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5th Sunday After the Epiphany, Year C - Feb 9, 2025
Rev Sarah Colvin
You can find this week's readings here.
Over the course of the last two years, you have learned a little bit about me, and I have learned about you, bit by bit. Unlike when a congregation calls a rector, and a core group (the search committee) learns about the priest with intense meetings, somewhat akin to speed dating … Instead as a priest in charge, one is called to hold the reins as it were, we have been learning each other as we go.
A little thing you probably don’t know about me, although a few who have worked with me picking hymns or getting parochial reports or audits done might be able to guess that I am not a last-minute person. The anxiety of not being ready actually seems to make my brain stupid and inflexible and then I don’t think cogent thoughts. The only reason I mention this, as our world seems to have less stability day by day, I find it difficult to sit down to write a sermon when I am concerned with what the next day will bring. (What is the impact and number of people who will starve without USAID? How severe an impact is this administration going to make on the health of the poor with cuts to Medicaid? The list can (and does) go on, and on, tearfully.)
And then, in a moment of my own gratitude, I catch myself, I have a glimpse of self-reflection, and say to myself, “well… self, as crazy as the world may seem, … the one singular constancy is God, and the other constancy is change”. And “self, as a priest in the church you are in the business of dealing with the existential elements of life.” Here I am, since that is my call, my job-- why I am here with you. My job, or one of my tasks, is to do this with you, together, we praise God, we stay in awe of God (not the news), and then we serve others, we are to be Christ in the world. Democracy may be on life support—still, we are Christians. In the broadest sense, we, (you and I) deal with the existential elements of life, so that we can go back in the world filled with the Spirit and knowledge of God.
Let’s first look at the Old Testament. I personally find the reading from Isaiah awesome, and awe-inspiring, and of course, it’s right where we get the Sanctus for the Eucharistic prayer. The reading is often read at ordination services, but it often stops right after the “send me” line. But there are many things to consider with the whole reading:
First: although the passage is often read for ordinations, this is not just directed to people who are being put forward for ordination—this text applies to everyone. Everyone, to include the person who wrote this portion of the book of Isaiah, is to answer God with “send me”. We are all sinful, (if you have problem with that particular language, think of sin as anything that falls short of the actions of God). We all fall short, and we all need God in order to do the right thing, and we all need to ask God for strength to be sent into the world to do good.
Second thing: I’m sure you noticed, but after the “send me” part, the passage gets dark.
Then I said, "How long, O Lord?" And he said:
"Until cities lie wastewithout inhabitant,
and houses without people,and the land is utterly desolate;
until the Lord sends everyone far away,and vast is the emptiness in the midst of the land.
Even if a tenth part remain in it,it will be burned again,
like a terebinth or an oakwhose stump remains standing when it is felled."
The holy seed is its stump.
It feels like reading or listening to the news, doesn’t it? And I guess that’s my point. In this case, scripture does not give really any solace or consolation---at least no short-term feel-good consolation, but instead, we see a reminder of something we know: that the rise and fall of empires has happened for forever. After knowledge of God being present and knowledge of things changing, probably the thing you can rely on next is that people will sometimes be awful, and governments will rise and fall, the land may be made to waste, it is desolate (think Gaza or Ukraine). And yet, there is a remnant, a holy seed in its stump. There is hope. Hope and faith remain.
And yet:
I will give thanks to you, O Lord, with my whole heart; *before the gods I will sing your praise.
I will bow down toward your holy templeand praise your Name, *because of your love and faithfulness;
For you have glorified your Name *and your word above all things.
When I called, you answered me; *you increased my strength within me.
In some sense, it is as simple as our psalm today. These are the words I have for us. We may feel beaten down, but God is faithful. The world declares God’s glory. As sad and cruel as things are (and they may indeed get worse), there is beauty and there is kindness.
When things get dark, I think it matters more what you do in response to the darkness. Civil Rights activist and congressman John Lewis put it best.
“Do not get lost in the sea of despair. Do not become bitter or hostile. Be hopeful. Be optimistic. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble. We will find a way to make a way out of no way.”
And Lewis knew that there was and is a way, and that is a WAY with a capital W, and that is the way of Christ. That is the way that is forged by Christ. Now when things are not dire, it requires more self-examination, in some sense, to police yourself and make sure that you don’t make God into your own image. In other words, that you don’t provide all the words you think God should be saying. To be sure, for all of us, there are times that we may have ‘spoken for God’ in a sense. But instead, when things turn dire, it is easier to see the Way. Are the hungry are fed? the sick are healed? wars cease? (because there is care for the other) And if the answer is yes, then we know where this comes from ---Christ is in this, Christ is the way. We don’t have to speak for God, instead our actions speak, and bring about the Way, God’s way.
We, like Paul, are all untimely born. We can toil away in this life as if life and what we do in the world to the other and to the earth doesn’t matter, but I say instead what matters most is our relationship with the other, because how we treat the other shows whether we think God matters or not. What matters most is the care we can impart into the world. What matters most is that we work to enact the care of Christ into the world.
And there is plenty to despair at these days. Chances are Peter also had plenty to despair with the Roman occupation and not having caught any fish all night. Remember, they were fishers, this was their livelihood. This is how they made their money. They were cash strapped and suddenly their nets were bursting. This was so stupendous that Peter recognized that God had shown up in Jesus. It was a theophany (Peter saw God in Jesus…this is why he fell down and said, “get away from me for I am sinful.”)
And so, we learn that in the big scheme of things, what matters is the goodness we impart and how we bring others to Christ, how we fish for people. It is the showing of Christ’s love in the world that is going to matter and that is going to bring others to Christ, that will enable us to fish for people through Jesus. We see Christ in the other—and this is all of those who need our love (whatever sex, skin color or sexual orientation--ALL).
Because no matter how dark, "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." The light of hope and faith will persist, because this is the WAY of Christ.
IMAGE ATTRIBUTION:
Bastida, Joaquín Sorolla y, 1863-1923. Valencian Fisherwomen, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=59010 [retrieved February 19, 2025]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Joaquin_Sorolla_Bastida_-_Valencian_Fisherwomen.jpg.
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