Sermon preached Sunday, January 6, 2019, the Epiphany of Our Lord, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. Audio can be found here.
You may have noticed that this morning’s gospel reading was a little longer than normal. That’s for a good reason.
This morning we celebrate the Epiphany of Our Lord. It always falls on January 6th, so usually we have to move the feast day…but this year it actually falls on Sunday! Epiphany is a lovely festival that causes us to think about what the incarnation of Christ really means for us—what are the implications of God coming to dwell among us?
Epiphany also marks the end of the Christmas season, the twelve days of Christmas that end, at least in the song, with twelve drummers drumming. The carols have gone away, the decorations are mostly down, and we settle into January and the coming year. We’ve missed something, though. During those twelve days of Christmas, there are actually quite a few other feast days that tend to get skipped over.
December 26th is the feast day of Stephen, deacon and martyr, whose story is told in the book of Acts. December 27th is the feast day of John the Evangelist. And the 28th is the feast day of the Holy Innocents.
The reason why our Gospel reading this morning was longer was because I included the portion of Matthew, Chapter 2 that is appointed for Holy Innocents. “Holy Innocents” commemorates the unwilling martyrdom of the children slaughtered by King Herod in his quest to find and kill Jesus.
It’s a story that is horrifying and has great importance, but we never really get to hear it. I looked up the liturgical calendar for the next ten years and Holy Innocents never falls on a Sunday in the next decade. …so, I decided to include it today.
It might seem a bit incongruous, but, really, Epiphany and Holy Innocents are two parts of the same story, the two parts of what happens when these magi from the East come and cause Herod to feel threatened.
Herod feels that his power and control is in jeopardy. Power that is taken and not granted, power that is exerted through force, not trust, compassion, and love, never feels secure. It is constantly vigilant against real and perceived threats and will stop at nothing to tighten its hold…even if that means committing mass murder against innocent children.
Unfortunately, we see this kind of power struggle play out in our world all too frequently. We see dictators crack down on journalists and truth seekers and justice workers. We see corrupt politicians disenfranchise those who would disagree with them. We see people in caretaker roles for vulnerable populations who manipulate and abuse to get their own way.
In other words, our world is filled with Herods—filled with people who spare no thought for the other. People who put their own desire, their own sense of security, their own unfounded fears above the well-being of other members of the Body of Christ who are in desperate need.
On Epiphany, it’s especially important for us to remember this.
Epiphany literally means “manifestation,” and we remember and celebrate the fact that God is and was manifest among us, and that changes things: shining light into shadowy places, filling the hungry with good things, bringing life out of death, casting the mighty Herods down from their thrones and lifting up the humble of heart.
Because the light of Christ has come into the world, things must change. It is a given. When God is at work, nothing stays the same and when God came into our very flesh everything was turned upside down.
As Christians, as followers of Christ and beloved children of God, we are called to be a part of this change, called to seek out God’s will for humanity and all of creation, called to stymie the work of Herods in our midst.
There are so many stories I could tell you of times this has happened in history: the abolitionist movement and the tireless, dangerous work of individuals and groups to end slavery in the 18th and 19th centuries. The resistance workers like Dietrich Bonhoeffer who refused to comply with Nazi rule. The civil rights movement here in the States that fought for racial equality. The patrons of the Stonewall Inn who said enough is enough. These are all examples of people saying “no” to the work of Herods.
But there’s one story in particular I’d like to share, the story of Leymah Gbowee, a Liberian peacemaker and reformer.
If you aren’t familiar with Liberia’s history in the 90s, let me fill you in. A civil war broke out in 1989, following a coup and an election considered to be fraudulent. The conflict was bloody and brutal. After a broken ceasefire in 1995, the war came to an end and new elections were held in 1997.
Unfortunately, this peace was extremely short-lived, as two competing rebel groups emerged and began fighting with the government forces in 1999. Perhaps one of the most disturbing elements of this conflict was the widespread use of child soldiers.
It was in the midst of this conflict that Leymah Gbowee decided she needed to do something. These Herods were destroying lives and her country. She felt God’s call to stand up to them.
During the first civil war, Gbowee and her family barely survived, coming close to being shot on more than one occasion by various groups of soldiers. When the first war came to an end, she participated in a program run by UNICEF training folks to be trauma counselors. Soon after, she began working at a Lutheran church in Monrovia in their Trauma Healing and Reconciliation Program.
When the second conflict broke out in 1999, she was inspired by her work to attend the first meeting of the Women in Peacebuilding Network, along with women from almost all the West African nations. She became the leader of the Liberian chapter and got to work right away. They organized and spread their message. They had fliers that read: “We are tired! We are tired of our children being killed! We are tired of being abused!! Women, wake up – you have a voice in the peace process!” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leymah_Gbowee) They engaged in sit-ins and made their presence and position known. In the end, they played an indispensable role in the peace that was finally achieved in 2003.
There is a documentary about her work, called “Pray the Devil Back to Hell,” if you want to learn more about her incredible story. I tell it to you this morning because Leymah Gbowee is a remarkable example of what participating in God’s work can look like. She said in a podcast interview:
“I didn’t get there by myself… or anything I did as an individual, but it was by the grace and mercy of God…. He has held my hands. In the most difficult of times, he has been there. They have this song, “Order my steps in your ways, dear Lord,” and every day as I wake up, that is my prayer, because there’s no way that anyone can take this journey as a peacebuilder, as an agent of change in your community, without having a sense of faith…. As I continue this journey in this life, I remind myself: All that I am, all that I hope to be, is because of God.” (ibid.)
God with her. God manifest in her life. God changing her and through that, changing the world.
The Christmas story is about more than a cute baby in a manger—it is about salvation coming to the earth. The Epiphany story is about more than some magi traveling a great distance to offer some expensive gifts—it is about what the presence of Christ in our midst does for us. It is, in fact, a radical story that should give us pause—are we ready to embrace what God has in store? Are we ready to jump in? Are we ready to get to work? Are we ready to have our hearts and our lives and our spirits changed? Are we truly ready for this manifestation of God?
To be honest, probably not. I don’t know if anyone really is. But we can try. We can make ourselves as open as possible to the movement of God’s Spirit. We can look for the face of Jesus in every person we meet. We can spy the hand of the Creator in every living thing or stunning sunset. God is here, among us, around us, within us, and within all things on this earth. That is what Epiphany means.
Let us be ready to encounter God and join in God’s life-giving work.
Amen.
Drinking from a Deep Well 