Last week, driving back to Philadelphia from Pittsburgh, I spent several hours on I-76. While intermittently admiring the hilly terrain and rural countryside, I was frequently distracted by a series of religious-themed billboards. Perhaps you have seen them. They include a variety of messages, all of the same ilk.
Here are a few of them. “Where are you going? Heaven or hell?” “Jesus can free you from sin!” “Jesus: Your only way to God.” One of the more ominous ones had the following words inscribed above and below what appeared to be the squiggly line on a heart monitor, with the peaks and valleys morphing into a straight line visually signifying death. This sign said, “After you die, you will meet God.”
Now, some of the billboards I simply found hard to stomach for various reasons. But I couldn’t necessarily argue with all of them on the surface. Yes, I do believe Jesus can and does free us from sin! Yes, I can talk to God like Jesus did, although admittedly Jesus was a lot better at it than I. Yes, Jesus does offer peace and hope to us. Yes, I, do believe that Jesus is alive. If I didn’t, I would not be here in this pulpit.
The billboard I found most mystifying showed a teenager reading a Bible and had the clear suggestion that to know who Jesus is, we should read Matthew’s Gospel. Well, okay, but what about Luke, Mark, and John?
You get the point, I’m sure. I’m willing to give the benefit of a doubt that the intention behind these billboards was good, at least on some level. But to a T, what I discerned lurking in every single one of these billboards was smugness.
Every one of these messages, even if stating some truth about Christianity with which I would agree, had an implicit message. This unstated message read as follows: “Those of us who have prepared these billboards for your edification have the definitive truth, which we are sharing with you, so that one day, when you meet your Maker, you end up in the right place.” Although some of the billboard messages were more comforting than others, many of them played off an age-old tactic of fear.
The problem is that I don’t believe this kind of fear really works. I doubt many of us want to continue into the next life with a bunch of people who are scared out of their wits. I think heaven is much bigger than a holding pen for people who have been traumatized by the journey to get there.
So, what in the world do these billboards, I-76, heaven, and hell have to do with the Feast of the Epiphany? Well, I’m getting there. So, let’s go back to the Letter to the Ephesians. The author, probably not Paul himself but writing as Paul, is making a series of bold claims in chapter three. The author is claiming a special revelation from God of something radically new to the Hellenistic-Jewish world he inhabits. God’s promises of hope and salvation, first laid out in covenant after covenant throughout the Old Testament, then in the flesh of a Jewish man named Jesus of Nazareth, have now encompassed a new dimension. God’s promises are now shared between Jew and Gentile.
There is more: the author of the letter to the Ephesians claims to be God’s messenger to bring this good news to the Gentiles. And there is yet more, and this is where it gets even more daring: this author attributes to Paul a particular understanding of God’s mystery and eternal purpose. And finally, here’s the stinger: in Christ Jesus, all of us are reconciled to one another and God.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I notice two things in this excerpt from Ephesians. The first is that the author, purporting to be Paul, is fired up about some astounding good news, and he can’t help but share it. This news is meant to be shared by Jew and Gentile alike, and it is good news because its embrace is wondrously inclusive.
But the second thing I notice is a statement that “in former generations this mystery was not made known to humankind.” This can sound a bit exclusive, as if no one before had been able to understand anything of God’s mysterious revelation. As if anyone could fully understand the mystery at work here.
And so, we are left with a quandary. How do we reconcile a seemingly exclusive claim on truth with the inclusive vision that lies at the very heart of it? How do we hold the truth of the author’s claim and not use it to beat others down?
If we paraphrase the message of Ephesians, the Gentiles are late to the party. Not having been explicitly a part of the previous covenants between God and his people recounted throughout the Old Testament, the Gentiles are yet now described as “fellow heirs” and “members of the same body.” But, the author of Ephesians asserts, even if the Gentiles are late to the party, they are not missing out on anything. Now, all people, regardless of race or clan or tribe, have access to the full riches of Christ’s gospel. At its heart, the message of Ephesians is about the reconciliation of all people with one another and God. And at the center of this stands Christ.
And this is the first of two main messages of the Feast of the Epiphany: that in God’s manifestation to the world in Christ, we are reconciled both with one another and even with the most unpredictable and perhaps abhorrent strangers imaginable. In the way that God chooses for his Son to be revealed as light to the world’s darkness, we see all boundaries disappearing and all hasty assumptions falling away. We see in the journey of magi astrologers to the infant King that God works from within their unchristian, pagan ways to lead them to Jesus. The magi follow the only thing they know anything about—the stars—and they find Christ Jesus. But not first before confronting the evil Herod. Even here, God works through this tyrant to lead the magi on to the Christ child. You see, Christ’s epiphany is a mystery beyond our explaining. That the magi found Christ was straightforward. How they got there was less so.
As I made my journey on I-76 last week, trying to stay within the lines marked on the interstate while reading the religious signs ranging from ostensibly truthful to patently offensive, there was a paradoxical metaphor at work. Processing the implicit and explicit theology of the signs, I became more and more determined to stay within the lines God has charted for me. To be more open to God’s presence and work in the world around me, I should stay in my own lane and not attempt to control the lives of others. And yet, as God manifests the truth of his gospel to a dark world that so badly needs its light, God does not stay within lanes. God drives the vehicles of his revelation where he chooses, and his light reaches those it most needs to reach. In some way, perhaps unknown to us, we must play a role in helping that light reach those for whom it is destined.
There is a responsibility we must claim as ambassadors of Christ’s gospel. We are here because we believe it’s true. I hope we are here because the gospel has brought us life. I hope we have seen it bring life to others. I hope we all can trust that it heals and changes lives. I believe that it is what can truly heal the fractious, unruly character of this world. Epiphany is our own call to venture out into the world’s darkness to bring Christ’s light into it, to announce abundant light into overwhelming darkness.
But we are left with the puzzling paradox of staying in our human lanes to let God be God and also giving voice to the truth we know in the depths of our souls. We can’t simply reduce it to billboard slogans of fear and arrogance. So, we find ourselves confronted by the second main message of this evening’s feast: all we have is a gift from God.
We think we must come to this feast every year bearing the gifts of our lives, as the magi brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh. But our purpose in coming to God’s altar this night is also to worship, adore, and receive the gift that God gives us in every Mass. Tonight that gift is amplified by the knowledge that God’s manifestation to the world is pure gift. We cannot control it. We cannot wield the gospel to force others into heaven. All we can do is accept the gift of the gospel, ponder it in our hearts, manifest it in our lives, and let its light shine and speak for itself in a world that will inevitably be illumined by its radiance. Then we pray that others will receive the good news. This is our call and none other. It is pure gift.
And one final afterthought from the magi: let us stay within our own lanes with humility and reverence, because in sharing Christ’s light, we carry the mystery of the gospel into darkness. If we accept the gift, then we can let God do the driving.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Feast of the Epiphany
January 6, 2022