All Saints, Dorval
January 6, 2021
Last month, the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter created a bright “Star of Bethlehem” in the southwestern sky, just after sunset on the winter Solstice. Although this conjunction occurs every couple of decades, this was the closest that the two planets had come to each other, and hence the brightest that they had shone, since the thirteenth century.
Of course, in Montreal at least, we couldn’t see it, because the sky was overcast that day and the stars weren’t visible.
In a lot of ways, that’s how much of this year has felt: like big things were happening, but behind a blanket of dense fog. Not being able to spend time together in person, everything we hear and experience is mediated through various forms of technology, and for me at least, it makes me feel muddled and confused. I long for the clarity of a star to follow. I long to be able to say, with the prophet Isaiah, “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.” But it feels like we’re still in the phase of “darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples.”
(And I drafted this sermon just this morning, and just a few hours later was struggling to figure out what was going on in the capital city of my home country as a seditious mob invaded the building where Congress was meeting to certify the election results. Stories of murderous tyrants hitting perhaps a bit too close to home.)
Paul writes of “the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God who created all things,” the mystery of God’s plan to redeem the world by becoming human. The Epiphany which we celebrate today, the “showing forth” as the Greek word epiphanos means, is how one small child was literally God among us, and most of the world had no idea what was going on.
So perhaps we’re in good company as we struggle to see what God is doing, as we look around for signs of hope.
After all, the wise men in the Bible had only the vaguest idea why they were seeking the child. Jesus wasn’t born with a sign on his forehead saying “Son of God, Saviour of the World.” To those who encountered him during his life on earth, he would have appeared a very ordinary working-class Palestinian Jew. Only a few, those with eyes to see – the shepherds; Simeon and Anna in the Temple; the Magi – were able to pierce through the veil of mystery and, as the hymn puts it, “veiled in flesh the Godhead see.”
Perhaps the Star of Bethlehem is hidden by the fog more often than not. Perhaps the work of God is always taking place in the obscure corners, veiled by mystery, waiting for the moment when the epiphany will take place and the light will shine forth so brightly that all can see.
The Magi – the “wise men” – had spent many years scanning the heavens, waiting for that one moment when all the stars would – literally – align. As we wait in our own pandemic winter darkness, how can we instruct our hearts to search for the signs of the Messiah at work?
We may not be able to change the outward circumstances of our lives much, but we can consciously clear our minds and care for our souls.
And let’s begin right now, by sharing in contemplative prayer.
[Instructions for beginning mindfulness meditation]
As you breathe in and out, imagine that where your heart is, there is a gentle, luminous ball of light. We may not be able to see the star in the heavens, but God’s presence is within us, always.
As you continue to breathe, visualize that light suffusing your whole being, body, mind and spirit.
What feelings arise as you contemplate the light?
There are no right or wrong feelings. There is only what you feel. God is speaking to you through your feelings, whether joy or pain, hope or despair, calm or anxiety, anger or love.
You may feel several conflicting feelings at once. God can be present in all of them.
And now, as you let yourself experience your feelings, let them settle to the bottom of your mind like silt in a jar of water. Let the light shine, undimmed and unshadowed.
In this light-filled calm, is there a still, small voice that you can hear speaking? Is there a showing-forth from God that has made its way through the din of distraction and the veil of confusion?
If so, give thanks, and hold that light gently so that it may shine forth to the world.
If not, so be it, and simply rest in the presence of God.
[long pause]
In the words of my colleague Naomi Miller, of the Diocese of Niagara: “Spiffy Epiphany, friends. I wish you adventure, and wisdom from ancient stories, openness to be guided by new dreams, and strange gifts, and resistance to tyranny, and exceeding great joy.”
Amen.
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