I speak to you in the name of the God who guides us by sometimes perplexing stars and who visits us in the stables of our lives. Amen.
It is a considerable journey on which you all have embarked over the past few weeks. There must have been poignant moments as you bid farewell to Betty and Paula — and now to your parish administrator, Eric Gustafson. And along with that poignancy, I bet there has been anxiety too. I know personally that your wardens past and present — Mike, Ellen, Todd, and Charlie — have put in many extra hours to facilitate the transition that has started for St. Patrick’s. Their work now lets you anticipate the arrival in a few weeks of your Interim Rector, John Lawrence. The installation today of your new Vestry and Officers is symbolic of all the changes that you are experiencing as this journey of transition begins.
Epiphany is a great day to celebrate all of this. On the surface of things, there’s lots of pomp and circumstance. Vestments are splendid, music gets a special effort from the choir, and despite any personal excesses over the past two weeks, food is festive and ample. The baptism of Juanita is an exciting element of our worship, and for a few brief moments yesterday afternoon, when the score was 14-13, even the Redskins added luster to the week end.
Yet just beneath the surface, especially as Matthew tells the story, there are ominous shadows and forebodings.
In our three year liturgical cycle we are just beginning the year in which most of our gospel readings will come from Matthew. We just finished the year when the readings usually came from Luke. 2009 will be Mark’s turn and the Fourth Gospel, John, is sprinkled throughout. Given all that, it might be helpful to draw some contrasts between Matthew and Luke, who is the other teller of the story of Jesus’ birth.
From Luke we hear of an archangel appearing to Mary and telling her of the son she is to bear. To Mary, Gabriel was as clear and present as I am to you. It is from Luke that we have the lyrical prayers, “My soul magnifies the Lord”, “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has visited and redeemed his people”, and “My eyes have seen your salvation.” In Luke, angel choirs sing exultantly to shepherds, “Glory to God in the highest.”
In vivid contrast, Matthew has no angels speaking to Mary or singing to shepherds, but rather tells us of Joseph wanting to put his bride away discreetly because of the shame her pregnancy has caused. The only encouragement that Joseph gets is not from an angel directly, as Mary experienced, but from a dream of an angel. There are hard edges to the way Matthew tells this story. Only Matthew tells us of Herod’s slaughter of all the baby boys in Bethlehem in order to protect his own power, while Luke tells us that Jesus grew in wisdom, grace, and favor. And again in Matthew, it is only by a dream that the Magi are warned not to return to Herod but to go home by another road.
This hard edge to Matthew’s gospel continues right through to the end. In Luke’s account of the crucifixion we hear of one of the thieves crucified with Jesus repenting and asking for mercy. Jesus promises that the thief will be with him that day in paradise. In Matthew both of the thieves curse Jesus as he cries out “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
So in this year of Matthew, don’t look for easy comfort or soft encouragement. It is a gospel tailor made for the challenges of the transitional time that is ahead for you. In the gospel readings throughout the year, look for the open acknowledgement of conflict, especially amongst the disciples.
But back to today’s celebration that for wise men from the east was the culmination of an already difficult journey. One of my favorite texts for Epiphany is not from scripture but from W.H. Auden’s verse play, “For the Time Being.” The poet describes what it might have felt like for the night travelers to Bethlehem. In the play, the Magi have each stated why they are following the Star of the Nativity. The section ends with them speaking together:
The weather has been awful,
The countryside dreary,
Marsh, jungle, rock, and echoes mock,
Calling our hope unlawful;
......
At least we know for certain that we are
three old sinners,
That this journey is much too long, that
we want our dinners,
And miss our wives, our books, our dogs,
But have only the vaguest idea why we
are what we are.
To discover how to be human now
Is the reason we follow this star.
To discover how to be human now
Is the reason we follow this star.
As we listen to Auden’s words about "awful weather", the "dreary countryside", and "marsh, jungle, and rock," we know in our bones that they are metaphors for our own struggling journeys towards faith and for our efforts to be humane in our humanity.
As you hear this story, do not miss the significance of the star. The magi’s journey was not a directionless meandering, but a purposeful trek. As difficult as the journey was, and as improbable as their final destination turned out to be, the magi were not lost. They had a clear direction. We are invited by this story to see our own lives as following that star. Auden’s "marsh, jungle, and rock," and the twisted ankles they cause, and occasional dead-ends we follow are simply a part of the journey. The star is still there.
Years ago when Barbara and I first lived near the Chesapeake Bay, I had a parishioner, Mark Milburn, who was a veteran waterman. He crabbed in the summer and oystered in the winter. He did all the work on his own boat and he knew the creeks and tides and fishing spots as few people could. So when Barbara and I bought an old wooden work boat of our own, Mark was the man I asked to teach me about it.
With Mark’s guidance I took the boat out into the six mile wide Potomac River, heading straight towards the bay. After several minutes Mark told me to turn around and look at my wake. I had been making lazy S curves as I constantly corrected and re-corrected the steering. “You’re paying too much attention to where you are and not enough attention to where you are going,” Mark said. “Focus on that point five miles away. Don’t worry about the boat and see how she goes.” After a couple of minutes Mark told me to look at my wake again. A perfectly straight line.
Paying attention to where I was headed instead of constantly correcting for the waves that were lapping against the hull made all the difference. I didn’t get that from a book of sermon illustrations. It is all a true story that is as vivid in my memory now as when I learned twenty-five years ago. I do sometimes wish I applied the lesson more consistently to my life — not worrying so much about the waves that sometimes rock my boat, and holding course for my destination more steadily.
That’s probably a good idea for St. Patrick’s as you embrace all the exigencies of the transitional time now already rocking your boat. My guess is that saintly serenity has not been the only governing force since Betty announced her departure.If, as this weather turns everything to mud, you can glimpse the star that guides you - then you are not mere wanderers contending with “marsh, jungle, and rock,” but have become beloved pilgrims. We who are partially crippled, sometimes scared, and often failing;
It is to us that this Epiphany story is told and it calls us to a bigger awareness of God with us, even in the midst of “marsh, jungle, and rock.”
Because you are all children of Adam and Eve, there will be bumps and bruises, there will be perceived slights and real jockeying for influence as a search committee is appointed and as other interim arrangements are made. And in the midst of that marsh, jungle, and rock, do trust that your Wardens and Vestry, your Interim Rector whom most of you have not yet even met, the rest of your staff, ordained and lay, want nothing but grace to abound in the year ahead.
As you join this journey together, perhaps we all can echo the wise men of W.H. Auden’s verse play as they prayed, “To discover how to be human now is the reason we follow this star.”
Amen.