Radiant

Isaiah 60:1-6 and Matthew 2:1-12

There is a man called John who is sleeping on his friend’s sofa.  He never thought he would be in this position, having to rely on the generosity of friends, but he’s seen his fortune come and then go.   Right now, it’s in the “go” mode, since he was laid off and his health took a bad turn.  He’s always prided himself on his ability to get back on his feet and start moving, but this time, he’s having more trouble.  He’s depressed—not just your everyday kind of blues, but the kind of sadness that makes you feel as if you are walking in a sea of strangers, as if your world is only as big as your closet, as if your insides were made of lead, instead of light.

This man, John, might find companionship with our scripture from Isaiah.  People who feel that they are in exile from everything that they know to be true and right and good can be severely depressed.  They can find themselves sleeping on the sofa of acquaintances, both real and imaginary—the sofa of regret, missed opportunities, anger, hurt, and frustration.  They often wonder when and how they might return home.  Isaiah’s people lived in exile too—in a far away place called Babylon for nearly fifty years, from 586 to 538 BCE. They had seen their city and temple destroyed, their land over-run by foreign powers and everything familiar, right, and true taken away from them.  Everything except for their faith in God.

It’s an old story, and it is re-told in numerous ways throughout time, including in a recent sci-fi movie, Avatar.  In the movie, the Omaticaya is a clan of native people who live on the Planet Pandora. Their physical and spiritual home base is called “Hometree” and it is an actual tree that gives them life, sustenance, and community.  Foreign invaders who seek the mineral resources that lie deep in the ground underneath destroy this home tree.  When the Omaticaya’s home-tree is destroyed, the people go into exile.  They mourn on the edge of despair. And their grief is palpable and deep.  But their faith in God remains and delivers them.

I won’t spoil the film for you, if you haven’t seen it…but I use it to highlight how depression can make a person feel as if he or she is in forced exile.  Someone loses their home, or their job, or their spouse, or their legs, and everything that was taken for granted or presumed secure has to be re-examined and re-configured.  Feeling plays catch-up to reality.  Our friend, John, who feels his world shrunk down to basic survival; the native people in the recent Avatar film, and Isaiah’s people trying to sing a new song in a strange land—they are all seeking new life, new ways of living in exile, and also the path or the way back home.

Traditionally, Epiphany has marked the manifestation, or the appearance of Christ to the gentiles.  Epiphany with a little “e” describes those “a-ha” moments that have the power to move us off the couch and back into life and vibrancy again.  One commentator defines epiphany as those times when “an important truth suddenly becomes clear, and we can reinterpret our past and rethink our way forward in light of [that truth].”[1] Christ is an epiphany because following Jesus can help us to reinterpret our past and figure out how to move forward physically, spiritually, and emotionally. 

But what if you are still stuck on your friend’s couch?  What if you still feel as if you are in forced exile from home?  What if your epiphany (with a little “e”) hasn’t moved you back into life?  How do you get up and go on when you are depressed or in a black hole of despair?

Here’s one hint: an epiphany usually happens once you’ve begun to move.  I have a suspicion that the wise men were already on the move when they saw the star that became the sign for them.  They were already in seeker mode.  They had already moved away from their finely upholstered couches, and were open to finding divinity in a dusty, dirty stable.  They had already put the murderous Herod behind them.  The passage from Isaiah begins with the imperative: “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.”  In other words, move yourself; more specifically “get up and be on your way”!  Isaiah says, “Lift up your eyes and look around you.”  When you look at yourself and yourself only, you will sink to your knees in despair.  If you remain fixed to plump sofas or to the whims of a crazed king, you will die of despair.  When you look beyond yourself, to God and to others, you then begin to see what you could not see before.   You may see stars shining brightly where before there were none.

There is a wonderful Latin saying, “Solivitur ambulando.”  It means, “It is solved by walking.”  There is something wonderfully clearing about walking through our troubles and quandaries. We do not need to know all the answers before we begin.  We do not have to have all the complicated factors sorted into neat and understandable piles.  We do not have to find reasons for our dilemma.  We simply need to begin to move again.  We need to stand up and take those first steps.

And we need to worship.  One of the things that struck me about the Avatar film was how quickly the people moved to communal worship, even when everything they knew had been destroyed.  We often consider worship as a conditional “add-on” to a healthy life.  You know, if we have the time, if we are in the mood, if we don’t have anything better to do on Sunday morning…  We forget that worship is essential to our well-being.  We forget that it is a way that God has given us to move out of our isolation and into community. We forget that we worship not simply by ourselves and for ourselves, but for others too.

There is a Jewish story about a man who had left his community. He moved out of his village, leaving his fellow villagers and beloved Rabbi for the big city in search of fame and fortune. After several years, he returned to visit his Rabbi. The man joined his Rabbi who was sitting by the fire. The Rabbi said nothing as time passed. As the two sat together quietly, the Rabbi took a piece of coal out of the fireplace with his cane and dragged it to the middle of the floor. They both sat silently watching as the single piece of coal began to sputter out. The message was clear: one needs community.[2]

Our story about the wise men may very well be symbolic, just as symbolic as the story about the Rabbi and the piece of coal.  We tell symbolic stories to each other to help each other find our way.  We tell stories to help each other move again.  Biblical truth does not have to be factual to be true and necessary.  Our stories are like landmarks that help us to recognize ourselves—both our past and our present—while helping us to step into the future.

Isaiah says that when we finally lift up our eyes, when we look around, when we see, we shall be radiant and rejoice.  We shall reflect the light of knowing that what we deeply yearn for in God is already coming to pass.  Discipleship is actually a form of shining.  In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells his disciples, “You are the light of the world…let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your father in Heaven” (Matthew 5:14,16).

At our home, we have a coal stove downstairs.  When the stove is really hot, when the coals are all glowing brightly, there is a blue flame that rises above them.  My husband and I enjoy watching that blue flame.  It means that the whole house is already filling with warmth.  It means that our cat will find that circle of warmth and stretch out beside it.  It reminds us that the cold of winter has not won—though we remember that others may not be as fortunate.

Friends, as we enter into the New Year, I invite you to take a few moments in the warmth of this sanctuary, to make your Epiphany prayers.  There is a star in your bulletin on which to write your prayer.  Where do pray to see Christ’s light in your life?  Where do you hope to shine as a beacon for others?  How will you share your communal life with others?  In a few minutes, we will gather and receive these Epiphany prayers as a kind of blue flame rising from our hearts to God. 

Let us take a few moments to ponder, to pray, and to write.