Sermon 01/11/09
LESSONS - Genesis 1:1-5 and Mark 1:4-11
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by George Wilson
I want to talk with you about the season of Epiphany in the Church year, but first I want to read a poem to you I wrote which I hope will tell you that this is not as easy for me as it once was. ADVENT 2008 It's harder now to rest myself in the discrete segments of the Liturgical Year, which I used to do, loving the way the seasons followed one into the other, stretching my imagination around the sculpted contours of its ancient, if biased, wisdom. It taught that all of us must go through times and seasons, not rushing to conclusions, preparing ourselves even if knowing what would come next. But now without a heaven firmly fixed, or a resurrection beyond a symbol, and with waiting, as now for birth and light, not over in some discrete, acceptable time I am not held in place as before. Advent now will surely stretch through Christmas and Epiphany, will flood into Lent. I am therefore forced to pick partially useful pieces of each season, wanting them to be whole but knowing they are not. Advent darkness rings true, as if I didn't know, but the season says it's pregnant, and glimmers of distant stars, even if not focused, still shine through. I can even say birthing will come, though in what form or at what time, is beyond the broken shards of this once whole year. Yet all of me wants to recover some semblance of completeness, some touch of fullness that tells me life is not completely at odds with itself. Some child, perhaps, some cry of life, not death, some song where singing has stopped, some touch that's unexpected yet long awaited, easing me to hope. The word is Greek and means literally: "appearance on or near" or "manifestation on or near" or "apparition on or near." Put in another way, it means "a remarkable experience that to some degree is life changing," perhaps to a very great degree. In our Gospel lesson from Mark, John the Baptist—and Jesus—had epiphanies, life changing, miraculous experiences we have been taught to think, but maybe better seen as within the context of the natural world, but still life changing. The wise men had an epiphany—a collective one, according to the legend—and that, too, can happen within the day to day world we know. Many legends and myths can be valuable to us, as these are I think, but they also need to be unpacked, understood not literally but in symbolic ways, or brought down to earth and where we are, so to speak. In one of Martin Luther's Christmas sermons he spoke about the shepherds who also had a collective epiphany, "what do you think they did after they saw the baby Jesus? Do you think they shaved their heads, put on cowls and went to a monastery? No! they went back to take care of their sheep. And so should we! T.S. Eliot wrote a poem about the Magi, another unpacking or bringing down to earth that legend. I'll read just a part of it. A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter. And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, Lying down in the melting snow. There were times when we regretted The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces, And the silken girls bringing sherbet. Then the camel men cursing and grumbling And running away, and wanting their liquor and women, And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters, And the cities dirty and the towns unfriendly And the villages dirty and charging high prices: A hard time we had of it. At the end we preferred to travel all night, Sleeping in snatches, With the voices singing in our ears, saying That this was all folly. Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley, Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation; With a running stream and a water mill beating the darkness, And three trees on the low sky, And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow. Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel, Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver, And feet kicking the empty wineskins. But there was no information, and so we continued And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory. All this was a long time ago, I remember, And I would do it again, but set down This set down This: were we led all that way for Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly, We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death, But had thought they were different; this Birth was Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death. We returned to our places, these Kingdoms, But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation, With an alien people clutching their gods. I should be glad of another death. The question in my mind now is can I, can we have an epiphany? It is all well and good for John the Baptist and Jesus, but what about us? You know I am going to say we can and we do and even we will. But I don't want to deal with this simplistically. Changes, even little epiphanies, can be costly. Recently I had a little one. I don't want to make light of it, though it had light—epiphanies are always associated with light—nor do I want to exaggerate it. I'm sure all of you have had experiences similar to mine, some flash, some sudden insight which if you choose to incorporate it into your life something, if only a small thing, changes. I was riding with someone in a car through very beautiful scenery. And since I am very visual and like Bud was once a pilot I am always looking at the scenery and hopefully keeping my eyes on the dials and on the road. But I realized I was not enjoying it. Why? And suddenly it hit me. I wasn't enjoying the wonderful country because of the other person whom I had for years kept myself distant from, not liking and being glum whenever in the company of that person. And then it struck me. I had given to that person the power to keep me from enjoying something very lovely. This little epiphany did not end there, for which I am thankful. It would have had I not realized that my epiphany had given me a choice. Epiphanies do that: they bring back to us that amazing gift of having in almost every situation the opportunity to choose. For me it was, will I continue to be negative, dark, not myself, not friendly with this person or would I break out and be who I am. Some very wise person once said, "You might as well be yourself since all the other selves are taken." It takes courage to realize we have choices. In that instance I did. I pray that I will continue to realize I have choices. Not playing on words, in order to take back my power to enjoy, I had to choose to go back and be with this person without being such a glum oaf, so distant and so judgmental. I had to risk becoming George again. A little epiphany! Moving from the not exactly ridiculous to the sublime, some of Jesus' disciples went up a mountain to pray and they had an epiphany, seeing Jesus in all his glory. So they said let's build some tabernacles or dwellings up here to Moses, Elijah and Jesus and just hang out up here, to which Jesus in so many words said, let's go back down into the valley where all the problems are. That is much of what this season of the Church Year is about for me: realizing that there are flashes of light, that epiphanies can and do happen, even big ones and they can be individual ones or collective ones. But whatever, we have to go back to where we were or are and bring whatever that light is with us, be it only a candle, remembering that, to use it as a symbol, we have to go through Lent. We are going to have a congregational meeting soon. Everyone here and not here who is part of this congregation knows that we are in a difficult time as though Lent has started. We all know part of it is financial but it's more than that. We know that some of us are thinking and feeling one way and others are thinking and feeling another way. We know that there is some very real pain among us. We also know that there is a great deal of caring among us, caring that things work out right, caring that learning can take place, that understanding and listening can build among all of us. We need, I think, a collective epiphany, a collective enlightenment, not something that judges or blames any of us, but that recognizes our common humanity, our common hope for the up-building and renewal of Carmel Valley Community Chapel. Dietrick Bonhoeffer who gave his life for resisting the Nazi regime in Germany said, "We cannot sing Gregorian chant unless we stand with and for the Jews." He was among many things a talented musician. He also said, "In Church we do not pick our friends, they are chosen for us." Each one of you and including those not here who are part of this congregation are chosen for me to be my friends, and it is the same for you, I am chosen for you to be your friend. Let us all try to remember that as we seek the light, pray for epiphanies and go forward with good hope for this congregation, its role in our lives and in the life of the larger communities of which we are a part. Amen. AMEN AGAIN! |
Copyright © 2009, the Reverend George Wilson, All Rights Reserved