Sermon for Sunday, January 8th, 2017 || The Feast of the Epiphany || Isaiah 60: 1-6; Psalm 72: 1-7, 10-14; Ephesians 3: 1-12; Matthew 2: 1-12 || The Rev. Margot D. Critchfield
“In the bleak mid-winter, frosty wind made moan. Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone…” So starts one of the most poignant hymns of the Church, based on Christina Rosetti’s incredible love song to God.
And into this bleak mid-winter, bursts one very bright, one very shiny star, illuminating the cold night sky and the lives of all those who follow it.
I love that star. I love its promise of hope. I love the way it touches some ineffable, unidentifiable warm spot within me and makes my heart say, “Yes, I’d follow you anywhere.” And I like to think I would. It’s never misled me yet: after all, it led me here.
I believe that star led each of you here, too. And I wonder what shape or form it took in your life, how it got your attention, and why you decided to follow it. Did the Light that led you to this place disguise itself—perhaps in a friend or a family member, a “holy coincidence,” a sense of obligation, or perhaps a gnawing hunger for some sort of spiritual food you couldn’t quite name?
No matter, it was the star. It was that breathtaking Light that shines in the darkness that the darkness cannot overcome. It was God’s in-breaking presence in our world, in your world, saying, “Look, here I am. Follow me…” And you did. Maybe tentatively, maybe begrudgingly, or maybe even wholeheartedly, full speed ahead. But you followed, and here you are, still seeking, still following that star….still responding to it’s irresistible call…in the warmth of this place, in the presence of its Light, moving ever closer to the One toward whom it is leading you.
This, my friends, is the Epiphany. Not some grand revelatory, “Aha!” –but the sometimes steady and often faltering commitment we make to the spiritual journey: It’s our decision to say “yes” to following that star. It’s our response to God’s invitation in our lives.
You know, scholars say the wise men weren’t especially bright or well-educated—and that they most certainly weren’t kings. They were likely itinerant pseudo-astrologers, more akin to new-age gypsies than learned sages. They were seekers, committed to the journey—and though they were indeed wise to follow the star, even they got fooled by preconceived ideas about where it would lead them: Did you notice they took a very logical, but misguided, detour to Jerusalem before letting the clear and consistent Light of that star lead them to Bethlehem?
Yet they got there. They got there just as each of us got here, and filled with joy they fell to their knees and worshipped the newborn Jesus in awe. And when they left that place they were different than when they came. When they left that place they had a Light in their hearts that the darkness could not overcome, they had a hope for the future that couldn’t be extinguished, and they had an astonishing story to tell about a very bright, very shiny star that illuminated the cold night sky one bleak mid-winter night, and how it touched some ineffable, unidentifiable warm spot in their hearts that made them say, “Yes, I’ll follow you anywhere.”
We each have our own stories to tell about the star that led us here, and the detours we’ve made along the way. We each have our own stories to tell about how different we are now than when we first came to this place…about how we leave here each week different than when we came…with light and hope and our commitment to the journey renewed.
And I wonder how we might share those stories with the itinerant seekers out there who have lost their way to Bethlehem…or who are so tired they’ve given up searching… or who simply haven’t noticed the brilliance of the star right here in Cohasset at St. Stephen’s Church. Because “In the bleak mid-winter, frosty wind made moan. Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone…” And into this bleak mid-winter, burst one very bright, one very shiny star, illuminating the cold night sky and the lives of all those who follow it. Amen.