This may not be the scripture you were expecting to hear this morning. Usually, on or around Epiphany (which is tomorrow), we hear the story of the magi, following the star to Bethlehem, then presenting to Jesus their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
Most of you are familiar with the story of the magi (sometimes called “the three wise men”), and I want you to keep that story in the back of your mind.
But I’m inspired today to begin not with a lectionary reading, and not with the story of the magi… but with Leviticus.
We… don’t pay a lot of attention to Leviticus. It almost never appears in the lectionary. The first section of Leviticus, from which today’s scripture comes, is mostly filled with instructions on how to offer sacrifices: What types of sacrifices there are, when the sacrifices are to be made, what animals are to be sacrificed, how they are to be prepared. It does this for burnt offerings, grain offerings, offerings of well-being, sin offerings, and guilt offerings.
It’s not the most exciting part of the Bible to read.
But today’s passage, about the perpetual fire, caught my attention, because just before Christmas I read an essay by Noach Dzmura in the book Torah Queeries that focused on this passage and made it very interesting.
Dzmura, a Jewish community leader, teacher, and writer, points out that, in this passage from Leviticus, the command is given that the fire shall not go out, but that it shall be kept burning.
It says this not once, not twice, but multiple times. “The fire shall be kept burning. The fire shall be kept burning. The fire shall not go out. A perpetual fire shall be kept burning; it shall not go out.”
When something is repeated multiple times like this, you know it’s important. Ancient scripture writers didn’t underline things, or write in italics, or use bold print or ALL CAPS to emphasize their point. Instead, they used repetition.
Dzmura’s essay pointed out that this command, to keep the fire burning, is why Jewish synagogues today have an eternal light burning in their place of worship: a light that symbolizes God's eternal presence and covenant with the Jewish people.
However, Dzmura lamented how that small light—often electric—is a much diminished version of the fire described in Leviticus, which was big and bright and alive; a real bonfire.
The fire by the altar described in Leviticus—the fire that symbolizes God’s eternal presence—is itself reminiscent of an even bigger fire: the pillar of fire and cloud that led the Israelites out of Egypt…
And while the endless instructions given in Leviticus may not exactly be the most interesting things to read, the story of the pillar of fire and cloud leading the Israelites sure did capture my imagination as a child; and it still does…
Imagine that giant pillar of fire at night… It's like Burning Man, but it never goes out; it requires no fuel, and it moves to lead and guide the people! A blazing column, reaching from the ground to the sky!
That pillar of fire was entirely God’s doing; but the perpetual fire beside the altar requires human action to keep going. Priests have to make sure that fire doesn’t go out, by constantly providing fuel for the fire, to keep it burning.
That fire may symbolize the presence of God, but it requires tending. That fire needs people to care for it and nurture it.
Fire continues to serve as a symbol of God’s presence. Every Sunday, we light candles here in our sanctuary. We don’t light them for warmth. We don't light them for illumination. We light them because the flames remind us that God is present, in this place.
I’ve always been fascinated by flames. Not in a “let’s burn everything down” sort of way; but I often find myself mesmerized by the sight of a flame.
When I was in boy scouts and we’d go on week-long backpacking trips in the Sierra Nevada, we’d often end the day by lighting a small campfire, if the conditions allowed. We couldn’t always have a fire. When you’re above 10,000 feet in elevation, there aren’t enough trees, which means there’s very little wood for firebuilding. But lower down, in the forests below 10,000 feet, the ground was covered with plenty of fallen sticks and branches that could be gathered for firewood.
And as the sun set, and the stars came out, and the temperature dropped, we’d stand around the fire, bask in the warmth, and view the glowing reflections on each other’s faces as we told jokes and stories.
But most of the time, our eyes were on the fire. The colors of the flames, usually a shade of orange, but sometimes with sparks of blue or green or violet, it all gradually turning deep red as the wood was consumed and turned to coals...
It’s so mysterious. That red glow looks almost liquid, or like a mist, a vapor, alive and ghostly, flowing and floating between the pieces of wood, except that it’s not a liquid, nor a gas, nor a solid. It’s just pure energy.
And it’s beautiful. And mesmerizing.
No wonder the ancients saw fire as a sign of God’s presence. So they kept it burning, beside the altar in the tabernacle, in the temple, in the synagogue… and in the hearts of the people.
Jewish scholars and rabbis over the centuries liked to emphasize this last point. The fire that is kept burning beside the altar is also to be kept burning in the hearts of the people. God’s presence resides within us just as much as it resides anywhere else—perhaps even more so, since we are made in God’s own image.
Which leads me to ask:
How do you keep the fire burning within you?
How do you tend the flame of your own heart?
How do you recognize, and honor, the presence of God that is in you?
There are forces in this world—people—who act to quench the fire within you. People who try to snuff out the flame burning within you. People who make you question your own worth. People who make you doubt your own ability or purpose.
You're told you’re not good enough. You’re told you’re always doing things wrong. You’re told, or made to feel, that the world would be better off without you.
And the light within you begins to fade.
Sometimes, it’s hard work, tending the flame, and keeping it going.
The magi followed a star. The star led them to the child in whom God’s presence dwelt more fully than in any other human.
And what is a star, but a bright light, a burning fire, in the sky?
But even our view of the stars must be tended, cared for.
Because city lights make it hard to see the stars.
A few years ago, Ginger, Ethan and I visited several southwestern national Parks: Zion, Bryce, and Grand Canyon. And those parks are designated dark sky zones.
And, as it turned out, they were having a big astronomy and stargazing festival while we were there.
So we got to look up at the stars not only with our naked eyes, but also through various telescopes.
Yet even with the naked eye, the stars are so much more bright and vivid when you’re far, far away from any sources of artificial light.
It’s ironic, isn’t it, that to better see the light, we need to preserve the darkness. That, too, may provide a hint as to how we tend to the light within us: tend to the light, but honor the darkness as well.
Anyway, these thoughts bring me now to the stars we have for each of you.
For the past six years, I have given out stars on the Sunday closest to Epiphany— stars with words on them—because I realized that we all could use a little help when it comes to navigating through life. Another way to say that is that I hope the words on these stars will help you tend the fire within you, so that it can shine a little more brightly in the year to come.
Today, we have a basket full of stars, and you are invited to take one. You can take it when you come up for communion, or you can come up after worship and grab it then.
If you are worshiping with us online, you can wait until the next time you are here in person to get your star… or, we have set up an alternative way for you to get a star-word, which you can find on our Facebook page…
Each star has a different word. The hope is that the word on your star will, in some way, help guide you on your faith journey in the coming year.
Maybe your star (and the word on your star) is a reminder to give thanks for how God guides you.
Maybe your star is encouraging you to focus more on whatever word appears on it.
I’m not telling you how your star or your word should guide you. That’s for you to figure out.
But if you ever have trouble praying, maybe the word on your star is a good word to focus on as you pray.
And if you’re not sure where your faith journey is leading you - if, on some days you aren’t sure what to believe anymore, or you aren’t even sure that you do believe anymore - maybe the word on your star can help.
If your heart is filled with fear, or anxiety, or doubt - perhaps your star can help with that.
Your star word may be a challenge, it may be an affirmation, it may be a comfort. That’s for you to figure out.
But hopefully, it helps guide you in some way, as you journey through the coming year.
And, hopefully, it will help you tend to that sacred, holy fire within, and keep it burning, casting God’s light into the world.
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