One Little Choice After Another: Epiphany

Readings here

Happy are the people whose strength is in you! 
whose hearts are set on the pilgrims’ way. 

When I was a kid, I used to love reading those “Choose your own adventure” books. Maybe you’re familiar with them… 

These were short chapter books geared to preteens. You started off by choosing your character. Would you be a spy? A scientist? A doctor? 

Then, the story began. After a few pages of hijinks and intrigue, you would have the option to choose between two or three tracks, based on some kind of question or pivot in the story. Would you follow the shadowy figure down the dark tunnel or run out of the cave? Would you operate on the patient, or wait and see? 

Based on what you chose, you would be prompted to go to a certain page in the book. There, the story would continue on, until, through a series of choices, you finally reached the end. 

An enthusiastic neuroscientist on the internet mapped these stories and their many twists and turns. And he found that “Choose your own adventure” books could have as many as 44 different endings! It’s amazing that one little choice after another would eventually lead you to a place far beyond where you started. 

When I started thinking about these books last week, it was just a passing thought. It came about because, in this week’s lectionary, the preacher could choose between three different Gospel readings, all having to do with the end of the nativity story.

Let’s say we were characters in the story of Jesus. We would have already been visited by angels and beheld the Christ-child lying in a manger. We would have sung Silent Night and been enveloped in warmth by the body heat of sheep and goats,  as they settled into the hay surrounding the holy family on that first Christmas night. 

But today, we had to make a choice. Did we want to: A, Escape Herod’s wrath by journeying to Egypt?, B, Lose 12-year-old Jesus at the synagogue in Jerusalem? Or…C, Follow the star with the wise men to give him gold, frankincense, and myrrh? 

Unfortunately, I’m not really giving you a choice…Sorry, but I had to write a sermon! So, I went with C. And the reason why is because the Wise Men’s story has all the high stakes and intrigue required for a “Choose your own adventure” book. They journeyed far away from their home,  disobeyed a violent king,  and chose to believe in a prophetic sign from a God they didn’t even worship. 

But who were these so-called Wise Men  and what convinced them that this was an adventure worth choosing? 

While our translation of the book of Matthew refers to them as “Wise Men,” the Greek word for these mysterious people “from the East” is “magoi,” which comes from the more ancient semitic word, “magus.” You might be familiar with the English translation, “Magi.” 

Mentioned in the Bible and in Babylonian texts, “Magi” referred to a group of people who worked as magicians, astrologers, and psychics. The book of Daniel uses the term in a list of ineffective dream interpreters called upon by King Nebuchadnezzar. In the book of Acts, the same term is used to refer to “false prophets.” 

While some cultures may have looked upon “Magi” as wise and holy men,  the Jewish and Early Christian traditions certainly did not. As far as I could tell in my research, this story is the only positive portrayal of Magi in our scriptures. It’s too bad our translation hides that fact. Scholar Daniel J. Harrington draws on the specifics in our Gospel reading to describe these particular magi. They are likely Persian priests using Babylonian star-charting and bringing gifts from Arabia or the Syrian Desert. 

In other words, they are about as “foreign” as anyone could imagine, true outsiders by every cultural, religious, and geographical definition. For its first hearers and witnesses, the Magi’s presence in the story of Jesus must have been shocking. In a very literal sense, they didn’t belong in it. 

Nevertheless, the Magi entered the story… 

Like a “Choose your own adventure” book, they made one little choice after another  that would eventually lead them to a place far beyond their imagination. 

Here was the first choice:  Would they “travel afar” – away from home, culture, and recognition – or would they stay put? They chose to go… 

On their way, they were called into King Herod’s court. Accustomed to working for powerful rulers, they told him what they had seen in the stars. Herod told the Magi to continue on their way, and to report back on what they learned. So, they made another choice. They kept going… 

When they finally arrived underneath that bright star,  they were filled with “overwhelming joy.” Their spirit recognized that they were in the presence of an unlikely Savior. A child who had been born not just to save the Jews, but the whole world, including them and their people. 

Now, they had another choice to make. They had received warning in a divine dream not to return to Herod. But they had made a promise to him, and backing out on it was risky. 

Was it worth the risk to disobey the direct orders of a powerful ruler just because they’d had a crazy dream? They were so convinced of God’s presence in the person of Jesus that their choice was clear: they went home by another route. And that divinely directed choice, along with Joseph’s decision to flee, likely saved Jesus’ life. 

Which is wild when you think about it: These crackpot foreigners, along with Jesus’ stepdad, saved the one who would save the world. 

It didn’t have to end this way. The Magi always had a choice. It would have made far more sense for them to stay home in the comfort and safety of a culture and worldview that accepted them. After all, even if Jesus was some kind of “king of the Jews,” what could that have meant to a foreigner, an outsider, or a false prophet? Still, they went. 

They could have gotten to their destination, seen toddler Jesus throwing a temper tantrum, and rejected the sign in the stars. Instead, they worshipped him as a king. 

They could have colluded with King Herod, and found their reward in the royal court. But they fled back home like thieves in the night, to find their reward in household of God. 

There were 44 other possible endings to their story, all of them more reasonable than this one. But this was the adventure they chose. And because these pagan foreigners followed the star to a podunk town called Bethlehem – where they, inexplicably, found God, we are reminded of two things: 

The first is that God makes himself known in unexpected people and places. The Magi are in good company with other unlikely Bible characters: unbathed, bug-eating prophets; tax collectors and fishermen; eunuchs, mouthy women, and Samaritans. 

These “side characters” become exemplars and heroes when they enter the story of God, defying cultural norms and common sense. And we would do well to look for God in the faces of outcasts, weirdos, and strangers, too. 

And that leads us to the second thing: No matter who we are, where we come from, or what other people say about us, we all get to make choices that bring us into the story, so that we may encounter the “overwhelming joy” of Jesus.

On this adventure with Jesus, we might find ourselves in strange places, among people who don’t seem very much like us. We might find ourselves in contexts way beyond our comfort zone. But we can trust that God will guide us, and we can trust that we will have the courage we need to make the next daring choice on our way. 

The Magi teach us that the life of faith is just one little choice after another. Until we find ourselves knocking on a door and finding Jesus on the other side. 

Amen. 

Not ‘Ordinary’ At All

Father in heaven…Grant that all who are baptized into his Name may keep the covenant they have made, and boldly confess him as Lord and Savior; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen. 

Among the many nerdy theological arguments clergy find themselves engrossed in, is a lively debate about what to call the season we’re currently in

Is it the Season of Epiphany or the Season after the Epiphany? The Feast of the Epiphany was Monday. Every year on January 6, we celebrate the arrival of the Wise Men bearing their gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and announcing Jesus as the “King of the Jews.” 

Epiphany marks the end of the Christmas season and the return to “ordinary time.” While “ordinary,” in this case, means “counted,” in many ways, we are also getting back to “normal” until Lent begins. 

But preachers and scholars can’t quite agree on the thematic details. Some feel like the broader theme of epiphany – meaning “sudden revelation or insight” – invades and permeates the scripture readings set for this season. They insist that we keep looking for signs and wonders of Christ’s action in the world. 

And I take their point. 

But personally, I am inclined to say Epiphany is done, and there’s nothing else to say about it. I think it’s just that I’m over the twinkly lights and the Christmas trees and the heightened sense of optimism, that our secular Christmas and New Year’s celebrations bring. I’m ready to put all that away and sink into my Seasonal Affective Disorder until spring. (Yes, I have been diagnosed.)

But in his weekly newsletter, Dr. Andrew McGowan suggested that we can’t say goodbye to “epiphanies” just yet. Because today, we celebrate the Baptism of Jesus, the descent of the Holy Spirit, and the sudden revelation of Jesus as the Son of God, announced by God himself. 

As a colleague put it, this moment in our Gospels is when the clock starts ticking on Jesus’ earthly ministry. He is baptized here, among the people he has come to save. He will spend the next three years with them, walking slowly toward Jerusalem, the cross, and the resurrection. 

In other words, Jesus’ baptism marks a spiritual, relational, and ritual transformation that will bond Jesus and this burgeoning faith community to one another for eternity. Jesus’ baptism, in a mystical and physical sense, is the beginning of the church. Because it gives form to a new religious movement that will eventually be called Christianity. 

That’s not ordinary at all. That’s an epiphany! 

This is why baptism has been so important to the church since the very beginning. And it is why we call it the “initiation rite” of our church… 

Our Book of Common Prayer describes Holy Baptism as “…the sacrament by which God adopts us as his children and makes us members of Christ’s Body, the Church, and inheritors of the kingdom of God.” It was described by the early church reformers as “the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.”  

While Christ can and does speak to us whether we’re baptized or not, our baptism welcomes us into new life, a life dictated not by the finality of death and brokenness, but by the last Word of eternal life, held forever in the hand of God. 

While we usually baptize at a font by pouring water on the person’s forehead, the early church preferred baptizing in a pool of water. These were inground pools built within the walls of the church. The person to be baptized would be brought into the room, descend down several steps into the pool, be immersed face first, and then step up and out of the pool, where they would be clothed in white.i 

The layout was significant to the meaning of baptism: Stepping down into the pool signified stepping into the grave, being immersed in the water signified death (and purification), and stepping back out to be clothed in white signified the resurrection. 

This ritual, an “outward and visible sign,” revealed what baptism actually is: becoming one with the Body of Christ in his death, and his resurrection

Just like those ancient Christians, our baptisms still make us one with Christ and with his Body, the church. Whether water is poured on our foreheads, or we are immersed in a pool, at baptism we participate in our own funeral, and our own homecoming.  

But we don’t do it alone. The Episcopal Church no longer performs private baptisms, because we understand that our faith is not only for ourselves, but for our community, and strengthened by our community. 

This is why infant baptisms are part of our practice. We believe that life in Christ is nurtured in the church, that we learn from one another and, in turn, teach one another what it means to be “born again.”  

Our initiation into the church through baptism prepares us for a lifetime of growing in the faith. And it helps us pay attention to life’s epiphanies that both reveal Christ’s grace and urge us to respond in kind

Baptism, Christ’s and our own, points us to who we are.  

We are “resurrection people.” Life in Christ, and in his church, will not protect us from the trials and horrors of this life – from the fires and floods and griefs. 

But we are a people called to run toward the challenges of this life in service of love, drawing from a deep well of hope in Christ that can’t be moved by the death, destruction, and decay all around us, because we know we are held forever in the hand of God. 

To use a Biblical term, we can “gird our loins” for whatever comes, because we know we belong to Jesus, we are led by the Holy Spirit, and we have one another as mentors on the Way. 

[As we prepare to say together the Baptismal Covenant, I encourage you to take some time to reflect on and pray with the words.  Consider how the Holy Spirit is leading you to more fully embody your baptism. 

Later, as you come up for Communion, I encourage you to place a finger in the font and make the sign of the cross on your forehead, as a physical reminder of your participation in the resurrected life of Christ and his church. 

We will now take a couple minutes of silence for prayer and reflection…]

The Pinnacle Epiphany: A Sermon on Transfiguration

Readings here

Early last week, I wrote an entire 1,200 word sermon.  

But this weekend was Diocesan Council. And it wasn’t just any Council Meeting. This year, the Episcopal Diocese of Texas is celebrating 175 years. 

Over 600 of us – lay and clergy – listened to story after story of lives being changed, and people doing incredible things in the name of the Gospel, over the Diocese’s 175-year history.  

  • Three religious leaders who blocked the bridge to Galveston to keep the KKK from rallying there.  
  • A white Episcopal priest who risked being lynched to stop the lynching of a Black man.  
  • The first woman priest ordained in Texas, at nearby Epiphany, in spite of a protest in the middle of the service.  
  • And then, the recent news, of millions of dollars being distributed to support scholarships, health access, and community programs.  

These were stories of people putting their bodies on the line, and their money where their mouth is. 

— 

I don’t know how y’all have been feeling lately, but I really needed to hear stories of hope. 

I had a breakdown on Thursday night, thinking about the death toll in Gaza, and the drowned mom and kids at the border, and all the other scary, terrible, evil things humans do to one another.  

I kept asking:  

  • What should I do?  
  • How should I act?  
  • How will I know when God is calling me to risk everything for the sake of what’s right?  

I was thinking of all those heroes and martyrs who came before me.  

The Christians who hid Jewish families during the Holocaust, the Civil Rights leaders who persisted through death threats.  My neighbors in Charlottesville who held the line in the face of white supremacists.  And even the Hebrew prophets, who yelled and yelled the words of God, even when everyone called them crazy.  

Sometimes I worry that my practice of religion is too sanitized.  

That I’m too comfortable.  

I can talk the talk, but what good is that, if I’m not living like a person who believes in resurrection?  What good is sound theology if I’m more worried about my reputation than the new creation?  

I don’t think I have a martyr complex, but I do revere the martyrs.  I do think there are things worth risking everything for.  

But what does that matter if I’m not the one willing to put my own body on the line? 

I say all this to give you some taste of the real agony I was feeling.  The guilt, the inadequacy, that sense that I want to do the right thing. But I’m not sure how to even know what the right thing is.  

When are we called to be prophets? When are we called to be pastors? When are we called to be…people? 

— 

With all this in my head, I listened to these diocesan stories, of lives being changed and people doing incredible things in the name of the Gospel. 

And during Hour 5 of yesterday’s 6-hour meeting, I realized I would need to re-write my sermon.  You could say I had an Epiphany about an Epiphany. 

— 

The Transfiguration reading we just heard is the bookend to the Season of Epiphany, that begins with the Wise Men finding the human God in the form of a toddler in a working class family. 

This first Epiphany is that God came down from glory and became human. Not a king, but a carpenter. 

Then, in the Transfiguration, we follow this human God up a mountain for another surprise.  This time, the man Jesus is revealed as the glorified Christ. The eternal Son of God, shining with an other-worldly glow. 

The Transfiguration is generally thought of as a pre-cursor to Christ’s final appearance after the resurrection. Here, in the middle of his earthly ministry, Jesus has invited three of his most trusted disciples to witness the full truth of his nature. 

Some scholars suggest that the optics of the Transfiguration are so similar to Jesus’ appearance after the resurrection, that this event was actually written back into the story after the fact.  

— 

But there’s a more interesting story to tell about the similarity between the Transfiguration and the Resurrection. 

While the Gospels don’t name the mountain Jesus and his friends climb, we often assume it’s Mount Horeb, which is the same as Mount Sinai.  

Christians associate the Transfiguration story with Mount Horeb, because of the text’s mention of Moses and Elijah:  

  • Moses encountered God and received the Ten Commandments on Mount Horeb. 
  • And Elijah flees to Mount Horeb to escape his call, when God shows up and speaks to him in a whisper. 

My friend Ora explained to me that, in Jewish theology, these encounters with God on the mountain are thought to exist outside of time, in God’s eternal timelessness. 

This means that you could think of every divine encounter on Mount Horeb as simultaneous events. God is always present there and always speaking – and the message is always the same. 

So, in this passage, when we are invited to encounter Jesus on the mountaintop, what we are witnessing is neither a story about a past event nor a pre-cursor to a future one.  

In a reality beyond our understanding, the Transfiguration is, and has always been, happening, now

When we bear witness to the Transfiguration, we are having an epiphany in the truest meaning of the word. 

  • We are “perceiving the essential nature of a thing.”  
  • The thing, in this case, being God.  

We are seeing the full glory of the eternal and always resurrected Christ, who was and is and is to come.  

Our eyes are fixed on hope incarnate, in the flesh. On the living sacrifice.  On the Word who spoke Creation into being, and still whispers new creation all around us. 

“Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.” 

This is the Epiphany to end all Epiphanies. The pinnacle epiphany.  

Not only that God was a baby in a manger, or a man on the move.  But that God, in Christ, is bigger than the whole human story. And yet, he is an eternal and ever-present part of the human story. 

— 

The Epiphany I had during Diocesan Council was that you and I ask a lot of very good questions about the world’s suffering, and our responsibility to alleviate it. 

But the answer doesn’t arrive in words. It arrives in an Epiphany.  

It arrives in God made flesh, and flesh transfigured as God. It arrives as the person of Jesus Christ. 

— 

If we want to do brave and risky things for God, we already have the action plan we need.  

“Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.” 

If we don’t know what to say or how to act or when to do risky things for the Gospel, we look to Jesus.  We might be asked to follow stars or hike up mountains – to take beatings, leave our nice things behind, and journey to places far beyond our comfort zone.  

But we’ll know when it’s right, because we’re looking to Jesus.  We have witnessed him there, in the timeless place of God, in his full resurrected glory.  We are assured that he is with us, has always been with us, is present in primordial winds that still blow through the streets. 

Evil creeps in, but it can’t win. Because we have seen Christ’s glory face to face.  

We know what hope looks like and no one can convince us otherwise. 

When we get back down the mountain, we’ll know what to do.  Because the Transfiguration is the pinnacle epiphany, eternally revealing the truth of things.  

And maybe the world will kill us for it. It killed Jesus, after all. 

But God whispers an epiphany on that mountaintop that echoes through eternity: 

Have you not seen? Have you not heard?  

We’re a resurrection people. 

Amen.