3rd Sunday after the Epiphany Meditation

It was probably too subtle for any of you to pick up on just listening to today’s readings. But there is this subtle variation between the Isaiah reading we heard from the Old Testament and how it was quoted in the Gospel

Isaiah writes, the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. Those who lived in a land of deep darkness, on them light has shined. But when Matthew quotes that same scripture, says, “The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and those who sat in the region and shadow of death, light has dawned.”

Truthfully, I’m not sure why this difference exists. I don’t know why Matthew made this little change. But it does exist, and I do observe it, and I wonder about it. Because, of course, it is possible to walk and live in the dark.

It makes me think in our lives and our world, people who work in the dark. Their work is usually on behalf of us and we don’t recognize it. Shift workers of all types, police officers and emergency responders, ER staff, and countless industries where there’s people who have to get up and work in the dark so that we can have what we need and we can be safe.

Most of the rest of us, we sit in the dark. We’re allowed to follow the natural rhythms of light and dark, of labor and rest. And there’s nothing wrong with this. It’s natural to settle into our homes and our beds, to relax when the darkness comes. But the more I age, the more I become aware of how many people are working on my behalf. People I don’t know. Most of them I never see.

But you know, there is nothing in my life, there’s nothing that supports my life, that doesn’t come from somebody else’s labor, often in conditions I could never myself have endured. All of my food, all of my clothing, everything that my house is built of, everything that fills my house, every service I depend on, all of it is coming from someone else’s labor, often in the dark.

And I think too about the political age in which we’re living, in which we feel so powerless and overwhelmed by bad news. As your priest and in dialogue with many of you, I know that many of us are choosing to sit this out. Mostly because we don’t know what to do. We don’t know what it means to walk in this darkness. And so people use the language of self-care that they’re limiting the amount of news they take in because they just don’t know how to process it all.

There are others who are choosing to walk in the dark. We certainly know this in terms of the protesters we’re hearing about. I think of a friend of mine. She lives in an agricultural region. She’s a priest and she’s on a list that makes an alert whenever there’s an ICE roundup happening in her neighborhood and she puts on her collar and she just goes to bear witness to it. She doesn’t have the power to stop anything. But as a priest in the name of the church and the church in the name of God, she chooses to be present to it and bear witness.

There’s of course a danger in this that’s heightened now in ways we’re not used to. Historically, protesting has been understood as an expression of the freedom of speech, and it’s protected by the Constitution. But things are changing right now in our country. In Minnesota, in the past two weeks, two protesters have been killed. Renee Good, and yesterday, Alex Preti.

Rob Hirsfield, the Episcopal Bishop of New Hampshire, recently warned the clergy in his diocese to prepare for a new era of martyrdom. The time of just making speeches and statements is over, he said. Get your affairs in order. Make sure you have your wills written.

As an aside, I do have my will written and life insurance policy in place. My family will be provided for, however I should die, whenever I die. There’s a percentage that will go to St. John’s. I don’t know where this will all lead, what’s happening in our country right now.

I don’t know what it will mean for me, for the church, for the country, for the world. This is unchartered territory for the United States, but it is not new territory for the human race, or this world we inhabit.

Fluctuating systems of government, violence and instability, these have been the patterns of human history. And it was certainly the case in Jesus’ time.

The Israel of Jesus’ time had been violently taken over by the Roman Empire. Some Jews were insurgents. They actively fought against it. Some Jews were compliant and they partnered with the Romans. Probably most of them just carried on with their lives, going to work, feeding their families, keeping their heads down, trying to avoid conflict.

But the point of it all is that whether we are walking in the dark or sitting, whether we are striving to make a change or waiting it out, everyone who dwells in darkness is yearning for the light.

And the promise of our gospel, of our faith, is that the light has come. God is with us in all things, in all circumstances. Jesus Christ has shown us the face of God, and the heart of God, and the will of God. That love is stronger than hate. That forgiveness is stronger than sin. That resurrection is stronger than death. This is our hope. This is our faith because this is our God. And we are disciples of Jesus Christ.

This is the one we follow as ones who have seen the light. But like with the disciples, following Jesus isn’t always easy or clear cut. Growing in faith is not a steady movement of greater and greater light, and greater and greater clarity, and greater and greater fidelity.

The disciples, it said, immediately dropped their nets and followed Jesus. But when he died they didn’t know what to do. And so they went back to fishing because it’s what they did know to do.

And then Jesus showed up again and they followed him again.  But it wasn’t all glorious. Eleven of the twelve disciples ended up martyred. But I trust that even in death they discovered the light again as they followed him in resurrection faith perfectly.

We don’t know when to be peaceful and when to be angry. But we do know, to keep moving towards the light.

And this is my desire for St. John’s, that we would be people of the light, with each other, with our families, with our neighbors.

However, we may choose to engage with the conditions of our days, may it be with integrity that we are disciples of Jesus who love, who show mercy, who care for the least, who pray for their enemies, and who are willing to give their lives away.

My desire is that we would be disciples today, of tomorrow, and on behalf of all those who still need reason to hope that God is real, that the light has dawned, and that all shall be well, for love shall triumph, even over death of every sort.

And I welcome Lisa Beske now to share about her experience of being safe but uncomfortable in an era of politics.

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in Your sight, O LORD 

I subscribe to a daily meditation from the Society of St. John the Evangelist which is a monastery in Cambridge, MA. Recently, Brother David Vryhof wrote:

“How might God be calling you today to be courageous in speaking the truth when you recognize injustice, when you see through the lies and deceptions of the powerful, when you perceive hypocrisy and deceit? How might God be calling you to speak up when you recognize racism, misogyny, xenophobia, or other forms of discrimination? Silence empowers the oppressors. Be bold. Speak truth. And never give up.”

So I stand before you today in this safe place feeling very vulnerable and uncomfortable as I step outside my comfort zone and share this testimony speaking my truth.

Growing up, it was my father who gave me the sense of ultimate protection and safety, even though his career as a journalist took him to dangerous places and despite his spirit always seeking wild and crazy adventures. Everything changed when, at ten years old, my parents divorced and my father died three years later. My sense of stability and security was suddenly shaken to its core.

Years later, Martin Luther King was murdered, and riots broke out all across Washington, DC and the surrounding suburbs where we lived. President Johnson invoked the Insurrection Act of 1807 dispatching federal troops and Army National Guardsmen. The occupation of DC was the largest of any American city since the Civil War. My mother assumed the role of my protector.  When rioters were racing through the woods behind our neighborhood, Mom sat at the top of the staircase outside her bedroom holding a shotgun she once used with my Dad when they went skeet shooting. Her reasoning was anyone who entered could do what they wanted on the first floor, but God help them if they placed one foot on the staircase to the second floor where we were.

Fast forward to where I am today, a 72-year-old woman watching as several cities across the US either have been or are currently occupied by troops.  People all around me, known and unknown, have no one sitting at their doorway providing a sense of protection from the threats and craziness. I am feeling afraid and worried about loved ones who are so vulnerable. I don’t sleep well; I feel sick to my stomach when I read reports of atrocities that get worse from one day to the next. I watch as respect for human dignity is betrayed by an unraveling social safety net. Economic policies reward the wealthy at the expense of working families and the poor. I fear the world is collapsing around me and I worry daily that everything will come crashing down. I am sure whether conservative or liberal or somewhere in-between, many of us are living with a sense of threat – to our families, to our financial stability, to our marginalized neighbors, to our democracy and to the world around us.

Matthew’s gospel tells us that “the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death, light has dawned. Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” I hear these words and am reminded that the light shines in the darkness and the darkness will not overcome it. I need only to continue putting my trust in our sovereign God knowing His Kingdom will never crumble. God asks me to love my neighbor AND love my enemy – each of whom are made in the image of God. Loving my enemy, especially in today’s environment, is the hardest love for me to fulfill. Our weekly Loving Kindness meditations help me practice this week after week, day after day.  As Br. Vryhof said, “God is calling me and reminding me never to give up”. Eric said in his Epiphany meditation “like when Christ walked upon the waters to meet his disciples, He now bids us to join Him where He is. It is safe. He is safe. All will be well, for He has come.”

Just like I felt safe with my father or mother protecting me as a child, I need to always remember that I am safe – I always have been and I always will be – in the assurance of God’s love and ultimate goodness in these dangerous times.

Thanks be to God.