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CONTENTS:
Isaiah 60:1-6, 9
Have you ever walked in the darkness?
I walk in the darkness every night.
I don't mean spiritual or emotional darkness.
I mean outside without lights.
I have five dogs that need to go out before bed.
For me it's usually a time of reflection,
time to sort out the days happenings or to consider the plans for the day to come.
Of course sometimes the day's events trigger bits of emotional or spiritual darkness -- anxieties or disappointments about things that didn't go quite right.
And there was one night last week when everything seemed to be wrong.
Not a big tragedy or a dark night of the soul, just little daily struggles --
the file I needed to work on that evening got left at work;
the sink was full of dirty dishes;
I forgot to make an important phone call;
I was tired and my head hurt.
That was dark enough for me.
I wondered why, after a hard day's work, God didn't send any light into my life.
Of course the dogs didn't understand this.
Usually they are sensitive to my moods,
but that night they just pulled and tugged on their leashes
going about their usual business.
They paid no attention to my hanging head and dragging feet
as I trudged along watching the icy ground in front of me.
They playfully ran around and I ended up tangled in five leashes, unable to move.
I was not amused -- things seemed darker than ever.
I almost freed myself when the elkhound lunged, pulling my legs out from under me.
Sitting there in the snow, I saw the light.
Magnificent pink streaks dancing in the sky.
Sheets of shimmering silver above the tree tops.
The northern lights.
If I hadn't fallen, I'd never have looked up from my darkness.
I'd never have seen the light.
What if the wise men from the East had never looked up?
Epiphany is about looking for the light,
about looking for ways that God shows God's self in our world.
Of course our natural tendency is to look for signs of God in the good things around us
-- in the light.
But that's not where Scripture seems to be telling us to look.
The Christmas stories are full of God in the messy dark places.
From beginning to end God's story is like that: Walking in the darkness.
The most brilliant part of the story is the deadly darkness of the cross.
The cross too is an epiphany -- a manifestation of God in our world.
"Epiphany" means just that: the way God manifests or shows God's self to the world.
The Epiphany message seems to be.
If you're looking for the light, try looking in the darkness.
If you're looking for God, check out the valley of the shadow of death.
Isaiah speaks this message clearly:
"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 is speaking about Jerusalem, but his advice fits any of us living in darkness:
"Lift up your eyes and look around!"
(You don't even have to wait for the elkhound to trip you up!)
And now the light at Good Samaritan is growing --
it's shining out toward the nursing home,
it's reflecting off the newly painted red doors,
it's glowing when the holiday crowd overflowed for lessons and carols,
it's shining on your faces.
Now, that doesn't guarantee that there won't be shadows in our future.
But it IS an epiphany --
a manifestation of God's presence among us here at Good Samaritan.
It is a sign of life, a sign of hope, a light in the darkness, a star to follow.
It is an invitation to bring our gifts and ourselves to offer to God.
So keep an eye on the dark places in your own life.
The disappointments, the losses, the painful moments, the failures.
These are the places where God is liable to show up like a star rising in the darkness.
A glimmer of hope to follow.
A light that can be reflected in our lives.

Psalm 72
Ephesians 3:1-12
Matthew 2:1-12
What if they'd been afraid to look into the darkness?
God is there in the darkness, lift up your eyes.
In the darkness of your life there is a star and it shines on you.
"Arise, shine; for your light has come . . .
The Holy One of Israel has glorified you."

A Sermon for the Second Sunday After the Epiphany
Isiaiah 62:1-5
1 Corinthians 12:1-11
John 2:1-11
Although evidence has it that Jesus was an adult at the time,
it is almost like a picture of Jesus the teenager.
MARY: Jesus, they are all out of wine!
JESUS: Aw, Mom, chill out. What's this got to do with us?
Anyway, it isn't the right time for all this.
MARY: Now,
you nice men, just do whatever my boy here tells you.
What is a good son to do? He doesn't feel ready, but he does the job anyway. And the result is great rejoicing and celebration.
What do we do when we are cornered and asked to do something for which we feel the timing is wrong or that we are not properly prepared? Do we assume that we know better and refuse?
Jesus seemed to know that it wasn't time to do what his mother asked. But in the end he did it anyway. Perhaps there are times when we too might follow Jesus' example and take the risk of saying "yes" even when we feel unprepared.
Some members of our congregation have done just that. Dorothy and Steve, Renee and Sarah have agreed to be our new parish leaders. They took a risk even when they may have thought that this was not a good time or that they were not prepared for their new ministry.
That is not to say that turning ordinary Christians into parish leaders is as difficult and miraculous as changing water into wine.
These people have agreed to share the gifts that God has given them. And that, like Jesus' changing water into wine, can be a sign pointing to God, a reason to believe.
We heard in Paul's letter this morning that "To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good." Like it or not, we are ALL ministers of the Christian faith. Each and every one of us has been given a gift to be used for the good of all of us together.
Part of the problem here is that we often have trouble recognizing our own gifts -- our own talents and abilities. That's when it's good to have a "Jewish mama" like Mary around to push us a little bit: Someone who recognizes the gifts we have to offer the community. Someone who sees the yeasty, joyful wine in our lives where we only see water. Someone who may point out those gifts to others even when we don't feel ready -- when we, like Jesus, want to say "What's this got to do with us? It's not time yet."
Others often recognize our abilities before we do. And here in our parish, in our families, and in our lives in the world, we may be asked to be "Jewish mamas" for each other -- recognizing and affirming what others can do and encouraging them to use their abilities.
It works both ways: it is good both to look for and affirm the gifts that others have and to be willing to accept and use the gifts that others see in us. This is how community works best. It's a kind of covenant.
Our readings today are about the covenant of marriage. And we all know that marriage is not a one-sided deal. The marriage service in our prayer book tells us that marriage is "intended by God for (the covenant partners') mutual joy." A marriage, whether between man and woman, or, as in our Old Testament reading, between the builders (or sons) and the Land, requires mutuality if it is to result in the delight and rejoicing that Isaiah writes about.
The kind of mutuality we see at Cana -- recognizing and affirming the gifts or abilities of another and being willing to use those gifts for the good of the community -- are key elements in any relationship: mother & child or marriage partners, friends or business partners, ministers & congregation or wardens & Vestry.
Mutuality means that when we make a commitment to minister in this parish, we are not alone. Our new leaders cannot offer their gifts without the rest of us being involved too. We are called to support each other by recognizing the gifts that others have been given and by sharing our own gifts.
It is then that we share that covenant joy, it is then that we are a sign of God's presence, It is then we realize that God is in this covenant with us.
It is here serving God together that a miracle occurs, the ‘ordinary water' of our lives becomes rich wine. It is here, in our covenant together, that we are able to see in one another the signs of God's presence among us. And, seeing the signs, we, like the disciples, believe.
The invitation is now. Our ordinary water is turned to wine. Let us celebrate the covenant!
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A Sermon for the Third Sunday after the Epiphany
Nehemiah 8:2-10
So, what's with those Hebrew people in our reading from Nehemiah?
The only reason I can figure to weep about our readings today would be the frustration of trying to pronounce all those Hebrew names.
Of course that's part of the "law" they were reading --
the genealogies, the list of the names of their ancestors.
That's probably why they had so many guys up there on the platform --
to help figure out the right pronunciation.
And all those other guys down in the crowd to interpret:
"They gave the sense, so that the people understood the reading."
Maybe that's our problem too: We need someone to interpret so we can understand. Sometimes Scripture doesn't seem to speak our language.
But what if our second reading for Super Bowl Sunday sounded like this:
If the whole team were tackles, where would the running backs be?
If the whole team were running backs, where would the kickers be?
And if the whole team were kickers, where would the cornerbacks be?
But as it is, the coach has arranged the players of the team,
each one of them, as he chose.
If all were quarterbacks, where would the team be?
As it is, there are many players, yet one team.
The quarterback cannot say to the tackle, 'I don't need you.'
Nor can the defensive ends say to the running backs, 'We don't need you.'
On the contrary ... if one player suffers, the team suffers together with him;
if one player is honored, the team rejoices with him.
The Super Bowl version of 1 Corinthians 12:12-26 from "Homiletics with Leonard Sweet", January-February, 1997, volume 10, number 1, page 36
Twelve years ago I got a phone call from my kids' school.
One of my daughters had won some kind of essay contest
and they were inviting me to hear her read it at a school assembly.
It would be difficult for me to get there because we had several foster kids as well,
but I managed to arrange it,
partly because I was feeling a bit guilty
wondering if I had been giving my birth children enough attention
because of the demands of the troubled emergency foster kids.
I was a bit anxious when I discovered that the kids' essay topic
was to write about their mothers for Mothers' Day:
Was Miranda going to tell them about the chaos in our lives? --
about waking up each morning and not knowing
how many brothers and sisters she had that day.
She writes well and reads it well.
She tells the truth -- even about the chaos.
But it's her conclusion that brings the tears:
"No matter how many of us there are, she always has time for each of us."
The tears are not because of anything I did right.
Or because of all the things I did wrong.
The tears are because in her essay I hear her love for me stated publicly.
It's beautiful. It's embarrassing. It's overwhelming.
It's a personal love letter read in public.
That's what the Bible is.
The Bible is a personal love letter from God.
A love letter with all the passionate intensity --
the desire, the anger, the fears and the hopes that real love can bring.
That's what the Hebrew people heard Ezra read.
The truth: The law including the things they did right and the things they did wrong.
But the bottom line is God's overwhelming love for God's people.
And they wept and they rejoiced.
All of them wept together and rejoiced together because it's a community love letter.
Because as God's beloved we are one body,
one team in which every player is necessary.
The contest is for our salvation.
The prize is unconditional love and eternal life.
And the Bible says we're all on the winning team.
Read it and weep.
But do not grieve, for the joy of the LORD is our strength.
Hallelujah!
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Psalm 113
1 Corinthians 12:12-27
Luke 4:14-21
For the team is one and has many players,
and all the players of the team, though many, are one team ...
Indeed the team does not consist of one player, but of many.
If the defensive end would say,
'Because I am not the quarterback, I do not belong to the team,'
that would not make him any less a part of the team.
And if the right tackle would say,
'Because I am not a wide receiver, I do not belong to the team,'
that would not make him any less a part of the team.
What! No tears?
Didn't you understand it?
Or maybe it's not personal enough.
If you were a player whose team just won, that reading might bring tears;
maybe even if you were a player's wife or parent.
When was the last time you heard anything read that brought you to tears?
If you remember such a time, there was probably some strong personal connection.
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