Let It Shine (John 1:1-18)

 ****** This little light of mine…

I learned that song in Sunday School and at church camp, and always thought of it as a children’s song, so it’s not one I sing much anymore… but the other day I heard a version of it that was recorded by Sam Cook and thought, “It’s more than just a children’s song…”

And it is so appropriate for today, Star Sunday, the Sunday closest to Epiphany, which commemorates the arrival of the magi, who followed a brightly shining star to Bethlehem, where they presented their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to the baby Jesus.

John’s gospel does not talk about the magi. Only Matthew’s gospel talks about the magi.

But John’s gospel does talk about the light: the light that shines in the darkness, the light to which John the baptist testified. It is the true light of God, which enlightens everyone. It is the light of hope, peace, joy and love. It is the light of truth. It is the light of Christ.

That light shines in each of us. As followers of Jesus, we—like John—are called to testify to that light. 

Do you remember Robert Fulghum? The guy who wrote the essay, “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten?” 

In another one of his essays, he described attending a lecture, and at the end of the lecture, the speaker asked if there were any questions.

After a moment’s pause, Fulghum raised his hand, stood up, and asked a question that he said he often asks when anyone invites people to ask questions.

The question he asked was: “What is the meaning of life?”

Fulghum wrote that most people don’t take him seriously when he asks that question. Usually, people chuckle, and they start putting on their coats and getting ready to leave.

But he said he would ask that question, because—who knows?—maybe someday, someone would have an answer. 

And one day, someone did.

The speaker was Alexander Papaderos, a priest who grew up on the island of Crete, a place that was invaded by the Nazis, but which resisted their takeover.

After looking at Fulghum for a moment to see if he was sincere, Papaderos held up his hand and said: “I will answer your question.”

And then Papaderos told this story:

***** When I was a small child, during the war, we were very poor and we lived in a remote mountain village.

One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place.

I tried to find all the pieces of the mirror and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. . . . 

I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine—in deep holes and crevices and dark closets and behind walls. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find.

. . . As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just child’s play but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of light. But light—the light of truth, understanding, and knowledge—is there, and that light will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it.

I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless, with what I have I can reflect light into the dark places of this world—into the dreary places in the hearts of men—and change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about.

This is the meaning of my life.

[Robert Fulghum, It Was on Fire when I Lay Down on It, Random House, 1999]

I often think about this story.

When I read in scripture about the light that has come into the world, I think about this story.

When I read that the darkness has not and will not overcome that light, I think about this story.

When I read that Jesus, the light of the world, said to his followers, “YOU are the light of the world,” I think about this story.

And I reflect on how well I am doing when it comes to letting the light of Christ shine through me, and how well I am doing at being a piece of a mirror that reflects that light so that it reaches the darkest places, and I wonder if I could be doing more, or if I am too often hiding that light under a bushel basket.

***** Light has almost always been a part of worship. In Exodus, scripture talks about an eternal flame in the place of worship that is a sign of God’s presence, a flame that was fueled by oil. In Leviticus, that sacred fire is also mentioned, except there, it is fueled by wood. I guess it doesn’t matter what the fuel is; yet no matter what type of fuel is used, there is an important thing to note, and that is that someone must tend the flame. Someone must keep it going.

And this is so important that both Exodus and Leviticus give instructions on how to keep the flame lit and burning.

Centuries later, the apostle Paul wrote in the 2nd letter to Timothy that Timothy should “rekindle the gift of God that is within” him. 

Did Paul think that the light of God in Timothy had gone out, or was in danger of going out? I don’t know that it was quite that bad; but Paul was trying to encourage Timothy to let the light within him shine. “God did not give us a spirit of cowardice,” Paul wrote, “but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.”

Perhaps it is cowardice that makes us lower the flame, or keep it hidden under a bushel basket. How can we let our light shine brightly, letting the power and love of Christ be seen in us and through us?

***** Every year, on the Sunday closest to Epiphany, we give out stars with words on them. And today, we have a star for each of you.

These stars are meant to guide us, just as the star guided the magi to Jesus.

These stars are meant to encourage us, just as Paul encouraged Timothy when he told him to rekindle the flame within you.

These stars are meant to inspire us, to reflect Christ’s light of hope, peace, joy and love into the world.

The stars are in a basket, and you can take one when you come up for communion. Or, if it’s easier, you can come up and grab one after worship. 

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.

Since many of you already have a star from last year or the year before, I invite you to ponder whether there is a connection between the different words on your stars. All things exist in balance. For example, if last year your star had the word “gentle” on it, and this year your star has the word “strength,” you might ponder how you can balance gentleness and strength in your life. 

Or maybe last year’s word was “rest,” and this year’s word is “work.” 

And if someone close to you—perhaps someone who is a part of your household—gets a word, you may want to share your words with each other. You don’t have to, but you may want to… and you can ask: do our words complement each other? Or are they opposites and we somehow need to figure out how to balance?

Your star word may be a challenge for you. Or, it may be an affirmation. Or, it may be a comfort, or encouragement. That’s for you to figure out.

Take your star home with you, and when you pray, listen to what God might be telling you that relates to your star word.

This isn’t magic. It’s just wood and ink from a sharpie pen. But perhaps the Spirit can work something good in you as you meditate on your word and listen for what God is trying to say to you.

And hopefully, it’ll all help you let the light that is in you shine just a little brighter.

I should point out, it isn’t always easy to keep the flame lit and the light shining. There are too many trying to put out your light. 

The light that shines in you represents everything good about you! It illuminates the YOU God created YOU to be!

But some will say that you are too religious. Or too loud. Or too quiet. Or too gay. Or too masculine. Or too feminine. Or too skinny. Or too fat. Or too old. Or too young. Or too Mexican, or Indian, or German, or whatever your ancestry is…

And you might be tempted to turn down the flame a little, to dim your light, to hide who you are, to conceal the person God created you to be.

But this world NEEDS you to be the person God created you to be. This world needs your unique gifts and talents. The world needs you to let your light shine.

Perpetual Fire (Leviticus 6:8-13)

 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.

A Star to Guide You (Matthew 2)

 One of the things I’m looking forward to in 2024 is spending time at Camp Walter Scott, which is the camp and learning center owned and operated by First Christian Church and the other congregations of the Illinois-Wisconsin region. 

Camp is such an important experience for young people. It enriches the lives of youth, and strengthens congregational ministry.

One of my very favorite things to do when I’m at camp is to take campers out at night to a dark place, and look at the stars.

I tell the campers that, for thousands of years, humans have gazed up at the stars. People throughout history, in countless generations, watched the stars…night after night…season after season; and after observing the stars night after night, season after season, they began to notice some things.

First, they noticed that all the stars moved together across the sky, rising in the east, and setting in the west, much like the sun; and that the path that they followed was an arc, with Polaris, the north star, at the center.

Those ancient observers also noticed that, if they used their imagination, they could see shapes and images in the stars. They imagined animals, gods, and mythological creatures.

At this point, at camp, I would point out a few of these constellations: Ursa Major (the Big Dipper); Scorpio; the constellations of the Summer Triangle… 

And every night, all these constellations move together across the sky, rising and setting four minutes earlier each night; for this reason, some of them are seen more easily in one season, and others are seen more easily in other seasons.

It all follows a predictable pattern.

But ancient people noticed that a few of the stars they saw didn’t follow this pattern. These few stars seemed to follow their own paths. 

And maybe, in one season, these stars would be located in one constellation, but as the seasons changed, so did the position of these few stars. Sometimes, these stars would even appear to move in one direction for a while, but then stop, and move in a different direction.

The ancient Babylonians were the first to realize that these wandering stars weren’t stars at all, but something else entirely. Eventually they were given the name planets, from a Greek word that means “wanderer.”

Ancient people also saw comets, which looked like stars, but with tails, and which also seemed to follow their own paths.

And, generation after generation, people would continue observing the night sky, learning more about the wonders of the universe God created.

In today’s scripture story, magi came from the east to Jerusalem, looking for Jesus. They were guided by a star, which they had been observing.

I don’t know if this star that they saw was actually a planet, or if it was a comet, or what. Many have speculated over the years about this particular star.

And, in Matthew’s gospel, it could be that this story is more parable than historical account. I’m not sure that Matthew even knew the difference between a star, a planet, and a comet.

But, as Matthew describes it, these magi were observers of the stars, and they came to Jerusalem and, eventually, to Bethlehem, following this particular star, which seemed to follow its own path, and which was leading them to the “king of the Jews.”

Now, there’s a lot more to this story. It sets up the conflict between the kingdom of Herod, and the kingdom of God, a conflict that is central to the gospel.

And we could talk without end about how much of this story is literal and historical, and how much is parable and metaphor.

Nevertheless, I am fascinated by the story of these magi, travelers from a far away land—foreigners who probably didn’t even worship the God of Abraham—following a star a long distance, a star that didn’t move like all the other stars, a star which followed its own path, and guided them to Jesus.

I’m fascinated that the star led them to Jerusalem, led them to Herod, led them to Jesus—yet the star didn’t guide them to the temple. Last week, I talked about how the temple was the most magnificent house of worship on earth. Yet the temple doesn’t even appear in this story. 

And I wonder how tempted I would be, if I were one of those magi following this star, to take a little side trip, to visit the temple. What better place is there in the ancient world to take a selfie and post on social media? A picture that says, “look at me, I’m at the temple!”

But these magi were not distracted by that. They were intent on following the star.

One of the brightest stars in the sky—and one that’s easy for me to find and point out to campers at summer camp—is Arcturus. That’s what we call it; but in Hawaiian, the name of that star is Hokulea, which is a Hawaiian word that means “star of joy.”

Not long ago, a group of modern-day Hawaiians from the Polynesian Voyaging Society built a traditional Polynesian canoe—the first canoe built in the traditional Polynesian way in over 600 years. When it came time to pick a name for their canoe, they named it after this star. They named their canoe Hokulea, since Hokulea was a star that guided ancient Polynesian voyagers.

In 2017, I had the opportunity to lead a group of youth from the Pacific Southwest Region on a trip to Hawaii. We learned about Hokulea (the canoe), and how its crew had to re-learn, almost from scratch, the ancient way of navigating. They learned to navigate by the stars and the sun. No compass, no GPS. Just sailing their canoe, like Moana, across the vast ocean.

Their goal was to prove that ancient Polynesians were expert navigators, that they were capable of pinpoint accuracy in their navigation. Compared to the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, the Hawaiian Islands are so small. Finding them in a canoe without a compass or GPS would be as hard as finding a needle in a haystack. Some doubted that anyone, ancient or modern, could do that, guided only by the stars. Yet the crew of the Hokulea was determined to prove that it could be done.

Hokulea’s first voyage, from Hawaii to Tahiti, was a great success.

Then, Hokulea set sail for a three-year, around-the-world voyage—again, using only the stars to guide them.

When Hokulea returned from that three-year, around-the-world voyage, its arrival was the biggest cultural event in modern Hawaiian history. It was a symbol of the rebirth of Hawaiian culture. 30,000 people were there at the waterfront, to welcome Hokulea and her crew back to Hawaii.

And among those 30,000 people was our little group of Disciples from southern California.

Hokulea’s journey is an inspiration to people all over the world. In Chicago, there is an organization called the Hokulea Academy of Polynesian Arts. On their website it says that they are inspired by “Hokulea, the star of gladness, which guided early Polynesian explorers to the shores of Hawaii.”

One of the reasons Hokulea’s journey is so inspiring is that navigating a canoe by following the stars is no easy task. Remember that scene in Moana where she dozes off, and all of a sudden, her canoe is going in the wrong direction? It’s hard to stay focused!

The same is true in life. It’s so easy to get distracted, to lose our focus, to lose our way, to lose sight of what it is that is guiding us.

So often, we chase after other things…we find ourselves being guided by other things…

Think back to the year that has just passed. In 2023, what was it that guided you? What “star” did you follow?

Was it leading you to Jesus? Was it leading you to love? Was it leading you to wholeness? 

Or not?

How often were you tempted to follow other things? Other distractions? How often did you stray from the path you knew God was calling you to?

What star did you follow? What purpose guided you? What was your goal, your mission, your purpose? What was your “why,” your reason for doing what you do?

For the past five 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. 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, or an affirmation, or 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.

So when you take your star, don’t try to pick out a particular word. I heard a clergy friend of mine who also gives out star words at Epiphany say that the magi didn’t choose their star, the star chose them. Reach in to the basket and try to select a star without looking at the word. Look at the word after you’ve pulled your star from the basket.

Take your star home. Place it where you will see it every day. I don’t know how much help it will be to you, but who knows? Maybe it will guide you to something as profound and wonderful as the star that guided those magi all those years ago.