I may never write again. Well, that’s obviously not true because here I am writing. Let me try again. I may never write anything of value again. Anything worth reading. Anything that makes any sense to anyone, or inspires, or challenges, or uplifts, or informs. All the things that this space was conceived to do. I just may be done. And now you are wondering whether it is worth your time to struggle through reading this. I know I am wondering whether continuing to write is worth my time. Sorry about that. No, really, I am sorry.
This cheerful beginning to 2015 is what we in the business call a dark night of the soul. Others of a more psychological bent might call it post holiday blues, or just plain old depression. But on this rainy Saturday, with the sun a no show at least so far, it just feels dark and uncertain to me. The rug has been pulled out from underneath, the certainties seem less certain, the future so much more shrouded in mystery than they were even a few days ago. Assuredly more doubt than a week ago when we sang about the hopes and fears of all the years being met in a town called Bethlehem. When we sang of angels and glory and silent nights and greeting a child born this happy morning. When we sang of light, all is calm, all is bright, we sang, radiant beams from thy holy face, we sang, there’s a star in the sky, and the star rains its fire while the beautiful sing. Ah, maybe that’s it, I’m not beautiful enough in my darkness.
It’s Epiphany Sunday. Epiphany is about light, about seeing the light, about following the light, about showing the light. Epi - phanos – the light shows forth. Or more literally - to the light, or from the light, or by the light, dang those Greek prepositions anyway. But light is the core of this season. The symbols of the Epiphany are the Wise Men who followed the star all the way from the east - which is bible talk for a strange and remote place; and the baptism of Jesus which ends with the heavens opening and the Spirit descending and a voice of declaration and acceptance, “You are my beloved, with you I am well-pleased.”
What I wouldn’t give for a word like that. For a star to follow. For a baby to kneel before. For something clear. Obvious, unmistakable, does God still use burning bushes? Two by fours? I don’t know. But I know who does. When you need a dose of confidence it is usually best to turn to Paul. Certainty just radiates from that guy.
Ephesians 3:1-12 This is the reason that I Paul am a prisoner for Christ Jesus for the sake of you Gentiles-- 2 for surely you have already heard of the commission of God's grace that was given me for you, 3 and how the mystery was made known to me by revelation, as I wrote above in a few words, 4 a reading of which will enable you to perceive my understanding of the mystery of Christ. 5 In former generations this mystery was not made known to humankind, as it has now been revealed to his holy apostles and prophets by the Spirit: 6 that is, the Gentiles have become fellow heirs, members of the same body, and sharers in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel. 7 Of this gospel I have become a servant according to the gift of God's grace that was given me by the working of his power. 8 Although I am the very least of all the saints, this grace was given to me to bring to the Gentiles the news of the boundless riches of Christ, 9 and to make everyone see what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God who created all things; 10 so that through the church the wisdom of God in its rich variety might now be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places. 11 This was in accordance with the eternal purpose that he has carried out in Christ Jesus our Lord, 12 in whom we have access to God in boldness and confidence through faith in him.
Even in prison he knows what he is about. Howe does that work exactly? Oh, I know, he has written elsewhere of his struggles, but they never seem to make him lose his grip on this thing he has found.
This thing, forgive my precise theological language here. This thing he has found that sustains him, that drives him that makes him the force that he was in planting the church. We wouldn’t be who we are today if he wasn’t who he was back then. Or maybe better, if it wasn’t for this thing he has found.
So, what was it, this thing? There are two words that he uses to talk about this thing that he has found in the passage for this week. The first is mystery. I get that. I understand that. Or rather I understand that I don’t understand, that it is something beyond understanding. I’m comfortable with that. Too much of our faith comes across as cold rationality. As mechanistic, push this button here and get that output there, say these prayers and get that answer, attend this many worship services and get my life rearranged, give this much money to mission and receive blessings a thousandfold. Or it seems consumer oriented with its ubiquitous question what’s in it for me?
Mystery makes sense to me. There’s an I don’t know quality to faith. I don’t know but there is something here, something in my life with Christ that isn’t there without him. But I’m hard pressed to define it in terms that satisfy most folks. Something in loving like Christ loves that seems so right even when it hurts so much you want to change your address to an inaccessible cave in an unapproachable country. There is something profound in leaning in to life when death seems to win every single time. Something. Mystery.
Except if you look closer, look again, Paul explains it. It’s not a mystery for Paul, at least in the sense that we want to use the word. See there, in verse six he explains it: “that is, the Gentiles have become fellow heirs, members of the same body, and sharers in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel.” That’s it? That’s the mystery? Everybody is in? No one is excluded from access to God, that’s the big mystery that God knew from the beginning but only now has revealed to everyone? Jesus Christ!
Sorry, tone is important here. The mystery is revealed in Jesus Christ. Through him, in him by him all are included. Even those who think they aren’t. Even those who can’t feel it anymore. Even those who frankly don’t want it. But they are included, they are worthy of love. Ours and God’s. Or ours because of God’s, God’s love is already there. That’s grace.
Which is also the second word that Paul uses to describe this thing he has - grace. OK, to be fair there are other words that he uses elsewhere, like gospel, like mission, like Spirit, like the Christ who lives in me. But in this passage it is mystery and it is grace. “God’s grace was given to me by the working of his power.”(v.7) We think of receiving grace like a blessing, like a gift, like an acceptance or a welcome we didn’t deserve, like a forgiveness that we haven’t earned. But Paul sees grace as that which moves him to speak, to teach, to love, to risk his life for this mystery revealed. “[T]his grace was given to me to bring to the Gentiles the news of the boundless riches of Christ, and to make everyone see what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God who created all things...” (v.8-9). Grace is the light he brings.
In looking through the Christmas hymns we love to sing, I discovered that with a few notable exceptions, they don’t mention light. Angels, babies, joy, faith, peace, all kinds of things are mentioned in those hymns, but not light - very much anyway. It is as though the proclamation is of a birth, of a presence that comes into the darkness, into your darkness, and there is no guarantee you’ll see it. You just have to trust that it is there. You aren’t alone in your darkness, the mystery is there. You aren’t alone in your darkness, the grace is there. You just have to believe enough to put one foot in front of another. Until you can catch your breath again and believe in love. How long do we walk in darkness? I don’t know. Maybe our whole lives. Maybe just right now.
And maybe, there will be a time when you feel able to bring your own light. We don’t sing that song in church, do we. But it was in my mind today. Bring a torch, Jeannette, Isabelle. Did you know there was a comma in there? It isn’t about one person, it is about two. Jeanette and Isabelle, two milk maids, the story goes, who stumbled across a baby in their darkness and together went to get a light. Two servants. Together.
Bring a torch.
Shalom,
Derek
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