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Pastor Richard Allen Jr.

In his bestseller, American Lion:  Andrew Jackson in the White House, author Jon Meacham tells how a hostile Indian party once chased the young Jackson and several friends through the Tennessee mountains. Hotly pursued, Jackson, his friend John Overton, and a few others found themselves nearly trapped:  their enemies close behind and a raging river blocking their escape.  They threw together a rough raft, piled it with their saddles and gear, and headed across the river.  Overton and the others swam with the horses, while Jackson paddled the raft.  But the river’s swift current threatened to take the future president over a steep waterfall.  Jackson pulled hard on the paddles, then, at the last minute, reached a paddle up to Overton, who pulled the raft to the far bank just above the falls. 

As the two caught their breath on the far bank, Overton said to the future president:  “You were within an ace, Sir, of being dashed to pieces.” Jackson responded, “A miss is as good as a mile….  But we have no time to lose – follow me and I’ll save you yet.” Having narrowly escaped both hostile inhabitants and bone-crushing water, they then made their way home, in Meacham’s words, “exhausted but safe.”  (Jon Meacham, American Lion:  Andrew Jackson in the White House, pages 24-25.)

Notice Jackson’s interesting reframe of his rescue by Overton:  “Follow me, and I’ll save you yet.”  Meacham notes that this typical boldness partly accounts for Jackson’s uncommon leadership skills.  In every crisis of his life, he remained resilient, and confident, assuring all around him in the face of any and every danger.

Do you see that a similar assuring tone fills the lesson from Isaiah?  A people overwhelmed by death and despair, a people who were carried into slavery by the Babylonian military empire, are being sent home.  Their deliverance is a sign of God’s presence, a light dawning in the darkness of their recent experience.  “Arise, shine;” remember our lesson for today, “for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.  …  You shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice….”  Assurance, hope, resilience, confidence – any and all of those words fit this passage.  Scripture offers few more encouraging words.

And that’s a good thing.  For even as we celebrate the joy of the Epiphany – the coming of the wise men to the stable in Bethlehem – we find ourselves at the beginning of a new year looking for a bit of light.  Everywhere I went in the past week, I heard people readily dismissing the losses and the uncertainties of the past year, and longing for a better time ahead.  “Well, at least that year is over, now.  This year will surely be better.”  Maybe you’ve heard similar expressions.  We all hope for a bit of light.

Maybe our fortunes will shift, and our whole economy will get back on track.  Maybe.  That’s one scenario, and, like the rest of us, I admit I’m hoping for better days, economically. 

Maybe better days are ahead politically and militarily, or maybe not. But perhaps what’s needed more than an economic recovery is a theological recovery.   Perhaps Isaiah is reminding us, as well as the Jewish refugees of Babylon five centuries before that first Christmas, that what we really need is a difference of perspective. “Lift up your eyes and look around,” says Isaiah.  Ben Stein suggested as much in a piece in last Sunday’s NY Times.  WE have hope, but not because our economy is not in trouble, he suggests.  Instead, he counsels us to remember that really all we’ve lost is money, and we are, all of us, more than just our now-deflated accounts:  “We are more than our investments.  We are more than the year-to-year or day-by-day changes in our net worth.  We are what we do for charity.  We are how we treat our family and friends.  We are how we treat our dogs and cats.  We are what we do for our community and our nation.  If you had … $100,000 a year ago and now you have a lot less, you are still the same person.  You are not a balance sheet, at least not one denominated in money….”  (“They Told Me He Never Lost Money,” NY Times, Sunday Business, page 4.)  And as a preacher, not a columnist, I’m free to add the more theological reminder.  You are – we are – what God has made us and called us to be. You are – we are – people who are blessed and graced by Jesus, the Christ. You are – we are – those who understand that Jesus’ birth back then still makes a difference to us and to our world, now.  This much is true, from our faith perspective:  we are more than we commonly see ourselves as being.

If you’d like to understand this “epiphany” thing that we celebrate today, the core message is not about the arrival of several foreign dignitaries with strange gifts.  Rather, epiphany is about seeing that God’s presence in the world makes a real difference.  Epiphany is about getting it that though the mess we’re in is real; we are more than our economy, our politics, or even our ethics. The epiphany reminds us that we are always and everywhere, God’s people; and always and everywhere, we live in God’s care.

Seeing ourselves whole makes a difference, just as Andrew Jackson’s seeing himself as the leader – even when others had to help him from his own self-inflicted messes – made a difference.  “Lift up your eyes and look around,” invites Isaiah.  What you see, God’s hand at work, will make a difference.  What we see, and the way we see, will make all the difference, in fact. 

It’s no secret: perception shapes reality. In a 1940’s experiment that has been repeated variously since, two psychologists showed their subjects glimpses of playing cards, one at a time, and asked them to identify them.  But there was a wrinkle.  A few of the cards were not as expected:  they didn’t fit the normal patter.  For example, there was a red six of spades or a black queen of diamonds.  When shown the cards at high speeds, the subjects sailed along, confidently identifying either “the six of hearts” or “the six of spades.”  But seeing the unexpected cards at slow speeds, the subjects hesitated.  They knew there was a problem, but not all could identify it.  The problem, of course, was one of perception:  many could only see what they expected to see, not what was actually printed on the card. (James Gleick, Chaos:  Making a New Science, page 35.)

Epiphany invites us to see God.  Epiphany invites us to see the God even in the unexpected moments.  To see the unexpected God, the God incarnate in the manger.  Matthew, in this quaint story about the wise men, suggests foreigners see more easily than the very people who waited so patiently for a messiah.  Why? Because the religious, cultural and political hope for a king blinded the people closest at hand to the gift in the stable behind the inn.  Their own perceptions shaped what they could, and could not, see.

Epiphany is about seeing God in the ordinary, of course.  Epiphany is about taking Isaiah’s advice:  “lift up your eyes and look around.”  It is a day to see each other as gifts, not as strangers.  Epiphany is about seeing God’s fingerprints on the lives of our families and friends.  It is about seeing the baby in the manger, but also, with the wise men from the east, seeing the long-awaited hope of God, born in our midst.  Epiphany is about seeing the bread and the wine on the table as bread and wine, yes, but also seeing in them “the gifts of God for the people of God.”  And epiphany is about seeing this ordinary table here before us as not just any table, but as another course in an unfolding banquet that began before we were born and which will continue long after all our days have dimmed to final darkness.  We were at that table back then.  We are here at that table today.  And we will be at that table in days to come.  Epiphany is about beginning a new year no longer living in fear but living in hope.

After all, we commit everything – ourselves, our lives, and the coming year – to a servant king who knows us and knows our way, even in the darkness.  Here is the truth for us, the church:  We follow no president, even one like Andrew Jackson, but a true savior. We follow Jesus, our Lord.  We can with confidence trust this Lord when he says to us, “Follow me, and I’ll save you yet.”

Amen. 

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