Saugatuck Congregational Church, UCC
©Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton
January 10, 2016
I am still a little starry-eyed, in the wake of Epiphany. The lights on our Christmas tree, candles in the windows, stars hung in the sanctuary all fill me with a sense of warmth and wonder. It’s a bit magical, and I want to hold onto it. Those three magi – the wise men – who traveled from the east? Preacher Barbara Brown Taylor says their journey began when a star lodged in the right eye of each. “It was so bright [She writes,] that none of them could tell whether it was burning in the sky or in their own imaginations, but they were so wise that they knew it did not matter all that much. The point was, something beyond them was calling them, and it was a tug they had been waiting for all their lives.”[1]
The star revealed to them a child, a newborn babe …and something more: a promise. A promise that God – Crafter of the Cosmos – had somehow taken to earth. A promise that baby flesh could contain the hopes of the world.
Now the trappings of Christmas are put away, the twelve drummers drumming have all gone home, and in place of magi dropped to their knees in the sawdust to admire a cooing baby… we have Jesus, a grown man, damp and kneeling on the muddy banks of the Jordan River.
Is it possible that the star that compelled the magi on their journey shone somewhere in the background, on the day that Jesus was baptized? Might it have hovered nearby, visible to those with eyes to see, reflected in the roiling water and in the eye of John the Baptizer? Perhaps it was the star in his eye that caught the crowd’s attention, so that they questioned in their hearts whether John was the promised messiah. Perhaps it was the star that gave John the courage and clarity to spread his Good News, even knowing that he would stir the ire of King Herod.
This King Herod, by the way, (King Herod Antipas) was the son of King Herod the Great, the one whom the magi stopped to consult as they searched for the newborn King (30 years back). Imagine growing up as the offspring and heir of a ruler who slaughtered all the little boys in his domain, just to make sure he wasn’t overthrown by the one whose coming the stars had foretold. It seems King Herod the younger inherited his father’s foul temper, his craving for power and his determination to silence the voices of those who threatened his position.
So, when he caught wind of the throngs of people lining up to be baptized by that upstart John, he did not take it well. “Repent! [cried John]. Prepare the way! The one who is coming – I am not worthy to untie his sandals. But he will arrive with a winnowing fork in hand, to sort the good from the proud. He has no need of wealth or royal credentials. The only gold he ever owned was one small box given to him by a stranger from the East, before his first birthday. And he gave that away years ago. He’ll see right through all your shiny trappings; he knows the lengths we’ll go to, to hide our transgressions. So repent and be forgiven.”
That impassioned speech got John thrown into prison, and eventually executed, so you know he struck a nerve. But perhaps the star remained with John in captivity, right up to the end; perhaps it lit the dark corners of his cell and sustained him with visions of a God come to banish the shadows and topple the tyrants. I’d like to think so. I’d like to think the star stuck around…
Anything’s possible. You see, we are entering the season of Epiphany – not just one day, but five whole weeks of mysterious signs and wonders. This is the season of the big reveal: The heavens crack open and a dove descends; water is transformed into wine; prisoners are declared set free (stay tuned for those stories in the coming weeks). In each episode, we find holy hints designed to respond to the question, “Who is Jesus, really? And what can he tell us about God and God’s hope for creation?”[2] The magi’s star kicked off the season by revealing that this particular king could be found not in a palace but in a sleepy backwater called Bethlehem.
Next, a dove-shaped Holy Spirit descended on grown-up Jesus as he prayed at the river’s edge. The vision was accompanied by a voice: “You are my son, the beloved; in you I am well pleased.” And just as a star had lodged in the eye of each wise man, the Holy Spirit lodged in the heart of Jesus. Can you imagine what that’s like? To have someone call you “beloved,” praise you and assure you that she or he is proud of you? It’s the kind of news that will make your chest swell – not just with pride, but with holy love, filling up the space inside you that’s too often hollowed out by shame or self-doubt. “You are my beloved. In you I am well pleased.”
Notice this: before Jesus did a thing: before he uttered one prophetic word or performed a single miracle, before he laid healing hands on anyone, the Spirit of God laid feathery hands on him and spoke these words: “In you I am well pleased.” There’s the big reveal on the banks of the Jordan River: Love comes first. It is the antecedent to everything else. Whatever Jesus did next, he did it, knowing that he was cherished by the One who sent him. There was no entrance exam. No test run. Just holy affirmation. And a star somewhere high above, pulsing as if to say, “Yes! Yes, I told you so.”
Did Jesus need that assurance? What did he pray, as he knelt in the silt, still sodden from his dunking in the Jordan? Did he offer a prayer of gratitude? Or pray a prayer for strength? Did he pray for himself, or for the people with whom he’d stood in line on that riverbank – all those ordinary, quirky, complicated folks answering the call to repentance? Or did he pray for John, knowing, or at least suspecting, that Herod was close on his heals? Jesus must have understood this much: that following a star is not for the feint-hearted. God knows where it may lead, or what it may ask of you along the way.
So maybe Jesus prayed for all of them – a prayer of blessing, a prayer for guidance. In response, God offered up this epiphany – this bit of insight for the journey: a flash of light, a blur of wings and a promise: “You are my beloved.”
It’s not clear from the text whether the voice from heaven could be heard by anyone other than Jesus. It may have been a message for his ears only. Also, the crowd may well have been distracted. As all the recently baptized congregated on the riverbank, passing around the towels, they marveled at their new-found lightness. In hushed but giddy tones, they compare notes about how cold the water had been; how momentarily terrified they’d been; how the rush of air returning to their lungs had felt remarkably like being reborn. They were, all of them, starry-eyed. Their faces glowed, as if exposed to a bright light. “It was so bright that none of them could tell whether it was burning in the sky or in their own imaginations, but they were so wise that they knew it did not matter all that much. The point was, something beyond them was calling them, and it was a tug they had been waiting for all their lives.”
Each of them thought, “Now what?” and then, “That man on his knees, maybe I’ll follow him.” They weren’t entirely sure why they thought it, but they all agreed later that it had had something to do with the way his face lit up when he smiled, as though he couldn’t wait to welcome them, as though (and they said this part a bit sheepishly, because few of them were prone to sentimentality), as though he had loved them before he’d even met them.
Yes, I am certain that the star was there, somewhere in the background, on the day that Jesus was baptized. I am certain, too, that it is still visible for those who look. You might see it lodged in the eye of a fellow traveler on line at the grocery store or at the PTA, or reflected in the face of someone with the courage and clarity to speak up about suffering or injustice, at great personal risk. You might find the star shining over the spot where frightened refugee families are pulled from the water, wrapped in towels and given the chance to begin a new life. Or tucked between the laugh lines on a grandmother’s face, as she cradles her grandchild and croons a lullaby about unrelenting love and hope and a world restored.
It’s the star that leads us to the place where God dwells – a holy sign, a summons, a promise. So sisters and brothers in Christ: If the struggles in our world daily drive you to your knees in prayer; if you find yourself saying, “Holy One, we are much in need of a God who can banish the shadows and topple the tyrants. We are much in need of a God who will love us right from the start, and all the way through.” If that is your prayer, as it is mine, then take heart: for that is indeed the God revealed to us in Jesus Christ. And that God is at work in our midst. We need but look for the signs. So keep your eyes peeled this Epiphany season, and let this be our Epiphany prayer:
Source of Love: Make us all a bit starry-eyed. Lend us the wisdom to seek after you, and send us stars and prophets to lead the way.
Amen.
[1] Barbara Brown Taylor, Home By Another Way, p. 28.
[2] Mary Luti, Facebook posting in the UCC Clergywomen group.