I Epiphany – January 9. 2011 – Year A
Well, Christmas is over—even in the Episcopal Church, where we try our darnedest to observe the Twelve Days of Christmas and the Feast of the Epiphany—and now what is called the Season after the Epiphany or Epiphanytide has arrived.
During the Season after Epiphany the lessons from scripture that we read each Sunday focus on the process by which God’s glory was revealed and the Word in the mind of God found its fullest potential in the person of Jesus Christ.
Last Sunday, the Second Sunday after Christmas, since the Feast of the Epiphany would fall, as it often does, on a weekday, with Fr. McMahan presiding here and the Wieland family worshiping out in California, we celebrated the coming of the wise men from the east, wise men who followed the light of a star and found the Light of the world itself shining forth in the face of the Christ child, “a light shining in the darkness”, life-giving, saving light, gladly welcomed, though, as we were reminded when the Holy Family had to flee for their lives, not necessarily by everyone.
As Epiphanytide unfolds, the Church shapes its liturgy each week around succeeding epiphanies—further times in his life and ministry when people around Jesus experienced the presence of God in a special way.
Today, the First Sunday after Epiphany, we celebrate the moment when Jesus was baptized by John in the River Jordan and was declared to be God’s son.
Today, as the liturgy of the Eastern Church expresses it, “the Sun that never sets has risen and the world is filled with splendor by the light of the Lord.”
Or, as the writer of the Gospel according to John puts it: “The light shines in the darkness; and the darkness has not overcome it.”
This is not to say, of course, that there isn’t still plenty of darkness in the world, with those senseless shootings in Arizona being the most recent example.
Indeed, there are many corners in the world—there are many corners in our own lives—where the light of Christ seems not to shine at all, dark corners where the light barely penetrates.
And many of these seemingly lightless places are closer to home than we would like to admit; often these places are almost too close for comfort, like the gloom that can creep in when the holidays are over, like the gloom that trying times or personal hardship or even too much winter can bring, like the gloom that for one reason or another can descend on you when you’ve just reached your limit and don’t know which way to turn.
Does the warm candlelight that often brings comfort in the most trying of circumstances also serve to remind us of a cold, harsh reality, that—yes—the light is not overcome by the darkness, but that all is not light?
Candlelight may be more “honest”.
It lights up the darkness, and the darkness does not swallow it up, but the darkness remains.
All is not light.
Even God is revealed a bit at a time.
Look at the account of Jesus’ baptism in today’s lesson from the Gospel according to Matthew.
Jesus comes from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John, and John “sees the light”, so to speak, long enough for him to sense that something wonderful is about to happen, but he doesn’t “see the light” long enough to just let what is about to happen happen.
He argues with Jesus about the choreography of the event—who should be baptizing whom?
Before the wonderful event can take place, Jesus must convince John that by protesting he is standing in the way of progress.
When Jesus is finally baptized, the heavens open, he sees the Spirit of God descending upon him like a dove, and a voice from heaven says: “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
Once again, the light shines in the darkness.
But all is not light.
Who sees what?
Who hears what?
It is not clear from Matthew’s account whether Jesus alone sees the descent of God’s Spirit upon him and hears the voice from heaven or whether John and, maybe, others are also aware of the experience.
What is clear from the account—and there are times when this simply boggles the mind—what is clear is that Jesus’ baptism is by no means the occasion when God is definitively revealed in the person of Jesus Christ.
No bells ring; no sirens go off; the earth does not stop dead in its tracks.
Whatever John and the others see and hear—even if it is only half of what Jesus experiences—is not enough to get their attention for more than a moment or two.
(Even St. Paul, who was struck blind when he saw the vision on the road to Damascus, recovered after a few days.)
The baptism of Jesus does not suddenly transform darkness into light, as we might hope.
The baptism of Jesus proclaims that the light does shine in the darkness, even though the people who witness it are not immediately transformed.
Nevertheless, it can be said that it is in witnessing his baptism that their transformation begins.
However brightly the light may shine, God is still revealed a bit at a time.
In a few moments, as is customary in the Church at certain times of the year—the commemoration of our Lord’s baptism being one of them—whether we baptize anyone or not, we will be renewing our baptismal vows.
What is baptism?
Baptism is the sacrament that proclaims us to be what we already are: children of a loving and faithful God.
Baptism is the moment in our life when we said “yes” to God (though for most of us someone older than we were said “yes” to God for us), the moment when we said “yes” to the beckoning light of God’s love as revealed in the face of Jesus Christ.
But by now you may already have guessed: Baptism does not suddenly transform darkness into light.
Baptism proclaims again and again that the light does shine in the darkness, in spite of the darkness, though darkness may remain.
Much as we’d like to imagine the contrary, our baptism does not immediately transform us.
But it is in baptism that our transformation begins.
Our baptism announces that we, too, have begun the journey that Jesus began at his baptism, when the light of God’s love was poured out upon him.
Jesus would be suffused with the warmth of that light on many occasions after his baptism; he had probably felt it shining through him many times before.
(Even to Jesus God may have been revealed a bit at a time.)
Of course, for Jesus, the Light of the world, the journey that began at his baptism would lead to his final destination; the journey would lead him to the cross.
For us, who are called to be disciples, the journey that began at our baptism will lead us to our final destination as well.
None of us knows exactly what that destination will be, except that God will be there waiting for us, when we get there.
Neither you nor I know where our baptism will lead us.
What we do know is that the same light that forever shines in the face of Jesus Christ will shine in our hearts, too, and show us the way.
All may not be light.
But the light still shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
And it never will.
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