(singing) This little light of mine, I m gonna let it shine I don t really like that song. Am I allowed to say that? It s just suuuuch a childish song, with the repetition and the motions and the won t let Satan [blow] it out... It is a kid s song, so I suppose childishness is to be expected. But I think what really bugs me is the size thing. This little light is going to drive back the darkness? It just seems so naive, so pathetic, so small. Compared to the darkness, which is strong, and fearsome, and always present. It s been a dark year in 2016. At least, that s what all the year-in-review stories have been about this week. The worst year ever was the gist of some of them, even. Some of that was mostly fluff, mourning the passing of celebrities and cultural icons. But some was serious, calculating the atrocities of the Syrian War, the refugee crisis, global poverty, terrorism, and political divisions. In The Two Towers from Lord of the Rings, there s a scene where the heroes of Rohan are trapped at Helm s Deep, pushed back into the last corner of their castle by Saruman s hordes. Most of the soldiers are running around in a last ditch effort to save the women and children, but King Theoden is just standing in the middle of the room, stunned. So much death, he says. What can men do against such reckless hate? When I looked that up online yesterday, I found that somebody had recorded that scene on a loop and put it on youtube ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bdrfaos1eae ), just those words so much death over and over again for 10 minutes straight. The title was so much death for 10 minutes. (I found that funny for some reason...) So much death, of masses, of heros, of futures. What hope does this little light of mine have against such a vast darkness? Of course this is nothing new. The challenges facing people in Isaiah s time were much the same as they are now. And yet, Isaiah offers a vision of hope: Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.
For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you. Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn. (Isaiah 60) Isaiah isn t naive about the darkness. War and Poverty, Oppression and Empire. In previous chapters, he names and grieves for all of these. The darkness shall cover the the earth, it seems all-encompassing and overwhelming. But! The darkness is not the end of the story. A new day is coming, the Day of the Lord, the day of Light. Isaiah s vision of the Light is just as large as his understanding of the darkness. This is a huge scene--a new dawn, all nations streaming to the light of Israel s sun, the Mountain of God filled with the wealth and flocks and herds of the world, political and economic systems realigned in service to God. This isn t wishful thinking, Isaiah s faith is grounded in the history of his people, of God s rescue and provision and goodness. God defeated the darkness before, and so God will do it again. The Day of the Lord is coming. And Isaiah has the audacity to speak in the present tense: Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For 500 years, the People of God wrestled with that vision and promise. Various groups fought for the Day of the Lord with military violence. Some looked to economic and political deal-making to win freedom and influence. And a great many looked to religion, to purity and law-keeping as the path to win back God s favour. (Sounds familiar?) The expectation was for change on a grand scale, the world turned upside down, the very End of the Age. That s what the Day of the Lord meant to the Jews. And so it s little wonder that when that Day came, most people missed it. As John s gospel puts it, The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.
(John 1) I think they did not recognize it because they were looking for something big, and what came was something remarkably small. We all know the story of Epiphany. You know the story, magi, travellers from the East come to Jerusalem, having followed a star that told of a new King born to the Jews. King Herod is not amused, but his advisors tell the foreigners that the Messiah is prophesied to come from Bethlehem. So the astrologers continue on, and when they arrive in Bethlehem they again see the star pointing the way to the house where Jesus was. And they go in and kneel before the child and offer him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. As the centuries have passed, we ve added our own details and meaning to the story, making the Magi into the exotic, royal figures, imagining their names and backstories and their journey. There s actually precious few details about these travellers in the story. What we do have is a very strong connection to the prophecy from Isaiah: Foreigners coming to worship, following a Light, offering gifts of Gold and Frankincense. Matthew s Jewish readers were meant to hear the story and think immediately of Isaiah: Arise, shine, for your light has come! I don t blame those who missed it. The allusions to Isaiah s Day of the Lord are clear, but this scene is most definitely not what they were looking for. This event is so small, it s a farce. The scale is almost laughable. A handful of travellers, maybe a few camels. At best a small amount of gold and frankincense and myrrh. A common house. A small child. This is the promise? This is the light? What good can possibly come of something so small? When Jesus grew up into a wandering rabbi, he often talked about smallness. [The Kingdom of God], Jesus said, is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and
becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade. (Matt 13) The size of the thing isn t the whole story, according to Jesus. There is power in potential, in growth and generosity and hospitality, no matter how small. The Reign of God is like this. [Jesus] told them another parable: The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened. (Matt 13) Size is secondary to purpose, to usefulness. The yeast scales up, a small thing with a big influence. The Kingdom of God is like this. And also, The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it. (Matt 13) I ve always thought those last two were pretty ridiculous. It s pretty poor planning to sell everything for just one thing. When I was a kid, I saw a cartoon illustration of that merchant selling everything he owns to buy the pearl, even the clothes off his back, so that in the last frame he s buck-naked but holding onto that pearl and clicking his heels in pure joy. What an idiot! What s he going to do for food, for shelter, for work? Now he s a merchant with nothing to sell. He s got this great pearl, but what about all the other things of life? Unless that s the only thing that really matters. Which, of course, is the point of the parable. The Kingdom of God is like this. One more parable, this one from Mark 4 - [Jesus] also said, The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come. (Mark 4) By most standards, this farmer s efforts are pretty poor. He doesn t plow, or fertilize, or pull any weeds, he just scatters the seeds. He is ignorant of how it
works, he certainly isn t nurturing or diligent. And yet the seed sprouts and grows and provides a harvest. Because it s not about the farmer, it s about the persistence of life, the goodness inherent in the seed and the dirt and the rain and the sun, that s what brings the harvest. The seed was small, and the farmer was ignorant, but the harvest came anyway. The Kingdom of God is like this. That last parable reminds me of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. For the Whos of Whoville, Christmas was this big production. And the Grinch hated Christmas, so he stole all of the presents and decorations and food. And he s got all this stuff on his sled, about to push it over the edge of the cliff, when he pauses to relish the moment. In his grinchy glee, he imagines the wails of grief and disappointment of the Whos when they wake to their empty house and bare cupboards.
The Kingdom of God is like this. Whether we understand it and recognize it or not, it comes just the same. On a grand scale or, more often, a small one, it comes just the same. Even when the darkness persists, God s light comes just the same. It s interesting in the Grinch story, that even though the Grinch is the villain, it turns out that he s actually been a friend to the Whos, by revealing the core of their meaning. He s cut through the clutter, he s gotten rid of the non-essentials, so that the true light of Christmas shines through. (Until the end of the story when he brings all of the stuff back and simply joins them in their consumerism mixed messages much? Anyway ) Jesus is like the Grinch, cutting through to the heart of the matter, the true value of God s presence: The Light of God has come; it s in us and with us. And when we
love our neighbour, not our theoretical neighbour around the world, but the flesh and blood community around us, when we love no war, no fear, no death, no self-aggrandizing world leader, no darkness can overcome it. The light comes, just the same. Two things I m taking away from this Epiphany story. One is to not worry so much about the Big Stuff. Yes, things like global economics and climate change and government corruption matter. But they tend to dominate our thinking in unhelpful ways. If the Kingdom of God comes in small things, would it be better to keep an eye on the big picture, but focus our efforts on solutions in our local community? The witness of Jesus is that the Kingdom of God comes through individuals called to follow, through hearts that are turned towards love, through lives that are given in service, through local communities that follow in the way of Jesus. We must get to the big stuff, but the next step is right in front of us. That s a piece that s been out of balance in my life recently, so something to work on. The second thing is that I need to rethink my criticism of This Little Light of Mine. Yes, the darkness is large and my light is small. But God is present in me, in you, in us, and so our lights matter. Hear that this morning: Your light matters. You are not just a single vote in a democracy, not just a taxpayer or a wage-earner or a dependent or a credit card number. You may be small, in the grand scheme of things, but your light contains the very presence of God. Arise, shine, for your light has come. (we then lit candles and sang This Little Light of Mine with full sincerity. :)
How the Light Comes by Jan Richardson (janrichardson.com) I cannot tell you how the light comes. What I know is that it is more ancient than imagining. That it travels across an astounding expanse to reach us. That it loves searching out what is hidden what is lost what is forgotten or in peril or in pain. That it has a fondness for the body for finding its way toward flesh for tracing the edges of form for shining forth through the eye, the hand, the heart. I cannot tell you how the light comes, but that it does. That it will. That it works its way into the deepest dark that enfolds you, though it may seem long ages in coming or arrive in a shape you did not foresee.
And so may we this day turn ourselves toward it. May we lift our faces to let it find us. May we bend our bodies to follow the arc it makes. May we open and open more and open still to the blessed light that comes.