Third Sunday After the Epiphany (Psalm 19:1-4)

The heavens aren't just telling the glory of God, they're passing the knowledge of it along to each other—day by day and night by night. You can't hear their voices, but it wouldn't matter if you did; because, they have no language. Or, maybe, no language that you and I with our limited human tongues can understand.

There's a belief that we once could understand those voices. Think of the stories of Aesop, the fairy tales that have been passed generation to generation. What do we find again and again? Creation that speaks in a language we can understand. Be it Aslan or the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood, there are stories about a different time and place when we could understand the voice of creation. Maybe, we will find ourselves in such a world again when all things are redeemed.

But we do not need to be ignorant of what Creation says to itself and what it longs to say to us. At each sunrise, the old day is whispering all it saw as it travelled the sky. Each night, the stars tell one another of the owls that hunt, the deer that forage, and the sleep of many things. And if we listen, we can hear them telling us of the one who created all things.

Star maker, life of all things may we, like the rest of your creation, tell the stories of your love to one another.

Second Sunday After the Epiphany (John 2:1-11)

How often has someone brought out the best but you didn't notice because you weren't there. You were there physically, but your mind was elsewhere—going over the to-do list for work, worrying that odd noise the refrigerator was making. In the single, fleeting moment that the wine was poured out, the glasses filled, you didn't taste it.

The story of the Wedding at Cana is about a moment. It begins at a particular time "three days later" at a specific event—a wedding. There are guests, many others gathered to share this moment. And into this time and place comes a miracle. Not a world-changing miracle, just a small act that does little more than prevent a day being spoiled.

But, still, had the Chief Steward been focused on the dishes waiting in the sink at home or replaying a conversation from yesterday in his head would he have noticed the vintage he drank? Would he have tasted, truly, how good God is?

Christ remains present with us acting and loving. Yet, he does that in that most sacred of times: the right now. And where he is present, miraculous and beautiful things can and often do happen. It is where he constantly calls us, reminding us to worry not about tomorrow or yesterday.

And, if we follow that call, we too might find ourselves saying "you have kept the good wine until now."

Ever-Present One, in our daily work and play, help us to see the miracles present all around us.

First Sunday After the Epiphany - 2019 - Isaiah 43:1-7

At the outset of a new year, the wind chill, the nights long, Isaiah comes along telling us about God's presence with us in the flood and fire. And, notice what it says: when. When you pass through the waters. When you walk through the fire. Not "if" but when. These things will come. We will find ourselves, like the Psalmist, with the waters risen up to our necks. We will, by accident or by force, find ourselves on a path through the flames. Flames, perhaps, from our personal worlds burning down or from the fires that burn in our broken world.

            

 I'll be there, God says. Not that you won't see these times, but that when you do, I will be there.

            

And we, servants no greater than our master, are called to do the same. We are called to be there in flood and fire for each other. We cannot quench the flames or hold back the water, but we can stand by and hold their hand.

            

Christ promised us that he would not leave nor forsake us; so, we must also hold fast and refuse to abandon one another when the forces outside our control come raging and flooding upon us.

            

We must also accept the hand that reaches out to us in our time of flames and flood. We must reach out; because, none of us is meant to go through these times alone.

            

And, together, we shall not be overwhelmed.

Dear Savior, Redeemer, friend, draw close this year and show us what it is to be with one another in the times where the fires and floods of life—spiritual, mental, emotional, and physical—attempt to overwhelm us. Bless us as we emulate you both as the one present and the one to whom others are present. All for your glory and that the world may know of your love. Amen.