Epiphany(ies)

So, we are celebrating Epiphany today. Not really one of our most celebrated days of the calendar, but I have been in places in Central America where January 6 is a public holiday and is made a bigger deal over than we make of it here.

Epiphany is about God revealing the divine light of the Gospel to the Gentiles, and the story it is particularly associated with in the Western Christian tradition is that of the magi and the star.

Our readings from Isaiah, Ephesians, and Matthew all carry this theme: Isaiah proclaims that God’s light shines for all nations; Paul declares that Gentiles are “fellow heirs, members of the same body, and sharers in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel”; and Matthew tells of visitors from the East — astrologers, likely from Persia, not necessarily three, by the way — who saw a star and came to worship the Christ child. However you picture these magi, they are certainly foreigners, who recognize the divine light revealed in Jesus.

Epiphany celebrates that all of us are included in God’s love —no matter our racial or ethnic or cultural background; no matter our sexuality or gender identity; no matter our social standing or our earning potential; no matter our age or our education. None of those distinctions matter to God. God’s love embraces us all, and through Jesus we find meaning and purpose. Hallelujah! As I reflected on all of that, I feel like I wish we celebrated Epiphany as a public holiday as well!

Unfortunately, however, I feel today that maybe we have become so comfortable with the idea that God’s limitless love is for everyone that we don’t really appreciate Epiphany in its fullness. But think about it. You don’t love everyone, do you? I know I don’t. But God does. Many of us may not even love everyone in this church, let alone outside of it. But God does. I imagine I would have difficulty finding anyone here who would say they love Vladmir Putin or Donald Trump, just as examples. And yet, God does. When was the last time you spared a loving thought for the neighbours suffering from addition, sleeping on the streets in the blocks around our church? And yet God’s love is for them as much as us. And what about yourself, do you think to love yourself like God does? Every week we talk about God’s love and no doubt every one of us would say we believe God loves everyone. But how often does that belief translate into how you love those around you and yourself? Have you allowed Epiphany to change who you are and how you live your life?

This morning, I also want to talk about lower case “e” epiphanies — those “aha” moments when we suddenly see something differently. Sometimes they’re small: the moment a jigsaw puzzle piece clicks into place or a crossword clue finally makes sense. But sometimes they’re profound, altering how we see ourselves or others.

Almost twenty years ago I was in Montreal for several weeks with a friend of mine. My friend had grown up going to church, but wasn’t any longer as an adult. And one evening we were sitting in a downtown Montreal bar and my friend told me how that afternoon he had walked by a church on Ste Catherine Street with a rainbow flag out front. My initial reaction was “so what,” and I couldn’t really understand why he was making a big deal about it. And then I realized my friend, who is a gay man, had never before encountered a church that went out of its way to overtly welcome someone of his sexual orientation. Over a beer, I experienced an epiphany — I realized how deeply the Church’s failure to live out the message of capital “E” Epiphany had hurt people like my friend. And at the same time, how meaningful even a small act of inclusion like a rainbow flag could be.

Back then, realizations such as this—that institutional Christianity has in so many ways departed from the message of capital “e” Epiphany and promoted patriarchy, colonialism, homophobia, and so on—and caused tremendous pain to people like my friend because of it—made me want nothing to do with the church.

Thankfully, it was what I might consider another epiphany that eventually brought me back to church. More than ten years ago now I began working with a Jungian therapist I met through my Employee Assistance Program. As I learned about Jungian psychology, I learned that Carl Jung used the term “individuation” to describe the lifelong process of becoming who we are meant to be. Central to that journey is understanding the “myth” that shapes our lives. Myth, in this sense, is not pejorative, but rather refers to the symbolic stories that give meaning to our existence. And Jung said the most important question anyone can ask is: “What myth am I living?”

Jungian ideas helped me rediscover faith through a new lens. I began to appreciate Christianity as a living myth — one rich with symbols and metaphors that guide me toward wholeness. Inspired by these ideas, I started reading the Bible not only through the historical-critical lense that I had primarily learned in school, but symbolically, asking: What does this story reveal about who I am and who God wants me to be?

This symbolic way of engaging Scripture has brought me deeper meaning — and sometimes, sudden epiphanies. So, I read Matthew chapter 2 through that perspective, and three insights especially stood out and I’ll share them. Who knows, maybe in them you will find an epiphany.

First, in Matthew 2 we see God communicating through a star in the sky. Most of us have known this story since we were children and have probably never really thought twice about it. But isn’t that odd? Because if I told you today that I made a decision to go on a significant journey to find a baby to give the baby a gift of significant value, all because I saw a star, you would almost certainly suggest I may have a screw loose. And while of course we have those who read the stars and pay attention to their horoscopes still today, for the most part we consider that silly. I am pretty sure I learned such things were of the devil! And I’m not here today to tell you to look at the Edmonton Sun horoscope page and that there you will find the meaning of life. But, we may find value in pausing and reflecting on the fact that throughout the Bible and in Christian tradition, and certainly in many other spiritual and religious traditions, God’s voice is found in Creation—whether around us or above us. And unfortunately, I think most of us, maybe especially in the Reformed Protestant tradition, have gotten away from this. But we can change that, and especially on this land in the context of Treaty 6 I think we have an opportunity to learn from our Indigenous siblings about living in relationship with creation and how God may be speaking to us in that way. What might God be saying to you, to us, through Creation today? Are you willing to listen?

And of course in addition to the star, God also communicates with the magi through a dream, and later also communicates three times with Joseph in dreams. There are four divine dreams in Matthew 2. When I read the Bible from a Jungian perspective I pay attention to how often dreams are understood to be communication from the divine, because in Jungian analysis we take dreams very seriously. And at first I was a bit skeptical about all of that but I have come to appreciate the value of paying attention to dreams and analyzing them. Whether or not you put much stock in literal dream analysis, I invite you to consider the idea behind it: that God can speak within us, through the quiet voice of the Spirit. What might God’s Spirit be saying inside you today? Are you open to hearing her voice?

One of the ways I work with my dreams in Jungian analysis is by understanding that in at least some sense, all of the characters in my dreams are symbolic expressions of parts of myself. And likewise I take this approach with reading Bible stories, and our former minister Harry often talked about this as well. In fact, Harry once told me that not only is there value to reading Bible stories as if I am each character, but Harry said, more or less with his finger pointing at my chest, “you are especially the bad guy.”

So, the second observation I have from reading this story is that we can learn something from thinking about how each of us might be King Herod. King Herod is the anti-wise man in this story. He is the villain. Despite his power and wealth, King Herod is living a small life. Whereas the magi are open to the world and the divine in such a way as to observe a new star and its significance, Herod’s focus is on retaining power, and little else. Whereas the magi are willing to travel an extensive distance in search of meaning and depth, Herod is holed up in his palace, paranoid and conniving. Whereas the magi are sincere and trusting, Herod is deceitful and secretive. And, finally, whereas the magi are willing to open themselves to God’s love as offered in Jesus, Herod is determined to kill the hope and light Jesus symbolizes. Ultimately, while Herod fails to kill Jesus specifically, his paranoia and small-mindedness does lead to the massacre of babies; Jake preached about this last week—The slaughter of the infants.

And what I always find when reflecting on how I am the bad guy, is how easy it is and really how good it feels to condemn and mock and belittle and judge the bad characters of Bible stories. Oh, it is satisfying to rail against this wicked man and consciously or unconsciously revel in feelings of superiority and self-righteousness. And I usually let myself do that a little because it makes the shock of thinking about how I am King Herod so much stronger. Because, let us face it. All of us, in some way and at some time, have preferred to ignore God’s calling on our lives in favour of comfort and security. All of us, in some way and at some time, have focused on the accumulation of wealth and power for ourselves rather than supporting others’ dreams and goals. All of us, in some way and at some time, have chosen a small life over a larger one. All of us, in some way and at some time, have found the joy and optimism of others threatening. And while we may never literally kill babies, all of us, I am sure, have massacred, rather than nurtured, hope and meaning and love both in ourselves and in others. And we can think about  that individually, but also collectively: when have we as a church, both local and global, chosen to metaphorically kill the baby Jesus inside, instead of nurturing him? When have we tried to hide or ignore the light of Epiphany in favour of the darkness of perpetuating our own collective power and wealth?

I have talked before about our church’s role in colonialism, and our ongoing collective participation in Canada’s dispossession of Indigenous peoples. And I am sure each of us could think of an example in the recent past or in the present in which we as individuals or collectively have been a “King Herod” to others.

My final reflection from Matthew 2 is on the symbol of the journey. The magi travel far, through danger and uncertainty, carrying valuable gifts. Their journey is long and risky — but they are moved by faith, open to the light they’ve glimpsed.

Symbolically, each of us is on a similar journey. Whether we’re aware of it or not, we are all traveling toward greater understanding of ourselves and of God. And like the magi’s literal road, our spiritual journeys are rarely easy. Growth almost always involves discomfort and struggle. Yet it’s usually through those difficult passages that transformation occurs.

Epiphany reminds us that God’s light calls us to the journey— often into unfamiliar territory. Maybe that light appears in creation, or in a dream, or in a moment of self-awareness, even a moment of self-awareness that is painful. Maybe it shines through another person, or through a lower case “e” epiphany. However, it comes, may God grant each of us and all of us the courage to follow that light where it summons us.  Amen.