Sunday Musings

Glory beckons

Today is the first Sunday in 2024 and the first Sunday after Epiphany (Epiphany is January 6). Epiphany is the church season in which God’s light is revealed in the world, when glory is made manifest. The spiritual flow of these winter seasons are awaiting light in the darkness (Advent); Light overcoming darkness (Christmas); and following the light to its glorious source (Epiphany). The story moves from flickering candle light, to the Light of the Cradle, to seekers welcomed into the widening circle of light.

As an old Episcopal prayer puts it thus on Epiphany: O God, by the leading of a star you manifested your only Son to the peoples of the earth: Lead us, who know you now by faith, to your presence, where we may see your glory face to face.

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Genesis 1:1-5

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

Psalm 29: 1-3, 9-11

Afferte Domino, from the Book of Common Prayer

Ascribe to the Lord, you gods,
ascribe to the Lord glory and strength.

Ascribe to the Lord the glory due his Name;
worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.

The voice of the Lord is upon the waters;
the God of glory thunders;
the Lord is upon the mighty waters. . .

And in the temple of the Lord
all are crying, "Glory!"

The Lord sits enthroned above the flood;
the Lord sits enthroned as King for evermore.

The Lord shall give strength to his people;
the Lord shall give his people the blessing of peace.

Mark 1:4-11

John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

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My photograph. Sunrise over valley fog, Asheville, NC. December 28, 2023

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On Epiphany morning there was a newsletter from the poet David Whyte. The title seemed seasonal — “A Star for Navigation.” I expected a post, maybe a poem, on the biblical story of the Wise Men. I eagerly clicked the link. But my theological geek self was disappointed. The post was about finding one’s true work and vocation:

Every work begins as an intimation and discovery. Like the first time as a child we walk to the edge of a Yorkshire field, glimpse a new horizon, and immediately want to go there. We do not know where the horizon will take us. We have a glimmering, an inclination, a notion that somehow we will find something beyond our present knowledge. . . Each of us, somewhere in the biography of our childhood, remembers a moment where we felt a portion of the world calling and beckoning to us.

I appreciated his short essay, especially his rendering of calling as a horizon. I get it. I like horizons as a symbol, image, and actual place. I’ve written quite a bit about horizons — as transcendence, as guide for the journey, as location for the future, as cosmic mystery.

But I missed those wandering mystical astrologers — until I realized that those ancient Wise Men were doing exactly what the poet described. The Epiphany story is a tale of journeying toward a horizon — a place of radiance and peace — drawn by a star. From the East they came, beckoned by its glimmering glory and the longings of their hearts, until that star stopped and was overhead, most surprisingly, shone upon the Child. Epiphany took them to a new horizon, the unexpected place of their longings and dreams.

When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage.

They praised the Child, gave offerings fit for a king. One can imagine the angels echoing their accolades with their song from Luke: Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.

Glory! Shimmering on the horizon, luring seekers to the place, made manifest in this small child. Glory tears open the heavens and endues creation with luminous love. Calling, leading, wooing.

Contemporary people don’t use the word “glory” as much as our ancestors did. “Glory” was especially popular in the Middle Ages and early modern period, when it was commonplace to speak of the glory of a ruler, a nation, or a military hero. Indeed, Queen Elizabeth I was know by the nickname, “Gloriana,” a moniker hard to imagine assigned to the next Queen Elizabeth. Words do change over time, and “glory” has, ironically, faded and remains mostly in religious vocabulary.

In his sermon, “The Weight of Glory,” C.S. Lewis speaks of glory in terms of praise or accolades, but also points to an another, more mysterious dimension of glory:

Glory [is] brightness, splendor, luminosity. We are to shine as the sun, we are to be given the Morning Star. I think I begin to see what it means. In one way, of course, God has given us the Morning Star already: you can go and enjoy the gift on many fine mornings if you get up early enough.

What more, you may ask, do we want? Ah, but we want so much more — something the books on aesthetics take little notice of. But the poets and the mythologies know all about it. We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words — to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.

We want to be united with the beauty we see. Glory lures us, something in us longs to be one with the light.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory. John 1:14

That brings me back to David Whyte. You needn’t be a star-gazer, soothsayer, or wise man to see that gleaming light. Even the youngest child may glimpse glory — the light of the distant horizon, the morning star that rises. I know what he’s talking about, that desire to discover what is just beyond, to reach that which beckons us. There it is! Rising, just over the hills, the light breaks through the dark, over the mists.

Look to the edge, that place where earth and heaven meet. Can you see the glistening beauty?

O star of wonder, star of night
Star with royal beauty bright
Westward leading, still proceeding
Guide us to thy perfect light.

Epiphany: the light beckons. We do not know where the horizon will take us. But we go. The more we follow, the brighter it shines and the clearer the way. Glimpses will surprise us. And, someday, the star will stand still, showering us in glory. We shall see face to face.

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INSPIRATION

Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who make the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and crotchety –

best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light –
good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.
— Mary Oliver, “Why I Wake Early”

When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among others,
To make music in the heart.
— Howard Thurman, “The Work of Christmas”

I thought, He must forebear to reveal His power and glory by presenting Himself as Himself, and must be present only in the ordinary miracle of the existence of His creatures. Those who wish to see Him must see Him in the poor, the hungry, the hurt, the wordless creatures, the groaning and travailing beautiful world.
―Wendell Berry, from Jayber Crow

Glory falls around us
as we sob
a dirge of
desolation on the Cross
and hatred is the ballast of
the rock
which lies upon our necks
and underfoot.
We have woven
robes of silk
and clothed our nakedness
with tapestry.
From crawling on this
murky planet's floor
we soar beyond the
birds and
through the clouds
and edge our way from hate
and blind despair and
bring honor
to our brothers, and to our sisters cheer.
We grow despite the
horror that we feed
upon our own
tomorrow.
We grow.
— Maya Angelou, “Glory Falls”

It may be possible for each to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbour. The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbour’s glory should be laid daily on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken. It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal . . . Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses.
— C.S. Lewis, “The Weight of Glory”

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✨SOUTHERN LIGHTS STARTS FRIDAY!✨

A gathering expecting epiphany.
Join us online from January 12-14 — or view later via recording.

Our theme is Reimagining Faith Beyond Patriarchy and Hierarchy.

YOU ARE INVITED to join me and Brian McLaren as we reimagine our faith beyond patriarchy and hierarchy in our interior lives, in our communities of faith, and in the Scriptures.

We’ve asked three remarkable speakers to take us through this journey: Cole Arthur Riley, Simran Jeet Singh, and Elizabeth “Libbie” Schrader Polczer (our “resident” Mary Magdalene guide!). Our special guest chaplain for the weekend will be the Rev. Winnie Varghese (St. Luke’s Episcopal, Atlanta). And you’ll be treated to the amazing music of Ken Medema and Solveig Leithaug and other surprise offerings!

ONLINE INFORMATION AND REGISTRATION CAN BE FOUND HERE

You can sign up until the day the conference begins. But we encourage you to do so earlier!

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The glory of Christianity is its claim that small things really matter
and that the small company, the very few, the one man, the one woman, the one child
are of infinite worth to God.

— Archbishop Michael Ramsey