his hungry followers, or was she healed so that she could too, could become a disciple? Perhaps the answer is “Both.” What is clear from this story is that once, she is healed and she has begun serving Jesus and his disciples, she emerges as a disciple herself, and her house gains further honor as the location of Jesus’s healing much of those in the town suffering from any condition that further placed them in a precarious situation of isolation due to their various maladies.

No doubt, after Jesus leaves, the woman who is Peter’s mother-in- experiences a life that is both never the same and yet still places her in a position of servitude that all women in that culture experienced, from rich to poor. But in getting up from her bed, she also becomes, even if it's without the actual recognition by mark, the first Deacon mentioned in scripture. as such she labors alongside Jesus to make Jesus's ministry possible and to enable it -- to empower it. And that is truly honorable indeed. In healing this woman, Jesus also blesses her work and commissions it as being a vital part of bringing about the kingdom. Her service to Jesus enables the rest of his healing mission that day, after all.

What is interesting is that this is also the first time that it is stated that Jesus touches someone, and in this case, the touching happens as a prelude to the healing. He takes her hand and lifts her up. Unlike the healing of the demoniac in last week’s gospel, we do not have any recorded commands of Jesus to the fever—perhaps because it is just a fever. But this is still a miracle, nonetheless. And her service afterward enables more miracles.

There is an everyday miracle embedded in this story that speaks directly to our time in this pandemic in 2021. By entering into Peter's home, Jesus consecrates and hallows the home as a space where Jesus does his kingdom-building work.

Stop and think about that for a minute, and what it reminds us about right now. As we have spent nearly a year being very much confined to our homes more than possibly ever in our adult lifetimes, home has grown ever more important as the place where many of us spend most of our time. Especially for us as a community of faith, as a parish, we have missed being able to be in our sacred spaces. Yet by having Jesus spend much of this day in a home in today’s gospel reading, we were reminded of how sacred a space home can be.

Just like Peter's mother-in-law, we have been confined to our homes because of an illness --or at least because of the fear of an illness. Many of us have rightfully and logically chafed at this enforced domesticity. And yet the story of the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law reminds us but the home can be just as sacred space and as much a source of healing and discipleship as the most beautiful cathedral on earth. Jesus takes an ordinary place and turns it into an extraordinary locus of healing and renewed hope.(4) 

Even by the middle of that one day, Jesus’s fame as a healer has gotten spread about, and people are brought to him to be healed of either physical or psychological/spiritual maladies. Jesus willingly heals those who come to him. Since illnesses made it impossible for most of these desperately poor people to work, Jesus spends a large part of this long day restoring people to independence and hope.

Before the next day begins, Jesus sneaks out before dawn and goes to “a deserted place” or “wilderness place” to pray by himself. Unlike in Luke, Jesus as a person who prays is an incidental in Mark’s gospel. And he only gets a few moments to himself, for, as our text states, the disciples “hunt” for him.

We get a lot of details about what people want from Jesus in these first few verses of Mark, but not much about what Jesus wants from his companions. Number one might be time to pray in peace. Anyone who has been a parent may be able to relate to this. And the disciples are still greatly dependent upon him—they may have followed Jesus, but they certainly don’t yet understand him. Only the evil spirits have that gift. What irony. And, not wanting to be clingy, they cloak their “hunting” and bursting in upon Jesus with the excuse that “everyone” is looking for him.

So Jesus puts aside his prayers for now, and continues upon his mission, stating that they should be moving on into neighboring towns so that he can continue to spread the gospel. Jesus never rests. This remains true today. But he also honors time spent in solitude with God, listening as much as talking-- an important part of prayer that we often forget in our hurried, transactional world. Jesus also never stops praying, teaching, or healing. And neither should we.

This past year has forced some of us into solitude, or at least caused us to drastically contract the places to which we feel comfortable traveling. But what if perhaps we could try to find in our enforced stillness an opportunity for spiritual growth?

As disciples, our jobs are to try to imitate our teacher as much as possible. Jesus is our teacher, and our healer, who calls us to repentance and reclamation of our one wild and precious life. What can we learn from this “typical day” of Jesus’s?

Perhaps this: How can we place ourselves more in the present like Jesus did in this one ordinary, extraordinary day—to see the people right in front of us, in all their need, and rather than flick our eyes on to the next thing, instead reach out to them and lift them up? Can we dedicate ourselves to the same deeply rooted spiritual life that Jesus clings to as he repeatedly is found in prayer, and imitate that, if only to see what effect it might have in our lives?

Can we see even the nameless people around us, like Jesus sees Peter’s mother-in-law, and honor the common life we have together thanks to their labor, and honor them for it, rather than take them for granted, or worse, take pride in our exploitation of their labor at the cheapest rates we can negotiate?

May we never forget that the most visible testimony anyone who claims the name of Christian gives to the watching world is the way that we spend each day. What are we testifying to each day? How can we make each day a miracle for those who would otherwise be overlooked? This is the heart of the life lived by Jesus’s disciples-- which is to say, by you and me.



Amen.

Preached at the 10:30 am online worship service at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.

Readings:

Isaiah 40:21-31

Psalm 147:1-12, 21c

1 Corinthians 9:16-23

Mark 1:29-39

Citations:

1) John Lennon and Paul McCartney, "A Day in the Life," from Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, 1967.

2) Annie Dillard, The Writing Life, 1989, p. 31.

3) Mary Oliver, "The Summer Day."

4)Debie Thomas, "A Day in the Life," Jan 31, 2021, at Journey with Jesus.

Prayer, day 2900- Feast of the Epiphany (transferred)

Lord Jesus Christ,

you reveal the light of God to all creation,
and draw hearts to worship God from all peoples:
accept the meditations of our hearts
as we rise and praise you this day.

May we each make manifest to others
the hope that is in the Name of the Lord
and the Love Incarnate that comes into the world
in your humble birth and life, O Christ.
May we embody your healing power
and seek to follow in your ways, O Savior,
and faithfully testify to your wisdom and grace
at work in ourselves, and in the world around us.
Help us to shine with a holy light
and place our gifts at your feet, Beloved Jesus,
that we may carry your reconciling love within us
for the life of the world
and the restoration of peace and justice.

Breath of Heaven, breathe upon us;
fill us with the Holy Spirit
and make us the face of Christ for those we meet.
We ask your blessing, comfort and presence
to rest upon upon these beloveds
whom we remember before You today.

Amen.

The Velvet Darkness: Speaking to the Soul, August 27, 2020

Exodus 3:1-15

In our diocese, when we suddenly got the word in the week before Holy Week that we had to shut down our worship spaces, even from broadcasting from them before empty pews, it set up a mad scramble. My husband generously went up to our nave with me and helped me to pre-record the stripping of the altar so that we could use it in our Maundy Thursday service. Slowly, item by item, all the furnishings and paraments, down the last candlestick and embroidered linen altar coverings were removed and stored away. At the end, the tabernacle light was extinguished, and darkness, deep and rich settled over us with finality as we finished recording.

I thought about the contrast between that darkness and the flare of fire when I contemplated this Sunday’s reading from Exodus, which includes the famous call narrative of Moses and the Burning Bush. It also drew me into some points I read by the rev. Dr. Wil Gafney about the symbolism of the pairing of darkness and light, and the way that symbolism can be misused and feed into negative attitudes toward race. The impulse here in the West is to associate light with good and darkness with evil.

And yet, some of the holiest experiences I have had have occurred when I have prayed beneath the stars, when darkness has pulled back the azure veil and revealed the delights and the filigrees of constellations that go unseen in daytime, swirling overhead and testifying to the wonders of the handiwork of God. That darkness is a friend, causing the aperture of the pupils of the eyes to open widest in order to gather in even the faintest light. Especially in summer, that darkness lays soft and soothing against the skin, like silk or velvet.

The darkness is where creation takes place. The darkness is ancient. The darkness was the companion of God long before the universe came to be. And it is from the creative, velvet darkness that God’s call to Moses, and many of us, actually originates.

The darkness is where divine revelation seizes hold of Moses with the fiercest of grips, and the flare of that burning thorn bush becomes even more arresting. Although there have been several names used for God, up to this point in the Torah, the answer Moses receives is “Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh” which is translated as “I am who I am” as well as “I will be who I will be”—in other words, God exists outside the realm of time and human experience, and past, present, and future are all the same to God.

The rolling pronouncement of the Holy Name of God – we hear it in our translation from the NRSV as “I Am Who I Am”--comes from the intersection of darkness and fire—and warns Moses to remove his sandals, since the ground on which he stands is holy. It was only during that dramatic collaboration between light and dark that Moses is called into a new life. Moses is called out of the darkness of his shepherd life to lead a new flock, and take on a new identity. We see a movement from “I Am” to “You will be.” Moses will be the prophet of I Am.

How can you use the creative velvet darkness this week to help call you deeper into your relationship with God?

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on August 27, 2020.

Prayer 2542

Most Merciful God, 
we offer You our thanks and praise. 
The blessing of the morning light 
awakens us to the sure and certain promise 
that we have slept under the watchful hand of God. 

And now let us rise, 
and with full hearts greet the day, 
emptying ourselves of all but the desire to serve You, 
O God, Our Companion and Our Hope, 
by serving each other and embodying your lovingkindness,
sustained by the breath you have given us. 

May our restless hearts be alight with your wisdom,
O Ruler of the Ages, 
and may we come to rest within the lea of your mercy, 
offering You our gratitude 
for your grace and presence with us 
through our Savior Jesus Christ. 

 Whatever this day may bring,
may we remember your steadfast love with joyful hearts, 
and breathe in your peace and comfort
especially in the cares and challenges we encounter.

Holy One, grant us your blessing,
and pour out your mercy upon all
whose cares are lifted before You.

Amen.