+ Thoughts
on the Feast of the Epiphany (Pulham 04.11.26) +
(Isaiah 60.1–6; Psalm 72.[1–9] 10–15; Ephesians 3.1–12; Matthew 2.1–12)
Herod tries everything – all the usual political manoeuvres
that anyone who knows how these things work will recognise: he hears a rumour;
he consults his experts; he tries to recruit spies; he lies about his
intentions, and when all else has failed, he rages and resorts to violence.
Herod and his experts clearly had a sense that the prophecy
of Micah carried some weight. It was delivered 700 hundred years before the
birth of Christ, and it was the final word, from the final prophet of the old
dispensation, until John the Baptist arrived on the scene describing himself as
the forerunner to the Messiah.
This period of ancient near-eastern history – sometimes
called the intertestamental, or the Second Temple period – was characterised by
a heightened sense that something big was about to happen.
Israel was pregnant with Messianic Expectation, and that
expectation also came to the attention of gentile writers such as the Roman
historian Seutonius. Not long after Jesus was born he wrote: There had
spread over all the Orient an old and established belief, that it was fated at
that time for men coming from Judea to rule the world. Tacitus, another Roman historian of the
period, wrote: There was a firm persuasion…that at this very time, the East
was to grow powerful, and rulers coming from Judea were to acquire universal
empire.
So there was a general expectation that the Messiah, or
Messianic figures, were about to appear, and Herod thought there was enough
weight in the notion to consult his experts, and even seek to rid himself of a
person who would clearly pose a threat to his own rule.
It begs a question doesn’t it? Both the Magi and Herod (and
his experts) heard the same prophecy and seemed to believe it. But the Magi and
Herod respond to the prophecy in very different ways. The Magi seek the Child
in order to acknowledge and pay homage; Herod seeks the Child in order to deny
and shed blood. He has murder in mind.
There’s something about Jesus that seems to divide people.
There’s something about Jesus that seems to uncover the secret motives of the
heart.
Perhaps there’s something here to do with blindness. It’s
difficult to imagine that a person who truly sees and knows who it is that has
become a man in Jesus, would respond by trying to destroy him. The possibility
that someone might be consciously aware that God has become incarnate in a
child they are actively trying to murder is a chilling thought.
John’s Gospel puts it very well in a reading we will have
heard over Christmas: the Word became flesh and lived among us… He was in the world, and the
world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came
to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him (From Jn 1).
On this the Feast of the Epiphany we celebrate the antithesis
of blindness – we celebrate a certain kind of seeing. We celebrate something
called ‘epiphany’ which just means a special kind of seeing, or revelation, or
realisation.
In some sense many of us are
aware of the kind of seeing that is implied here. Many of us can talk
about moments when the veil seems to be pulled aside and the natural world
seems to pulsate with an energy that isn’t quite its own. Those moments where we
seem to catch a glimpse of the divine life interpenetrating everything.
In such moments it’s very common to feel an overwhelming
sense of awe and to experience ourselves as very little indeed – even
insignificant. And in the face of our insignificance it seems to me that there
are two possible responses: we can either ‘take the knee’ and acknowledge we
are in the presence of something immeasurably greater than ourselves, or we can
refuse to take the knee and annihilate that which makes us feel insignificant.
Herod, and many others took the second option when they were
faced with Jesus, the Word of God made flesh; God incarnate. It’s a terrifying
thought.
I still remember the day I really began to understand exactly
who Jesus is. The day I first paid genuine homage and wholeheartedly ‘took the
knee’.
I was making coffee one morning, looking out over my patio.
The sun was shining and a question popped into my head: “What if it’s just true
that Jesus is God in some mysterious way? What if it’s a fact rather than a
metaphor? What if it can’t be explained. What if it simply requires humble
assent? What if it just is what it is?”
I had followed all sorts of proverbial ‘stars’ up to that
point. I’d studied all the religions and considered all manner of theologies.
I’d explained him away as a potent symbol, or a psychological archetype. I
reasoned that he must simply have been a man who reached the highest levels of
sanctity and became divinised in some way.
The wise man were led close by their star, but they were slightly
off the mark weren’t they? Before they found themselves in Bethlehem they ended
up in Jerusalem which is actually 6 miles away. Ironically it was Herod who
ended up pointing them in the right direction!
I’d been close with all my thinking but my so-called stars
had also led me to miss the mark. I wasn’t quite there yet. So somehow, by the
grace of the Holy Spirit I answered my own question that morning, and I found
myself saying: “It’s true. I believe it. He is my Lord and my God. Jesus, You
are my Lord and my God!”
And so the following words, also from the opening verses of
the Gospel of John began to make some sense: …the Word became flesh and
lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s
only son, full of grace and truth. …to all who received
him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of
God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the
will of man, but of God.
It took me decades to get there – better late than never I
suppose. I was always a stubborn creature.
To see what it is that we are being shown on this Feast of
the Epiphany really is the sight that changes everything.
In another passage from the Gospel of John we read this
exchange between Jesus and His disciples: Then they said to him, ‘What must
we do to perform the works of God?’
Jesus replied, ‘This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he
has sent.’ (John 6:28-29)
Those disciples were close too, weren’t they. There was one
final realisation that needed to dawn on them – one final epiphany. They were
with God without quite realising it, and they were asking the God they didn’t
quite believe in yet, what they needed to do to get it right.
God’s answer in Jesus to the question, “What must we do?” is
always the same. “Open your eyes and see who it is that has become a man
for your sake.”
When you see it, acknowledge it and pay homage, not just by
taking the knee but by repenting of your sins and living a life in accordance with
his instructions. Live a life characterised by prayer and worship; by fasting
and almsgiving; by justice and mercy; by humility and forgiveness; by love of
God and of neighbour.
A final question: What if, like me for so many years, we just
can’t see it? What if that particular revelation hasn’t yet been granted to us?
What if on this Feast of the Epiphany we have not been graced with the epiphany?
Well the answer to that is always the same: Ask! Pray!
Remember Jesus’ first recorded sermon in the synagogue at
Nazareth when he began his public ministry. He spoke on the Sabbath and said these
words: ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to
bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to
proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.’ (Luke 4:18-19)
The first step with God and in prayer is always honesty. If
we can’t see what it is that God has given us on this feast day then we should
admit to our blindness and confess it: “Lord Jesus I am blind – I cannot see who
you really are. If I am missing something, Lord, open my eyes. Amen”
And if we can see what is on offer, the response today is also to take an honest step: “Lord Jesus I do see who you really are, but my vision is cloudy.”
If words fail us we might resort to the famous prayer by the English Saint, Richard of Chichester: Thanks be to thee, my Lord Jesus Christ, for all the benefits thou hast given me, for all the pains and insults thou hast borne for me. O most merciful redeemer, friend and brother, may I know thee more clearly, love thee more dearly, and follow thee more nearly, day by day.
A happy new year to you all. May God bless you and may it be for you a ‘year of the Lord’s favour’. Amen.
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