Epiphany Moments

Matthew 2:1-12                                                          Rev. Todd B. Freeman

Bethany Presbyterian Church, Dallas                                               January 16, 2005

So tell me, have you had any good epiphanies lately? This being the season of Epiphany on the official liturgical church calendar, I thought we’d explore just what having an epiphany moment might mean for you and me.

The word “epiphany” itself comes from the Greek word that means “manifestation” – an appearance or revelation. In the broadest sense, an epiphany is an occurrence when someone or something appears, or is revealed to you. It may also be one of those “ah-ha” moments.

In the case of today’s Gospel lesson from Matthew, the magi experience the revelation of the Divine in the baby Jesus. Last week, when Nancy preached on the story of Jesus’ baptism, the Divine was revealed in Jesus through the imagery of the dove descending from heaven, and the words, “This is my beloved Son.”

But what about you and me, here in the 21st century? To put it most simply, we have an epiphany moment any and every time we feel that the Divine is made manifest or revealed to us. In other words, anytime we experience the presence of God.

After studying the topic spirituality for many years now I have learned one very important thing. People experience the presence of God in their lives in many different ways, and often in different ways from other people. Therefore, the way I experience the Divine Presence may be different than the way you experience God. Likewise the way you perceive God’s presence may be different from me.

In fact, I think God chooses to manifest God’s self in different ways to different people just to keep us from becoming spiritually arrogant in thinking that everyone has to experience God in the same way. It keeps us from being able to put God in a box, as the saying goes.

Unfortunately, there are those who would try to convince you that if your spirituality (the way that you connect with God) isn’t the same as theirs, then something is wrong with your faith or your theology. That’s spiritual arrogance! That’s something we must all try hard to avoid. And those of us who call ourselves progressive Christians can be just as guilty of this as conservative evangelical Christians.

Here’s another observation. Personal epiphany moments – experiences of God - are often hard to describe to others, because words are never adequate to explain an experience of the Divine. 

In a sermon six years ago on this topic of epiphany I read a rather long, yet meaningful story about an epiphany moment in the lives of two very different young people. It’s a true story called, “Jeremy’s Epiphany” and it was published eight years ago in the magazine, Catholic Digest. It was written by a college-age woman named Preethi Fernando, who grew up comfortably in the country of Sri Lanka, the island just off the coast of India, one of the hardest hit areas of the recent tsumani. It made me wonder where she is today.

The story is about her friendship with Jeremy, a troubled young man and fellow student of hers at Clark University in Massachusetts. I want to share this story again with you because when I reread it a few days ago I realized how much more it means now, at least to me and my ministry since becoming much more familiar with this congregation, and specifically the Oak Lawn community in which we are a vital part.

As you listen to this story, hear it almost as a parable. In other words, look for parallels in your life and in the life of this congregation. I’m sure you’ll find that you can relate with one of these two people - or perhaps to elements of both.

Jeremy's Epiphany

I met him during my first year in college. He was always attired in worn-out denims, a crumpled shirt, and an old pair of boots. And though his face was usually hidden by a cap, I detected sadness in what I did see -- as though he cared nothing for the people and things around him.

During my junior year, I began to see this peculiar man at most of the music recitals on campus, including my solo piano concerts. Following each event, though, he left quietly, just the way he had entered. I was intrigued.

Finally, I learned his name -- Jeremy -- and that he was an art student. Shortly after that, he invited me to his studio to look at some of his work. At his studio, I was amazed by what I saw. The walls were covered with darkly colored abstract paintings and photographs. Not one of at least a hundred photographs on the wall contained people, buildings, or cars -- anything that suggested civilization. They suggested a person who had lost enthusiasm for life, a person who sought an escape from the real world.

I had no idea what experiences had shaped Jeremy's life, but the more our friendship developed, the more I discovered. All Jeremy really needed was a friend to open up to, and I was beginning to be that friend. Still, a couple of months passed by before I found the courage to ask Jeremy about his personal life. "So," I finally asked, unable to contain my suspense any longer, "why are you like this?" "Like what?" he grinned. "Strange?" But his voice grew bitter. "Well, you're not the only person who has asked me that question. I was expelled from college during my freshman year," he said. "I started to drink heavily after high school, and, when I came to college, it only got worse. I had to spend three months in a rehabilitation center to get back on my feet again."

I had never been acquainted with someone who had that kind of problem. I was brought up in a rigid Catholic home and had 15 years of education at an Irish convent. My upper-middle class family referred to people like Jeremy as "misfits."

But as we began to see each other more, I felt myself changing. I had been a "good" Sri Lankan girl -- someone of substantial wealth, well-dressed, and a faithful Sunday church-goer. But Jeremy just did not fit this mold. So, for the first time, I began to question the values of my parents and the Sri Lankan culture in which I was raised.

As I probed further, Jeremy described his past with an indifferent, almost careless tone. His low self-esteem and loneliness led him to seek companionship in alcohol. As a result, by the time he reached college, he was a real mess. Sadly, he still saw his life as a failure.

After listening to Jeremy's story, however, I realized that he had been making a genuine effort all along to lead a good life. What's more, he did express his feelings through art. But, unfortunately, he hid his art from everyone out of fear that this, his last chance at hope, would also be deemed a failure.

In many ways, Jeremy and I were opposites. He was white-skinned; I, dark. He was the country boy, used to rough living, while I had been sheltered all my life. I'd been trained by nuns to be graceful and proper. Ironically, these very differences made our relationship exciting to me. By far, however, the most jewel-like quality of our relationship lay in the fact that we were from two contrasting cultures.

Despite our differences, we were able to find ways to communicate. As we shared our worlds, I began to discover a beautiful person hidden inside this unshaven, shabbily dressed man. I saw his kind side. I noticed he smiled more and was becoming more confident. He talked less of his traumatic experiences with alcohol and seemed to see the brighter side of life -- that it was worth living.

Jeremy's transformation showed in many ways. He shared his artwork more. He participated in art exhibitions and tried to reach out more to people. Eventually, Jeremy's art exuded more feeling and warmth. It was alive, just as he seemed more alive. He began, for example, to add bright colors to his paintings. To my surprise, Jeremy had even added to his wall some new photographs that included people. Indeed, it seemed he'd set sail from his island of isolation to the mainland.

"I think you will be surprised to see this," he said, lifting a white sheet covering another sculpture. Underneath, there was a marble cross. I smiled, for it showed that Jeremy had finally understood my faith. Thus far, I'd been the only Bible he'd ever read.

Like so many in today's world, Jeremy felt alienated, lonely, aimless. But during our relationship, he seemed to realize that he could not possibly make it on his own -- that he needed God. Paradoxically, that was the moment he was set free. Creating that marble cross was an "epiphany" for Jeremy because it marked his clear recognition of God in his art.

After we graduated from college, Jeremy went his own way and I followed my path back to Sri Lanka. Geographically, racially, and culturally, Jeremy and I will always be far apart. Yet the love we shared shows that the world is truly becoming a global village.

It is much more rewarding to journey through life without judging others by their external appearances; without differentiating between an American and a Sri Lankan, between an alcoholic and a non-alcoholic, between what others think are "good" or "bad" people. For, in the end, we are all children of God.

Well, I hope you’ve been able to relate somehow or someway to this story.  At this time I’d like to ask you now to reflect upon your life and journey of faith.

Perhaps you’ve had a relatively easy life, like the author of this story. Or, perhaps you’ve had it tough, like Jeremy, who suffered from low self-esteem, loneliness, and depression.

Perhaps God manifests God’s self to and through you by your ability to be an open, caring, compassionate and good-listening friend to others; maybe even comfortable in sharing your faith. Or, perhaps God’s presence in your life appears primarily through your creative ability (once you let your little light shine.)

Perhaps your spiritual journey and understanding of God comes easily to you. Or, perhaps you struggle with your faith, wrestling with God on a regular basis.

Perhaps you fit easily into any social situation. Or, perhaps you’ve experienced that others treat you like an outcast or misfit, or have judged you by your physical appearance or intellectual capacity or theological perspective, or any number of other differences.

Important to us as a congregation is one particular line in this story. The author writes, “Despite our differences, we were able to find ways to communicate.” Perhaps that’s how God chooses to reveal God’s self most often, in the epiphany moments when we are really able to communicate and connect with one another, despite our differences; when we journey through life without making judgmental (as in condemning) differentiations between people - many of whom are very different from ourselves.

This congregation has an important message for this community and beyond. We strive to be a place, a safe space, where you are not told how you have to experience God! For ultimately, that’s between God and you. We seek to be a community of faith where the Jeremys of this world, as well as those like the young woman from Sri Lanka, are welcomed with open arms, and open minds! Lest there be any doubt, this is our very clear vision for this church!

The challenge for us in 2005 is sharing and spreading this message. So, how will we, how will you, share and spread this message?  It is my sincere hope and prayer that this new year will bring about an intentional effort on each of our parts to:

1) to communicate and connect with each other, and others outside this congregation,

2) to spread the good news of God’s and Bethany’s inclusiveness and openness, and

3) like the magi, to seek and recognize the presence of God in your life and in the ministries of this congregation.

Amen.