January 7, 2023 @ Trinity Bixby
Rev. Lucus Levy Keppel
Isaiah 60:1-6, Matthew 2:1-12
Over a decade ago, I was living in
Nome, Alaska, working for a Catholic radio station while I began the process of
finding my first call – the first church I would serve as a pastor. I remember,
early one morning, I heard back from a church that wanted to interview me – and
how special it felt that things were moving forward. We scheduled a time to
talk, and I got to thinking about how God’s call to ministry takes some odd twists
and turns. After all, there I was on the Bering Sea, a half-continent away both
from my home state of Michigan and from the church that wanted to interview me,
in New Mexico. That evening, my four roommates and I got another exciting call –
one we had been hoping for since we moved in! The Aurora Borealis, the northern
lights – they were shining in the skies above the tundra! We all rushed to get
our warm clothing on, hopped in the one car that we shared, and drove out of
town to a remote hillside, where we plopped down on the tundra, and watched the
skies above.
If you’ve seen pictures of the Aurora,
you know that it’s usually shimmering with a green light. That’s how this
began, too – a soft green ribbon, shimmering across the sky. Bands of color,
waving in the celestial wind. But then – something unexpected. Some of the
bands changed color, fading from green, and back into a bright pink! It was
hard to look away, despite the cold and frozen ground, but it seemed like the
whole world around us was lit up with green and pink light, each casting
shadows in different directions. And every now and then, a white streak would
light up the sky, more brightly than the northern lights, even if just for a
few moments – these shooting stars were a coincident meteor swarm! Awestruck at
the beauty of the heavens above, my roommates and I stayed put for over an hour
and a half, mostly in silence. When the Aurora had dimmed a bit, and we were
solidly cold, we stood up, and marveled again – for, while the cold of the permafrost
had seeped into our bodies, we had transferred heat back into the ground below
us. Without even trying, we had made “permafrost angels” shaped to our bodies –
a melted spot that continued to look upwards even as we warmed up at home with
cocoa and conversation.
I’ve often remembered those lights above
– the beauty and majesty, even glory, of a sky illuminated not just by stars but
by curtains of light and streaks of meteors. In the world before electric
lighting, such an amazing display would have been more frequently seen –
especially by peoples around the world who tried to interpret meaning from
everything that takes place in the skies above.
The sky was considered God’s home by
the ancient Hebrew people – God is referred to in several places in the Bible
as El elyon – God-from-on-high. The lights of the stars and the moon and
the sun are all referred to as reflections of God’s glory – and the prophets
play with this concept frequently, referencing the light of God shining from
people, just as it shines from the heavens. As Isaiah says, “Arise, shine, your
light has come; the Lord’s glory has shone upon you. Though darkness covers the
earth and gloom the nations, the Lord will shine upon you; God’s glory will
appear over you…. Lift up your eyes, and look all around…. Then you will see
and be radiant; your heart will tremble and open wide.”
Perhaps, then, it’s no wonder that Magi,
who were ancient astronomers and advisors to kings in Persia, Parthia, and
beyond, would take note of special signs in the skies. While there were no cameras
at the manger, and we’ll never have a complete picture of the star of Bethlehem
that the Magi followed westward, I can only begin to picture its beauty by remembering
the aurora. Yet, most of our imaginings of the star of Bethlehem, that famous
Christmas star, do so as a linked set of crosses, a horizontal one in the form
of St. Andrew’s cross, and a vertical one with a very long tail, pointing downward.
It’s rare to see any movement depicted in the star – yet, clearly the Magi
followed something. I like to imagine it as akin to the aurora, pulsing and
waving through the atmosphere above in pinks and greens and whites, beckoning
all who see it to stop and look up at the marvel of God’s creation – and then
down, seeing the Word made flesh, God choosing to become fully human. Perhaps
this is only visible in hindsight, but the radiance of God shone from the
heavens, and from Jesus, and from all who followed the Way that Jesus taught.
That light from God is not any less
beautiful when we can’t see it. Indeed, we continue to shine with its invisible
lovelight, that occasionally flares into the visible world. As my
great-grandfather put it in a prayer-poem:
Stars that shine above, tell of God’s love.
For even when clouds hide, still they are there.
So we, dear Father, though shadows hide Thee,
Know Thou art keeping watch with tenderest care.
Beauty and love, visible and invisible – God is our constant
companion, now and always. Along with the Hebrew people, along with the Magi,
along with the early church, and along with our neighbors, we follow God’s
light in our lives. The Magi found wisdom in their journey, and returned with word
of the divine in the world. Yet, amid their search, shadows emerged – Herod’s
deceit veiled by the guise of reverence, threatening the purity of the newborn’s
light. This paradox, where shadows seem to cloak divine radiance, echoes our own
reality – an imperfect world where darkness and light contend with each other.
But pure light would blind us as surely as pure darkness – perhaps this is why
God’s presence, though constant, is only occasionally visible.
Our souls resonate with the celestial
dance of stars, the heavenly starlight, bearing witness to God’s unwavering
presence in all places – the heavens above, on earth below, and within our
hearts. The cosmic ballet reminds us that God’s light persists, guiding,
comforting, and revealing. Even its shifting colors remind us that life is
always in motion – reforming and reorganizing according to the will of God.
Our lives are woven with moments of
unexpected beauty, unexpected turns, and unseen connections. It’s in these
intricacies that God’s guiding hand manifests – a vibrant reminder that amidst
life’s twists and turns, God’s light persists, illuminating our paths and
inviting us to reflect the light in our daily encounters. In the busyness of
our lives, it’s easy to overlook the divine choreography unfolding around us –
a dance of grace, love, and unexpected joy.
As we navigate our early pilgrimage,
let us remain attentive to the hues of God’s presence. The lights above are not
limited to those who look up, as we reflect God’s light in our lives. So, let
us heed the divine invitation – becoming bearers of God’s radiant revelation.
Let us marvel in the majesty above, and leave “angels” of our presence behind
us, from the warmth we share with the world. Let our lives echo the Magi, who sought
wisdom, and were willing to listen when God sent them warnings – and also were
able to marvel at God’s presence in the world.
May you follow the
light of God wherever it leads you. May you be filled with the light of the
Holy Spirit to shine from you on every path you take, whether it’s the one you
expected, or not. May the light of Jesus shine from the face of all you
encounter, that you can know that we are all children of the Light. Amen.
