![Picture](/uploads/5/3/1/4/53145165/published/heqi-040.jpg?1515426080)
Epiphany Sunday/Baptism of Jesus
Peter J. B. Carman, Emmanuel Friedens Church, Schenectady New York, January 7, 2018
Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6
Mark 1:4-11
I.
Tis the season when camels find their way into the story.
Epiphany, January 6, yesterday, sometimes called OLD Christmas, predates the practice of Christmas on December 25th. Traditionally we remember the wise wanderers from the east who came searching for Jesus by starlight. It’s royalty from Sheba that Isaiah’s prophecy foretold—that would be Africa! The visitors in Matthew’s gospel seem to have come from the opposite direction-- from what is now Iran. And nary a word about camels in the gospel stories of Jesus’ arrival, but never mind! The camels want in, and Isaiah’s prophecy of old mentioned camels, and so camels will have their way. Stubborn creatures. They want a place near the manger. Gold and frankincense show up in Matthew too, again echoing Isaiah’s strange words of prediction. Matthew adds myrrh—surely foreshadowing death.
Epiphany, sometimes called Three Kings—is a story of illustrious seekers after the light, and one frightened King, afraid his house would rule no longer, if the stories of the infant messiah were true.
Epiphany, Three Kings, Old Christmas, call it what you like, is about more than camels, more than searchers by starlight! It raises questions. What is this little infant all about? What is the significance of the arrival? What kind of a new leader is this? When we say, “Unto us a savior is born”, what does it all mean?
II.
We go looking to leaders for our salvation all the time, expecting someone else to fix our boats, inspire our hearts, rectify our politics, provide some moral guidance, stay put on our rickety pedestals! Generally, we are looking for a top-down fix, if we be honest with ourselves. And how often we are disappointed, when the rulers fail to deliver, or when they turn out to be corrupt, or when they take advantage of the hopes and dreams of the innocent and the poor, simply to grab wealth and power.
So it was then, and so it is now. Wrote G.K Chesterton more than a century ago, in a hymn that might do well as a prayer for our day [vv. 1&2 of three]:
O God of earth and altar, bow down and hear our cry,
Our earthly rulers falter, our people drift and die;
The walls of gold entomb us, the swords of scorn divide;
Take not Thy thunder from us, but take away our pride.
From all that terror teaches, from lies of tongue and pen,
From all the easy speeches that comfort cruel men;
From sale and profanation of honor and the sword;
From sleep and from damnation, deliver us, good Lord!
III.
The baptism which we have just celebrated and the communion meal we are about to share are both material reminders that the Christ whose arrival we celebrate did not come to build empires, nor to profit personally from the misery of humankind. This was a new kind of leader. The real thing, the genuine article.
In baptism, we celebrate the personal beginning of new life—but we also celebrate that in Christ we know a new and redefined humanity—no longer divided by religion, nor oppressed by race, nor subjugated by gender. Baptism is an act of personal commitment. But we also remember that Jesus himself was baptized into a movement that began before him. It was a movement of renewal for all of humankind. It was immersion and epiphany: a visionary transformative commitment to a new spiritual unity, a new practical forgiveness and reconciliation, a new and more level justice, a renewed and right relationship with the maker of us all.
At the communion table, we act out and reaffirm that vision—humanity is invited to meet at Christ’s banquet-- no divisions between us based on creed, or color, or class or wealth. All are welcome at the table of God. All are welcome, be we prodigal children or long-suffering righteous siblings, all are welcome at the table where Christ is host, and God is at home.
The infant Jesus who arrived in Bethlehem so long ago; whose family was forced to flee when he was but a year or so old; who is said to have inspired the awe of sages, and the love of common folk; and who is also said to have provoked the fierce fear of more than one petty tyrant: this is a new kind of leader. This is a new kind of leader—even if after more than two thousand years, neither the church nor the world seems fully to have figured that out.
The icons still put a crown on his head, and many a portrait still paints him blue eyed and blond. But this leader wore no crown, and he surely did not look like a Viking crusader.
This leader engaged in disputation with a woman at a well, cast demons out of those whose lives had been destroyed, and restored those marginalized by chronic health conditions to their communities.
This leader practiced forgiveness without a license to forgive. He touched the unclean, broke bread with collaborators and rebels alike. This leader taught non-cooperation with violence and injustice.
This leader proclaimed that the last should be first and the first last. It is no surprise he was forced to live on the run from cruel men, until in the end, he went to face them in their very seat of power, unarmed and honest, loving, faithful and without fear.
Call him a king if you like: But the only crown he had was thorns. Call him Lord, but he earned that title only through acts of service, and healing and embrace. This messiah knew what it meant to be a refugee as a little child. And he never forgot. This messiah knew the temptations of power and privilege. And he declined to let them rule him. This messiah knew the power of Love—and he practiced it with his enemies even as with his friends.
That’s all the leadership we need. That’s good news. The rest--the Herods and the Caesars of our own day and this empire, the powerful men and women, the half-truths and jingoism-- that is, well, that’s another kind of news altogether.
When we immerse ourselves in the real Jesus—the one that scared the Herods, and children wanted to hold onto, we immerse ourselves in something even more lovely than it is dangerous as a calling: a whole new world, turned inside out and upside down. And when we eat this bread and drink this cup, we remember. We remember the one whose name we gather in, and not just the name, but what he lived and died and was raised again for. A new humanity, a new way of being, a new love, a new justice. God’s revolution.
Graphics: He, Qi. Dream of the Magi, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=46121 [retrieved January 8, 2018]. Original source: heqigallery.com. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial ShareAlike 3.0 License.
Peter J. B. Carman, Emmanuel Friedens Church, Schenectady New York, January 7, 2018
Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6
Mark 1:4-11
I.
Tis the season when camels find their way into the story.
Epiphany, January 6, yesterday, sometimes called OLD Christmas, predates the practice of Christmas on December 25th. Traditionally we remember the wise wanderers from the east who came searching for Jesus by starlight. It’s royalty from Sheba that Isaiah’s prophecy foretold—that would be Africa! The visitors in Matthew’s gospel seem to have come from the opposite direction-- from what is now Iran. And nary a word about camels in the gospel stories of Jesus’ arrival, but never mind! The camels want in, and Isaiah’s prophecy of old mentioned camels, and so camels will have their way. Stubborn creatures. They want a place near the manger. Gold and frankincense show up in Matthew too, again echoing Isaiah’s strange words of prediction. Matthew adds myrrh—surely foreshadowing death.
Epiphany, sometimes called Three Kings—is a story of illustrious seekers after the light, and one frightened King, afraid his house would rule no longer, if the stories of the infant messiah were true.
Epiphany, Three Kings, Old Christmas, call it what you like, is about more than camels, more than searchers by starlight! It raises questions. What is this little infant all about? What is the significance of the arrival? What kind of a new leader is this? When we say, “Unto us a savior is born”, what does it all mean?
II.
We go looking to leaders for our salvation all the time, expecting someone else to fix our boats, inspire our hearts, rectify our politics, provide some moral guidance, stay put on our rickety pedestals! Generally, we are looking for a top-down fix, if we be honest with ourselves. And how often we are disappointed, when the rulers fail to deliver, or when they turn out to be corrupt, or when they take advantage of the hopes and dreams of the innocent and the poor, simply to grab wealth and power.
So it was then, and so it is now. Wrote G.K Chesterton more than a century ago, in a hymn that might do well as a prayer for our day [vv. 1&2 of three]:
O God of earth and altar, bow down and hear our cry,
Our earthly rulers falter, our people drift and die;
The walls of gold entomb us, the swords of scorn divide;
Take not Thy thunder from us, but take away our pride.
From all that terror teaches, from lies of tongue and pen,
From all the easy speeches that comfort cruel men;
From sale and profanation of honor and the sword;
From sleep and from damnation, deliver us, good Lord!
III.
The baptism which we have just celebrated and the communion meal we are about to share are both material reminders that the Christ whose arrival we celebrate did not come to build empires, nor to profit personally from the misery of humankind. This was a new kind of leader. The real thing, the genuine article.
In baptism, we celebrate the personal beginning of new life—but we also celebrate that in Christ we know a new and redefined humanity—no longer divided by religion, nor oppressed by race, nor subjugated by gender. Baptism is an act of personal commitment. But we also remember that Jesus himself was baptized into a movement that began before him. It was a movement of renewal for all of humankind. It was immersion and epiphany: a visionary transformative commitment to a new spiritual unity, a new practical forgiveness and reconciliation, a new and more level justice, a renewed and right relationship with the maker of us all.
At the communion table, we act out and reaffirm that vision—humanity is invited to meet at Christ’s banquet-- no divisions between us based on creed, or color, or class or wealth. All are welcome at the table of God. All are welcome, be we prodigal children or long-suffering righteous siblings, all are welcome at the table where Christ is host, and God is at home.
The infant Jesus who arrived in Bethlehem so long ago; whose family was forced to flee when he was but a year or so old; who is said to have inspired the awe of sages, and the love of common folk; and who is also said to have provoked the fierce fear of more than one petty tyrant: this is a new kind of leader. This is a new kind of leader—even if after more than two thousand years, neither the church nor the world seems fully to have figured that out.
The icons still put a crown on his head, and many a portrait still paints him blue eyed and blond. But this leader wore no crown, and he surely did not look like a Viking crusader.
This leader engaged in disputation with a woman at a well, cast demons out of those whose lives had been destroyed, and restored those marginalized by chronic health conditions to their communities.
This leader practiced forgiveness without a license to forgive. He touched the unclean, broke bread with collaborators and rebels alike. This leader taught non-cooperation with violence and injustice.
This leader proclaimed that the last should be first and the first last. It is no surprise he was forced to live on the run from cruel men, until in the end, he went to face them in their very seat of power, unarmed and honest, loving, faithful and without fear.
Call him a king if you like: But the only crown he had was thorns. Call him Lord, but he earned that title only through acts of service, and healing and embrace. This messiah knew what it meant to be a refugee as a little child. And he never forgot. This messiah knew the temptations of power and privilege. And he declined to let them rule him. This messiah knew the power of Love—and he practiced it with his enemies even as with his friends.
That’s all the leadership we need. That’s good news. The rest--the Herods and the Caesars of our own day and this empire, the powerful men and women, the half-truths and jingoism-- that is, well, that’s another kind of news altogether.
When we immerse ourselves in the real Jesus—the one that scared the Herods, and children wanted to hold onto, we immerse ourselves in something even more lovely than it is dangerous as a calling: a whole new world, turned inside out and upside down. And when we eat this bread and drink this cup, we remember. We remember the one whose name we gather in, and not just the name, but what he lived and died and was raised again for. A new humanity, a new way of being, a new love, a new justice. God’s revolution.
Graphics: He, Qi. Dream of the Magi, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=46121 [retrieved January 8, 2018]. Original source: heqigallery.com. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial ShareAlike 3.0 License.