Preaching in Epiphany
Lectionary year C readings from Luke
Ken Sundet Jones
Welcome to Ordinary Time. After all the holy day and holly days, the thirteenth day after the Nativity can come as a let-down. In the thin gruel of winter sunshine and icy temps, especially in northern latitudes, it’s easy to fall into the mindset at the onset of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 73:
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
But this season is not so ordinary, because it’s the season of the church year in which Jesus is revealed, in which light bulbs appear over our heads in aha moments. Just think of what’s given to us to preach on in Epiphany.
Epiphany unwrapped (Epiphany Sunday)
The magi come to Jesus with gifts of frankincense (for the high priest), gold (for the king), and myrrh (for a baby who’s going to die). My preacher yesterday talked about hating to wrap gifts, and it got me thinking about the wise gifts carried from the East being given unwrapped. In the infant recipient, God gives a greater unwrapped gift who bares himself in all his divine grace, love, mercy and his human frailty. The clincher of the whole wrapped v. unwrapped things is that on Easter the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes emerges from the tomb in his birthday suit, completely unwrapped — and steps out into the dawn of his rule.
Jesus baptized is Jesus sunk deep in sin (Baptism of Our Lord)
Allow me to quote from a text chat I had this morning with Ryan Stevenson-Cosgrove about what Jesus’ baptism reveals about us. “It’s scandalous to us that Jesus would be baptized. The scandal is usually couched in the objection that there is no reason Jesus should need to be baptized. But that’s not the real problem we have with his baptism. That’s just some drummer up conundrum we through up to disguise our real objection. The real problem we have with Jesus’ baptism is the trajectory of it. We don’t want God to save us. And if God is going to save us, we don’t want to really be saved. We just want to be helped along the way in our own self-salvation/glory story/self-continuity project. We don’t want Jesus doing something so accessible. We want him doing something incredible and summoning us to such heights in the process. We don’t want to trust God is close in the minutiae of life. We want an objective so we can live by our own righteousness. God is hidden in God’s proximity. God isn’t hidden because God is far off. God is hidden because he is so close. Having trouble seeing God in your life or seeing the power of your baptism? You’re probably just looking too high.”
Saving the best for last (2nd Sunday after the Epiphany)
My inclination is always to grump about how I’d rather do ten funerals to one wedding, but Jesus apparently likes weddings. The series The Chosen about the disciples’ experiences with Jesus does a great job of portraying the first of Jesus’ miracles. You get an idea of what a days-long event like this was in that culture. The key moment is when the steward discovers the quality of the water-now-made-into-wine. Jesus stands at the side of the room observing with a wry grin on his face, as if he’s thinking, “I did that. This is exactly what I’m aiming at.” Of course, he follows it up in the gospels’ telling by upside-downing the same-old, same-old of piety and religion.
Jesus’ declaration of independence (3rd Sunday after the Epiphany)
When Jesus comes to the synagogue and reads Isaiah’s words, he lays out his program not only for the next three years of his ministry, he also lays out his agenda for your life. The Spirit that is on him that day in the synagogue not only is fulfilled that day, it also comes in the Gospel and the Sacraments. It disrupts the way of the world with the way things are ordered in Christ’s free realm. You as a preacher are an essential element of Jesus releasing people captive to themselves by boldly delivering what he came to give.
The prophet not accepted in his hometown (4th Sunday after the Epiphany)
The people in the Nazareth synagogue experience cognitive dissonance. Here’s Jesus whom they’ve heard can work miracles, but they know him as a local kid and wonder what’s true. But Jesus doesn’t give them any evidence of his power to work wonders. He just stands on his authority. As to why we won’t do it, he points to Elijah and Elisha whose miracles happen not among God’s chosen people but among outsiders. When the people there see he won’t put on a show, because his power is for those with the faith that comes from need, they want to toss him off a cliff. But here’s the cool thing: no one can stop him. He’s an unctuous one, our Lord is. He slides right through them to scout out people with ears to hear.
Seeing clearly through cataracts (Presentation of the Lord)
Old Simeon and Anna had waited patiently for the appearance of the one who is sent to save them. Their eyes may be clouded by cataracts and their hearing dimmed by age, but they sit at the temple in a posture of expectation. When Joseph and Mary arrive to sacrifice a couple birds, these old ones immediately recognize their messiah for who he is — even as a newborn infant. Their reaction is exactly what we preacher ought to hope for from a gospel word well delivered: Anna and Simeon breathe a sigh of relief. “This is what we’ve waited for, someone who can offer more than old news of the law’s demands. We’re captive, and he’s the one who’ll release us.”
The disciples get told their work won’t stop (5th Sunday after the Epiphany)
When Jesus gets to the shore, Simon, Andrew, James, and John are approaching quitting time. They’re washing their nets, dourly picking out the flotsam and jetsam they’d accumulated instead of the fish they needed to make their living. They’re ready to head home, but Jesus climbs aboard and says, “Let’s fish some more.” Those cranky boatmen obey and haul in a teeming net. Surely they’re amazed at the catch, but Jesus wants to change their piscatory vision so they can see the fish in the nets as captives who need to be unbound, the blind who need sight restored, and the oppressed who need freedom. Who are you preaching to? People you’ve already caught? Or the vast school of muck-feeding garbage fish who are in greater numbers in the world?
Awful things are good news (6th Sunday after the Epiphany)
The Beatitudes are ridiculous. No one wants to mourn or weep or go hungry. No one seeks out others who will defame, revile, or exclude them. But Jesus’ words in Luke’s “sermon on the plain” aren’t aimed at us. Notice who it is Jesus is preaching to. It’s those hungry for hope, ailing folks, people grasped by hurtful powers that won’t let go. Jesus wisely knows his audience wants what he has to offer. Do you suppose Mary had taught her boy the Magnificat? It seems so, for here he comes as a bulldozer raising up the lowly and grading the rough road of unbelief.
You can’t do it, but I can (7th Sunday after the Epiphany)
Jesus continues the “sermon on the plain” with some of his hardest teaching. Where last week Jesus’s Beatitudes are aimed squarely at Robert Capon’s last, lost, and last, now Jesus comes after all us semi-Pelagians and our firm belief that we can play a part in our salvation. With the series of “You have heard it said…but I say” statements, Jesus pushes every last assumption of those who believe their piety, justice, religion, or good intentions are enough, and he makes the work of salvation impossible. Like the disciples in Matthew’s gospel, we throw up our hands and ask “Sheesh, Jesus! Who can do this?” His answer in that gospel applies here: “You can’t. But I can.”
Shiny, happy Jesus (Transfiguration Sunday)
When I think of Jesus shining on the mount of the Transfiguration, I think of the REM song “Shiny Happy People.” But what’s going on here is way more dangerous than we might at first expect. Moses, who appears on the mount with Jesus and Elijah, has been through this before. When he came down from Sinai he’d been transfigured just a tiny bit, and the Israelites were so terrified of his shine that he had to wear a veil over his face. And that was from having only glimpsed God’s back side. Now here’s Jesus with one last epiphany, revealing his glory. Good thing the scene has a cloud come over it, because who can face such glory? Going down the mountain, Jesus begins pointing to the back door of his glory with his passion predictions. It’s on the cross that we can access God’s glory in a way that won’t terrify or destroy us.