Epiphany, the moon, and the stars within

Moonset, Arlington House, Virginia
Photo by The Washington Post

Not all stars are in the sky. Some are within us.

The last few mornings, if you were up early enough, like I was, you would have seen the moon setting on the western horizon. The moon was nearly full, and rose in the east soon after sunset, and the moon gradually rose in the night sky, glowing white above us.

As we slept, the moon arched toward the western sky horizon. Then the moon dimmed to orange as it sank in the western sky, glowing like the sunset of a few hours earlier, but not in a way that blinds us when we look into it.

The moon is a reminder that the brightness of the sun is with us even in the darkness of the night. I’d like to think that is what Epiphany is about – a reminder that the Holy still glows even on these dark, dreary cold winter nights.

You can’t look into the sun without blinding yourself. Sometimes the holy is like that, too. But you can look at the moon all night long if you like. Sometimes these fainter reminders of the holy are easier for us to see, too.

In the Epiphany story from the Gospel of Matthew 2:1-12   we meet once again the magi as they follow the glow of a star to the crib of Jesus. Like watching the moon arching across the sky, they follow this star all night long.

Let me point out a few details you might not have noticed in the story of the magi: The story does not tell us what the star looked like. It must have been a faint star indeed. I doubt it looked like the star streaking across the sky on Hallmark cards. Nowhere in the biblical story does it say anyone other than the magi saw the star. No one else sees it. Not Herod, not anyone in Jerusalem. Only these men, who like the moon, rise from the east.

Maybe the star wasn’t in the sky at all. Maybe the star was glowing inside them. When magi first saw this star, they did not know where they were going, or how the journey would come out. But they followed it anyway.

That is the definition of faith – following a star, going somewhere, and doing something, without being certain of the final destination. The magi were not the first to follow a star, and not the last. We too are called to follow the star glowing inside us.

The wise men – the Magi – follow their star to the infant Jesus. They come to behold and honor the newborn king, and they discover that this king is like no other.

He will grow to become a servant king with no throne, no scepter, no political power. He will wash the feet of his followers, heal the sick, feed the hungry, and share meals with saints and sinners alike.

He will teach, he will pray, he will get frustrated and angry at the greed and narrowness of people. He will ultimately go to the Cross to show us that there is more to life than death – more to life than what we see now.

As he walks among us, Jesus teaches really only one thing – that we should love God, and love each other, as God loves us. We are challenged to do just that, by giving life to God’s shalom and using our hands and feet to bring healing, peace and justice to the world around us. That is the star we are called to follow.

Sometimes we only see the star in the moonlight, but we still can see the star.

“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)

Summer mornings begin inch by inch

We haven't had a poem in this space lately, and today seems like a good day for that. At dusk today Venus will cross the sun, a celestial rarity. Perhaps that suggests a poem with something celestial in it? Our friend Karen in Tennessee sent this poem yesterday, and I like it a lot:

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Horses at Midnight Without a Moon

by Jack Gilbert from Collected Poems

Our heart wanders lost in the dark woods.

Our dream wrestles in the castle of doubt.

But there's music in us. Hope is pushed down

but the angel flies up again taking us with her.

The summer mornings begin inch by inch

while we sleep, and walk with us later

as long-legged beauty through

the dirty streets. It is no surprise

that danger and suffering surround us.

What astonishes is the singing.

We know the horses are there in the dark

meadow because we can smell them,

can hear them breathing.

Our spirit persists like a man struggling

through the frozen valley

who suddenly smells flowers

and realizes the snow is melting

out of sight on top of the mountain,

knows that spring has begun.

Darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day

The phone jangled me awake at 4 am a few mornings ago. I fumbled around, picked up the receiver. A parishioner was having a medical emergency. Could I go to the hospital? Of course, and so I headed off into the dark pre-dawn morning.

I stayed with our parishioner while nurses and doctors did their work. She was stable, out of danger. We prayed, and she looked in need of rest. I walked outside the hospital to get some air at 6 am.

The sky was a rich dark royal blue, and a crescent moon hovered a few degrees above the horizon. The dark part of the moon was as visible as the shining crescent. Venus hung nearby, just above the moon.

The words of Psalm 139:11 came rushing through my mind: "Darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day; darkness and light to you are both alike."

I did not have a camera, so I found the photo above on the internet that someone else took the other morning. It is a close approximation, but only an approximation. Here is the psalm. Blessings on your day. . .

Psalm 139 Domine, probasti

1 LORD, you have searched me out and known me; *
you know my sitting down and my rising up;
you discern my thoughts from afar.

2 You trace my journeys and my resting-places *
and are acquainted with all my ways.

3 Indeed, there is not a word on my lips, *
but you, O LORD, know it altogether.

4 You press upon me behind and before *
and lay your hand upon me.

5 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; *
it is so high that I cannot attain to it.

6 Where can I go then from your Spirit? *
where can I flee from your presence?

7 If I climb up to heaven, you are there; *
if I make the grave my bed, you are there also.

8 If I take the wings of the morning *
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

9 Even there your hand will lead me *
and your right hand hold me fast.

10 If I say, "Surely the darkness will cover me, *
and the light around me turn to night,"

11 Darkness is not dark to you;
the night is as bright as the day; *
darkness and light to you are both alike.

12 For you yourself created my inmost parts; *
you knit me together in my mother's womb.

13 I will thank you because I am marvelously made; *
your works are wonderful, and I know it well.

14 My body was not hidden from you, *
while I was being made in secret
and woven in the depths of the earth.

15 Your eyes beheld my limbs, yet unfinished in the womb;
all of them were written in your book; *
they were fashioned day by day,
when as yet there was none of them.

16 How deep I find your thoughts, O God! *
how great is the sum of them!

17 If I were to count them, they would be more in number
than the sand; *
to count them all, my life span would need to
be like yours.

The moon's perfection

Tuesday night I went to bed early with a scratchy throat. I slept until about 2 am, and when I got up looked outside I saw a shimmery sheen on the trees surrounding our house.

The sky was crystal clear, and the moon nearly full and directly overhead. The forest was bathed in silver, the leaves dancing in the moonlight.

I half-expected a character from a fairy tale or a Harry Potter book to come bounding out of the woods.

Is the moon closer to Charlottesville? Perhaps not. But you could not have convinced me of that the other night. And at least one of our local poets could make the case that the moon is closer. Elinor Roberts Hartt, a member of St. Paul's, sent me a lovely book of her poems, and the moon over Charlottesville is among her favorite topics. I plan to go see her today. Here is one of her poems...

THIS LONG NIGHT
By Elinor Roberts Hartt

The empty silence
this long night
can offer no protection
against that proud
highriding mystery
the moon's perfection.