Seeing Things

Genesis 25:7-10; Luke 2:22-38; 2 Corinthians 5:18-19

I know you have all had one of those moments when you saw something you never imagined seeing. They happen a lot more frequently than we assume—a long-lost family member suddenly reappears and instead of the expected awkward mess, there is actually true and real joy at their presence; a store actually relaxes the drive to consumerism and gives something back to the community; or—miracle of miracles—Republican and Democrat legislators stop denouncing one another to actually get something done! Epiphany is all about such miracles, moments when we see things we never expected, all because God interrupted things right when they needed to be interrupted. 

Our text from Genesis this morning shows what can happen when God intervenes. Abraham finally died after over a century of life with most of the miraculous not coming until he was well over ninety. But what miracles ensued! He and Sarah, barren, dried out, and worn down by life itself, suddenly blossomed into fruition, building a nursery in the retirement community, and watching Isaac grow up into manhood. But there was a first son—Ishmael—a child whose life was harder than it should have been, literally driven into the wilderness by human jealousy, ego, and vindictiveness. Can you imagine what he felt as he recalled his father? Scripture makes no bones about it—after that terrible day, Abraham never saw his first son again. Enmity was sown between him and Isaac, the child of laughter. Then daddy died. That changed everything. Word traveled through the grapevine and found Hagar and Ishmael. I imagine there was a tense, emotional conversation at that dinner table—what to do? what might happen? Ishmael, though, rises in one of the great acts of courage ever found in scripture and returns. Imagine what Isaac thought as he saw his brother walking down the road toward the house. Imagine that weight, burden, and fear. Although, note please, Isaac’s own reaction may have been tempered by a memory of a horrible day all his own—the day daddy went nuts and almost killed him, saying he heard God talking to him. He may well have realized that he and Ishmael had far more in common than either them wanted to acknowledge. There was a miraculous reconciliation. The two brothers buried the old man, coming together to perform this sacred rite, overcoming all of that history, and entering a moment of love as God defined it—letting go of everything that makes self to be do the what needs to be done. It was a miracle.

Now fast forward 4000 years—Ishmael and Isaac still exist in the Middle East in very real forms—simply read the tension between Israel and all of her neighbors, noting which is Isaac and which is Ishmael. That miraculous moment of reconciliation did not last very long. In fact, no one much remembers it at all. 

But if it happened once—why not again? 

What needs to happen is the ability to see things as they are even when all else tells you that it cannot be so.

2000 years after Abraham’s funeral, a young couple trekked into Jerusalem to ascend the temple mount. It was time to name their first baby, have him circumcised pay the dues, and make the sacrifices. As they came out of the temple, an old couple suddenly jumped up and came to them. The man was on fire with something—maybe he was just plain crazy—he grabbed the child from a horrified Mary, but rather than doing something truly outrageous, he simply blessed him with every fiber of his being, announcing that he had finally found what he had waited a lifetime to see—a miracle! The woman, much more gently and subtly, gives the moment a woman’s touch. She, too, sees a miracle in the child, a wonder to behold. Everyone else pauses momentarily coming in and out of the temple, caught off guard by the spectacle, but once it appears everything is all right and the crazy people gave the child back to his mother, they shrug, and get on with their day. 

But look—Simeon and Anna actually see what is happening, recognizing Jesus for who he is, cut through life as usual to be surprised by joy. That is also a real possibility for you and me. We can be surprised by joy.

But you have to see things as they are. 

The holidays are over. Some of us have already completely cleared the decks of anything Christmas. Folks have gone back home, and tomorrow is another workday, 360 some odd days until next Christmas break. Dreary, no? Well, no—today is full of wonder and miracle if you have eyes to see it. 

How do we see it? How do we tune our eyes to see the way Simeon and Anna saw?

Allow the message to take hold of us just like it took hold of St. Paul. He is the paragon of holy transformation. He was the very last person anyone ever thought would become the greatest spokesman for Jesus Christ. Remember that as you begin to list all the reasons why you are not good enough, clean enough, smart enough, eloquent enough, or whatever enough to speak of Jesus—Paul trumps all of us—he actually helped silence permanently the ambassadors of Christ! That’s about as far into the abyss any human being can fall. Yet, suddenly he saw things as they were. Blinded to the world, he saw God. Eyes reopened, he saw himself. He accepted both and began to sing of reconciliation so deep and so pure that every human being was included in it—Tiny Tim was right—God blessed us all, everyone! So, he set about making sure everybody got the message, heard the Word, and received their invitation.

Paul is not an alien. Paul is not a person removed from all human experience. Paul is you and me. If Paul can see things as they are, so can we. Let God clear your eyes. Let God claim your heart. Let God lead your mind. In other words, get out of the way, leave the driver’s seat, and let God drive. 

Letting that happen brings us full circle. When that happens, Ishmael and Isaac join together in sacred work; Simeon and Anna see God alive and working in a newborn; and enemies become advocates. 

Let it happen.

See things.