THIS LITTLE LIGHT OF MINE
 
Isaiah 62:1-5        Psalm 36:5-10        1 Corinthians 12:1-11             John 2:1-11

Over these recent frigid weeks, I have done some reflecting on the Great Ice Storm of 2009.  During that time, our home was without power and water for a number of days, and icy roads isolated us from our neighbors.  Other than flashlights, our only light source was the wood-burning stove.  Very shortly, we adapted to the sleep/waking pattern natural to our ancestors.  Up with the dawn; to bed at sunset.  I'm sure many of you can relate. 

Under those circumstances,  we 21st Century dwellers were reminded that true night is illuminated only by the moon and stars, and that when there is cloud cover, it can be very dark, indeed.

As a result of that experience, I have been thinking a lot about those living in Biblical times.  The rhythm of the seasons and of day and night governed their actions.  Other than oil lamps, torches, and fires, their only light came from the sun, moon, and stars.  It is no wonder that a solar or lunar eclipse was such a terrifying event.

We should not be surprised, then, that so much of the imagery in the Bible is associated with light and dark, not the least of which is the brilliant and amazing star of Bethlehem.  While such light symbols are meaningful for us, how much more powerful they must've been for a people so often light-deprived.
 
Epiphany, which we are observing right now, is the season of the coming of the light—a time when Christ's light shone forth to all the world, not merely to the Jews.  Our Epiphany Gospel readings move us from Christmas to the baptism of Jesus and the first of his miracles, beginning with the wedding in Cana.

If you study Epiphany hymns, you will find numerous references to light: “Brightest and best of the stars of the morning, dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid,” or “The people who in darkness walked have seen a glorious light; on them broke forth the heavenly dawn who dwelt in death and night.”

This morning's reading from Isaiah employs two light images for the vindication of Jerusalem: the dawn and a burning torch.

So it is fitting that today's collect refers to Jesus as “the light of the world” and that the psalm includes the words, “For with you is the well of life, and in your light we see light.”  For our purposes, perhaps the prayer of the collect is the most instructive: that God’s people might be “illumined” by the Word and Sacraments in order to “shine” with the radiance of Christ's glory.

Aside from its theological significance, the word “epiphany,” according to the dictionary, also refers to “a sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something” or, in simpler terms, “an illuminating discovery,” or “a revealing scene or moment.” [Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Tenth Edition]

It is this kind of epiphany that the disciples experienced at the wedding in Cana.  Prior to this event, Jesus had gathered his followers from such unlikely folk as fishermen and tax collectors.  Something indefinable and hugely significant must have motivated them to leave behind their families and work to follow the man they believed to be the Messiah. And yet . . . and yet . . .  surely they were waiting for some kind of proof, some manifestation of Jesus’ power and glory.

And so we come to the celebration of a marriage in Cana.  Wedding festivities in that culture went on for days, and the reputation of the host and his family depended upon the quality and generosity of their hospitality.  Running out of wine was nothing short of a social catastrophe.

It is useless to speculate on why Jesus at first refused his mother's request to do something about the wine shortage or why she nevertheless persevered in directing the servants.  What matters is that Jesus was moved by compassion to alleviate the embarrassment and pain of the bridegroom's family by performing his first miracle—the transformation of water into wine.

It is equally futile to speculate on how that could have happened.  Miracles, by definition, defy explanation and inspire either cynicism or faith.  This first miracle involved numerous witnesses—Mary, the chief steward, the bridegroom, the disciples, and we assume all of the other guests.

And for the disciples, this miracle inspired faith.  As John tells us, “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.” [John 2:11] An epiphany.

We were not there in Cana; we cannot understand the “how” of it all.  But out of the small miracles of our daily lives, we, like the disciples, can know and believe.

In Cana a joyous celebration of families bonding could have been forever marred by a failure of hospitality and beyond that, by humiliation and shame.  Jesus cared enough to show himself.  “ . . . and the disciples believed in him.”  How can we do otherwise?

But our responsibility does not end with an expression of belief, no matter how deep or heartfelt.  For our marching orders, let us return to the words of today's collect: “Grant that your people, illumined by your Word and Sacraments, may shine with the radiance of Christ's glory, that he may be known, worshiped, and obeyed to the ends of the earth . . . ”

Well, now.  Who are we to carry out such a directive?  How is this to be accomplished?  A significant answer to such questions comes to us from 1 Corinthians: “Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone.  To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.”

Note: the Scripture doesn't say “to some” is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good, but to “each.”  And it is by the sharing of such gifts that we shine Christ's radiance into the dark, painful, lonely corners of our world.
 
In the midst of the heartbreak, stench, and rubble of Haiti, I doubt anyone is asking for credentials before accepting a drink of water, a crust of bread, infant formula, or a clean bandage.  As we struggle to understand where God is in such a disaster, we need look no further than the ordinary human beings offering relief and hope by the exercise of their knowledge, skills, and talents.  Rescue workers, structural engineers, nurses and doctors, clergy, policemen, members of the military, and those who simply sit cradling a child or holding the hand of a distraught parent.  Each one is moved by the Spirit to exhaust him or herself for the common good and to bring Christ's light to that darkest of places.

In similar manner in this time and place, each of us has differing and needed gifts.  Some utter wisdom, some demonstrate faith, some provide comfort and healing, and so on.  It is false modesty to claim we have no gifts to offer.  All it takes is a smile, a word of encouragement, a listening ear, a caring heart.  No such gift of the Spirit is unworthy. 

When we, like Christ, are moved by compassion, we share in his miracle of love.  We reflect his glory.  We become his agents of epiphany.

Many of us are familiar with these song lyrics: ‘This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.  Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.”

Personally, I'm comforted by the fact that the song doesn't say, “This blazing, all-powerful light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.”  Because my light sometimes feels small and dim, and I'm too often prone to discount whatever gifts are mine to offer.

But then I take heart.  We are not going it alone.  We are “illumined” by Word and Sacraments.  In Christ's light, we see light.

And in acts born of faith and inspired by the Spirit, we step out to share that light, so that Christ, indeed, may be “known, worshiped, and obeyed to the ends of the earth.”


Laura Shoffner
St. James' Episcopal Church
Eureka Springs. AR
January 17, 2010                                                                                                                              01.10