Epiphany/Baptism of the Lord

TEXTS: Isaiah 60:1-6; Matthew 2:1-12; Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

 

Arise, shine; for your light has come,
and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.
For darkness shall cover the earth,
   and thick darkness the peoples;
but the LORD will arise upon you,
and his glory will appear over you.

(Isaiah 60:1-2)

As I mentioned in last week’s blog, the Feast of the Epiphany, January 6, 2025, took place this past Monday, ushering in the season of Epiphany. The first Sunday after the sixth of January is called on the church calendar, “Baptism of the Lord.”

Sure, Epiphany begins with the visit of the Magi, who frequently show up in manger scenes along with the shepherds and angels and animals (even though they really don’t belong there). But, look … Christmas and Epiphany really are different seasons. Epiphany has a different emphasis than Christmas. Epiphany, I think, is far more challenging.

Christmas is no problem for most people. The message of Christmas—the images that are part of Christmas—are imprinted forever on our minds from our earliest years. And the images and impressions we carry with us are not just Santa Claus and reindeer and Christmas presents under Christmas trees; not just Christmas cookies and gingerbread men. There is a central, deeper image we carry with us—the image of birth, the birth of a child in a stable; the image of a real baby in a real place. And we know about babies; we have held them; we were babies once, too. And we understand in our very bones that all babies are, in some sense, a miracle.

The images of the Epiphany are another matter entirely. The meaning, in Greek, of Epiphany is “a showing forth.” You might also say it is an explanation of what the birth of Jesus means. Human beings are a stubborn lot. It takes a lot to convince us of anything, even if we see the evidence right in front of us. Needless to say, recognizing the appearance of the divine and the miraculous amongst us takes a great deal of explanation: a number of ways of looking at a profound truth.

If you have ever walked into a brightly-lit room from the darkness of a winter’s night, you will remember your difficulty, for a few minutes, of identifying anything or anyone you are seeing. What you are most aware of is the glowing, transforming light—not necessarily what it “means” or, at first, what it is helping you to see.

January 6—Epiphany Day—is all about the familiar story of the journey of the Magi: the Wise Men from the East, the “Three Kings” who followed a brilliant star; followed it to a house in Bethlehem where they met a young boy. And in this very human child, they saw something Divine: the King, the Messiah, for whom they had brought their royal gifts. In the Christian Church in the West, this recognition has for centuries dominated our understanding of the Epiphany.

In Eastern Christianity, however, the emphasis at Epiphany has been placed on the next great moment of recognition or understanding: the Baptism of the adult Jesus by his cousin, John. This happened, of course, at the end of a mass baptism of new believers, when Jesus was revealed as the Christ, the Son of God.

This revelation was intended not only for the first witnesses, but also for those who would read about it later … and perhaps, even, for Jesus himself. If the carpenter’s son had been, up to this point, seeking his identity—seeking his mission—it surely became crystal clear when he heard the voice from heaven saying, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

Epiphany and baptism. Bethlehem and the Jordan. The small child and the grown man. I think it is entirely appropriate to celebrate these great events together.  If we do that, we are able to see them side by side, the two traditions informing and explaining each other.

The whole idea of the Epiphany season is one of enlightenment. The wonderful birth in Bethlehem contained such a great mystery that the people of Earth could not be expected to absorb it all at once. There had to be assurances; there had to be proof beyond doubt. The three kings, the Magi—who were indeed wise—would not have worshipped just any child. They knew when they had found divinity.

Years later, when John the Baptist welcomed new believers with water and the Word, he first had to make clear to them that he was not himself the promised Messiah. Then, when he baptized Jesus, everyone saw who the Messiah really was. All who witnessed the event should have realized the endless promise—and light—they had been given.

Each one of us must open the window into the Infinite that allows us to understand the miracle of this season. Whatever Christian tradition we embrace, whatever window we choose to open, the result should be illumination; the result should be a flood of light.

The imagery of Epiphany is full of light—the light of the star which led the Magi, and the enlightenment that took place when Jesus emerged from the waters of the Jordan:

• Light in our own understanding.
• Light in our very hearts and souls.
• Light which reveals.
• Light which makes all things plain.

Only weeks ago we experienced the shortest day of the year, winter solstice; and ever since, the days have been getting longer. Each new day contains more and more light. Considering that it is much more difficult to see even the most obvious things in the dark, this season invites us to travel toward the light so that we may see what it reveals.

“Arise,” says the prophet Isaiah. “Arise, shine; for your light has come and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.”

“Arise and shine.” Light is a symbol not only of revelation, but also of hope—hope for the entire world. But it can only shine brightly through us and through our actions.

Light makes things more visible. With that revelation, however—with that understanding—comes a responsibility. Jesus told us that we shall encounter him—meet him, face-to-face—in our sisters and brothers, and especially in the poor and needy, the sick and hurting. Once we step into the light, once we see clearly, we are called to bring all our gifts—no matter how humble—to honour Jesus and all that he stands for in our lives and in the world.

The light of Christ calls us not only to acknowledge the needs of others, but to minister to them, also. It calls us to come out from the dark places that represent complacency and false peace. So, during the Epiphany season—and especially on “Baptism of Christ Sunday”—we are both illuminated and challenged. We are given a glimpse of the Divine, and we are commissioned to a ministry.

Saint Francis of Assisi summed it all up in a prayer for Epiphany. He said: “Most high, glorious God, enlighten the darkness of my heart and give me, Lord, a right faith, a certain hope, a perfect charity. Give me, Lord, wisdom and discernment, so that I may carry out your true and holy will. Amen.”

And Amen.