Star Light, Star Bright

In the bleak midwinter, as most of us are burnt out on politics and much of anything else that would rouse us from slumber and cause us to toss back the covers, life yet continues.  Our duties weigh upon us.  Meals are to be prepared.  Dishes to be washed.  Bills are to be paid.  Families or employers are counting on us to make our appointed rounds and to be at our desks.  Christmas was a brief respite from it all.  But all too short.

Nastiness creeps through our capital hallways.  Vengeance and retribution on the lips of many.  And with all the worries piling up, why on earth would the incoming administration be thinking again of buying Greenland?  Or annexing Canada as the next state?  Let alone sending in an armed invasion to take back the Panama Canal.  Nastiness as foul-smelling as anything that ever oozed out of a putrefying swamp.

What we need here is a little Light – if we’re awake enough to see it.  Or, as Amanda Gorman put it, “brave enough to see it…brave enough to be it.”

As we remember the slaughter of the innocents in Gaza, we recall Jeremiah’s tragic message, reprised in Matthew. 

“Thus says the Lord; A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping.  Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more.”[1]

The vast number of casualties from that brutal slaughter being women and children.  Devastation paid for with American dollars.

Such darkness sometimes seems overpowering – surely overpowering for the victims of Gaza.  Tragedy upon tragedy with every Israeli bombing.  Rachel indeed weeps for her children this day.

Darkness will have its day.

Newsflash: Homelessness has increased 18% over last year.  Among families it has increased by 40%.

Newsflash: Israel has loosened restrictions on bombing.  It’s now permissible to kill up to 20 civilians to get one low-level Hamas target.

Newsflash: Global warming produced the hottest year on the planet ever for the last year of measurements.

Newsflash:  Are we really thinking of invading Mexico to eliminate the drug cartels and fentanyl labs?

Yes, there is much to despair.  We are tempted to just tune out, overwhelmed by it all, not sure our children and grandchildren will have a livable world.

In the midst of such darkness, we have the audacity to proclaim that a Light does shine.  A Star has risen.  We behold its beauty.  We behold its challenge.

There’s a story of a policeman coming upon a drunk at 2:00 in the morning.  The poor, besotted fellow is crawling around on his hands and knees obviously looking for something under a corner streetlamp.

The officer asks him what he’s hunting for.  The fellow replies that he has lost his keys.  “Is this where you lost them?” the officer asks. 

 “No,” the drunk replies, “They’re over there somewhere.”

“Well, why are you looking for them here?” the officer asks.  “Because, this is where the light is,” replies the man on his hands and knees.

This is where the light is.

Maybe that’s where we need to start.  Let’s start where there is light.  And there is Light to behold!

Our various faith traditions burn brightly with such Light.  Scripture is always a good beginning place to look for God’s Light.  The Hebrew prophets proclaim illumination in the cause of Torah Righteousness – God’s will for restoration and flourishing – as impossible as that sometimes seems.

“Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.  For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord shall arise upon you, over you.”[2]

Originally this was a prophecy solely meant for the people of Israel, but its meaning has later been understood to include all people.  Just as Rachel’s weeping was understood as a metaphor for all of Israel’s tragic history, and now for all creation.

So, this prophecy of restoration is also meant for the whole of creation.  Pure, unmerited Grace for all.

Such is the Epiphany Star those wise seekers spied.  As they beheld and recognized the moment of absolute Grace in the birth of a helpless infant born to parents in poverty.  The Light dawned.  An Epiphany.

We’ve all had moments of lesser epiphanies.  When something clicked, became clear.  The ah-ha moments in life.  Moments of light, sometimes moments of absolute divine Light.

Yes, there is much darkness yet enshrouding our world — our days lost in confusion, hatefulness and despair.

But, I say, even on our hands and knees, let’s hunt for deliverance where there is light.

One place I sometimes find smidgens of divine light is in the writing of David Brooks.

He recently had an op-ed piece in the New York Times on his journey from atheism to faith.[3]

He talks of faith in terms of desire, holy desire.

“Sometimes I feel pulled by a goodness that seems grand and far-off, a divine luminosity that hovers over the far horizon.”

“Sometimes I feel pulled by concrete moments of holy delight that I witness right in front of my face – the sight of a rabbi laughing uproariously as his children pile over him during a Shabbat meal, the sight of a Catholic priest at a poor church looking radiantly to heaven as he holds the bread of Christ above his head…I’ve found that the most compelling proofs of God’s love come in moments of radical delight or radical goodness—in the examples of those who serve the marginalized with postures of self-emptying love.”[4]

“…if the object of your desire is generosity itself, then your desire for it will open up new dimensions of existence you had never perceived before, for example the presence in our world of an energy force called grace.”[5]

All of such existence is to live a life illuminated by shards of light from that Epiphany star.  The same star that yet enlightens seekers of faith.   Now burning brightly from within hearts and minds. 

Sometimes it’s the beauty of connection that shows forth God’s luminosity.  And that is often light enough.  And, maybe, just maybe, that’s good enough.  The best we can expect — a few precious slivers of Epiphany Light.  We are now those ancient sages who continue the journey to the desire of our hearts to this holy moment.

I stumbled upon a book, The Amen Effect, by Rabbi Sharon Brous of Los Angeles.  Just looking at the reviews on the book jacket, I sensed not only illumination, but Holy Light.[6]

She opens her book with the story of a child who goes walking in a forest.  As he climbs through thickets and nimbly steps across streams, enjoys the sun filtering through tall tree branches, he delights in what he comes across.  Spiderwebs, fallen leaves, mossy rocks.

As he tries to make his way out, he begins to realize that he doesn’t quite know the way.  In fact, he’s thoroughly lost.  Each step leads him deeper into the woods.

As the sun begins to sink below the tree line, he fears that he might not ever find his way out — wondering if he’ll ever make it home.  But just then he sees another child approaching from far off.

His heart swells with hope as he cries out to her, “I’m so glad to see you.  I’m lost.  Can you show me the way out of here?”

“I wish I could,” she answers.  “I’m lost too.  But take my hand and we’ll find our way out together.”

Together is Holy Light!

When I approach the communion rail and gaze upon the uplifted faces, not knowing what fears, what hopes, what moments of joy or sorrow are brought to this holy moment at that rail, I am assured that whatever the week has brought, together we can bear it, we can share it.  Light, Holy Light.

In these moments, an Epiphany takes up residence within our little group of pilgrims here at St. Francis.  In that moment, whatever the darkness, a Holy Light has overcome. 

In times of uncertainty, sorrow, perplexity, we reach out for another’s hand.  And in that Light, we’ll find our way towards home.  This is how we roll at St. Francis.  Amen.

---

[1] Jeremiah 31:15, NRSV.

[2] Isaiah 60:1-2, NRSV.

[3] David Brooks, “My Decade-Long Journey to Belief,” New York Times, December 22, 2024.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Sharon Brous, The Amen Effect: Ancient Wisdom to Mend our Broken Hearts and World (New York, Avery, 2024), xi.

January 5, 2025
Epiphany Sunday

Isaiah 60:1-6, 9; Psalm 72:1-2, 10-17
Ephesians 31:7-14; Matthew 2:1-12 “Star Light, Star Bright”