Epiphany sermon: What Makes a Remarkable Space? (Matthew 2:1-12), 2024

Sermon: What Makes a Remarkable Space?

On the Eve of the actual day of Epiphany, January 6th, I gathered with some people at a sweat lodge in Duncan. As I listened to the introduction and stories of the Elder, the weather began to change, making a mockery of my light clothing. The rain started to fall “둑 둑” (dook, dook), and the wind grew colder, making us all shiver, longing to enter the sweat lodge. Our wish was soon granted; walking barefoot on the hard, damp ground, we crawled into the lodge counterclockwise, forming a circle as we sat down. I gratefully noticed the intimate space of the sweat lodge's dome warming up from the body heat of the people. Outside, the lodge keeper, Marcus, brought in the first red-hot, grandfather rock. My cheeks flushed with heat. “Come, come, o Grandfather,” the person next to me breathed. Another grandfather rock followed. O grandfather!

 

The rocks that had been part of the river, grazed by salmon, entered one by one, followed by medicine, and then a water vessel, after which the door closed, leaving us in darkness.

 

In a moment, like a starless, black night sky, when the dry medicine was crushed into powder and sprinkled on the stones, in the middle of the complete blackness, only the small lights of the burning medicine - cedar, sage, and tobacco -  sparked like fireworks, twinkling like mini light bulbs on a Christmas tree, shining like silent thunder.  

 

I thought to myself: could the star of Epiphany, which guided the Magi and stopped over the place where Jesus was born, have been like this medicine fire?

 

Then, the twelve of us sitting around took turns naming our intentions, naming our ancestors, expressing our sorrows, rage, and gratitude. In the small, hot space of the sweat lodge, what were we giving birth to during the next 3 hours of labour?

 

The water in the vessel began to be poured on the hot rock manger. The serious labour of healing had started. Could God’s birth pangs for a new creation have been like this dark, steam-filled, sweat lodge birth place?

 

In the middle of it, the weather, which had been slowly changing, intensified, and it began to pour down heavily. “좌~좌~” (Jooa, Jooa) However, inside this lodge, similar to Jesus' stable, a completely different temporary alternative world was unfolding, apart from the stormy world outside.

 

It was my second time experiencing a sweat lodge. My first one was in Manitoba, before Easter, on a hill adrip with melting snow. I cherish this second experience as well, embraced on the Eve of Epiphany in this new year. Although it might be a stretch to directly compare Jesus' birthplace with a sweat lodge, I often find myself pondering this question as Epiphany Sunday approaches: What made that unnoticed, marginalized place where the small life named Jesus began, become a remarkable space?

What I like about the Children’s Pageant during Advent is that every main character in the Nativity story, whose stories are told in different books of the Gospels, all come together. In the Gospels, the story of the Magi is only found in the Gospel of Matthew, and the shepherds are highlighted in the Gospel of Luke. Whether these different groups actually met on Jesus' birthday, or knew of each other, is another question. As far as each written book is concerned, they never met, but in the children’s pageant, we get to see all of them gather and give their own unique tribute and contributions. To note: All of the characters gather, Mary, Jesus, Joseph, often imagined with birth doulas, animals, shepherds, and Magi, … except for Herod. Herod is not welcome.

 

Priya Parker, who wrote the book The Art of Gathering, suggests the secret of the “art of gathering” that God could have used in this nativity-Epiphany story. Quoting Parker, “It was exclusion that allowed that diversity to be activated.” 

 

The first part of her book centres on the concept or insight that a remarkable space, any remarkable gathering, serves a clear, specific, unique, and “disputable” purpose. I think she means that if we create an event that is said to be for everyone and for everything — in other words, “When there really is no clear, unique, specific purpose”, it is no longer remarkable. For us here, who want to express a progressive, affirming and intercultural vision for whatever we do, there needs to be always a “disputable” purpose. We will engage with the process of “exclusion” in order to create an impactful, deep, remarkable inclusion. The exclusion of any aspect of oppression is necessary, in order to create a remarkable space. Herod is not welcome (Herod, not as Who, but Herod as What. It’s not about who as an individual, but what as the system) Herod is not welcome: It is easy to say in the nativity story, but in reality, it would not always be easy to say, “Herod is not welcome. Oppression is not welcome.” “Colonialism is not welcome.” "Transphobia is not welcome." To many, these are still disputable. It’s hard to be told you must change, you must shed the old assumptions in order to be fully welcome in a new space. But when you do change, when you are willing to drop long-held, harmful, beliefs, the remarkable space opens to you,. just like what I encountered in my second sweat lodge experience in Duncan. The weather was changing, we were seeking the warmth… Grandfather rocks and our ancestors were named. It was a safe place, a welcome space, a warm space, with the clear, specific, unique and intentional and disputable purpose of exclusion: exclusion of oppression. 

 

I like to think about the Nativity-Epiphany story. The key character that anchors the two weeks in between as one is the Epiphany star, which arose when Jesus was born and guided and stopped over the stable for the Magi. It was a humble stable, but how did it happen that, following the starlight and the voices of the angels, these totally unrelated different groups, Magi and shepherds, gathered on Epiphany? What made this unnoticed, marginalized place where the small life named Jesus began, become a remarkable space? Can we learn God’s art of gathering from this Epiphany story? How can Broad View United be a remarkable place, creating new relationships, on this new location and in this new context?

 

I asked myself all of these questions, and pondered them… and thought, for BVU, I would like to envision an “Overflowing of love.” That’s the phrase I thought of, and I love this aspect of being a community: to create an overflowing of love. But how could we help this to happen? How can we bring in grandfather rocks and pour the living water in our lives here? How will we create the hot-steamed overflowing of love, embodied and empowering? What is disputable about us and our purposes? 

 

Our intention and its impact, our courage to ask questions, willingness to gather in the storm, creating our own warm, safe lodge, learning about medicine and how to heat rocks, away in a manger, away from oppression – those are the things that matter. Moving away from the conventional ways that keep us stagnant. To be and continue to become a remarkable place with the clear, specific, unique and disputable purpose of how to be a church. 

So, (the following image comes from the Children’s Time) Untangle the chairs and join us, taking part in creating how we gather and why it matters. Lion dancing, Danza Colombia, Queer Apocalyptic Nativity, Christmas Fiesta, salsa dancing, retelling the traditional stories and transforming them into visual arts or other political justice art forms, 

inviting the diversity of the Latino community, Chinese community, 

encouraging Spanish speaking, Korean prayers, 

red dress, ribbon skirts, 

Palestine voices, Naming Herod (as What, not Who), casting out oppression, overflowing love, 

a dream space. 

All of these things are not just spicing up the old church. It’s reconstructing how we gather and why it matters – to come together without Herod, building a new lodge with our unique, specific, loving and disputable purposes. 

Newsletter Message: In 26.1 seconds (about The Epiphany Star)

After Christmas Day, my family took the ferry and drove to the arena in Surrey where our younger son Jah-bi’s hockey tournament was going to take place. It was like the star arose in our hearts on Christmas Day and followed our family all the way to where we were going and stopped above the arena.

 

And the highlight moment for me was this.

 

It was the 3rd round, and 26.1 seconds was left until Jah-bi’s team’s all efforts in this tournament would have to end. It was apparent that we lost by 2 scores against the other team. Except for the very first game, Jah-bi’s team would then have lost three games in a row.

The spectators and parents, even though this is a minor hockey game for kids, watch intently without losing sight of the puck when the kids are playing well, either holding their breath or cheering loudly, and support them just as fervently, albeit painfully, when things aren't going well. Yet, it is precisely in these moments that I find the most reflection and subtle inspiration. With only 26.1 seconds left, and the outcome almost certain, the kids still maintain their positions or go beyond to make the last shot, pass, or chase after the puck flung far by the opposition. Hustle, hustle, skate. Until the last 26.1 seconds, the kids have a reason to keep running.

 

Then it struck me. The puck is the star.

 

Watching a losing game to the end is painful. However, the resurgence of Spirit is in every moment, and what these players are building and creating is intangible. It’s not the score that goes up on the scoreboard but something immaterial. What they build up and create in those 26.1 seconds - the already risen star - is not about the present loss, but about the teamwork, spirit, newfound skills, and understandings that will be carried into the next game and beyond. They are creating something lasting, an intangible resurgence. Without it, what game are we playing?

 

What we are creating is

the star that rises in my heart,

the star that rises over each individual,

the star that rises over our community arena,

the star that connects us to another person,

and the star of their arena.

 

The star of Epiphany is not just about a visible light shining alone in the dark night, but about the intangible resurgence that blooms from darkness and a humble space. It's about the intangible world, understanding, dreams, history, and stories formed in God’s 26.1 seconds, in our life's 26.1 seconds.

 

May the 26.1-second puck, the star of Epiphany, continue to watch over you this new year, inspiring and empowering us all. May God's resurgence begin in all of us.

A Story Meets the Visual Arts: A Shepherd's Tale at Christmas Fiesta service and dancing... 2023

A Story Meets the Visual Art: A Shepherd's Tale

About The Visual Arts: Thank you, Matilde and Nicola, for visualizing the story through painting within the short reflection time. I would name it "A Palm Tree of the Rising Sun". Matilde shared a very interesting and thoughtful story time with children telling us about how resilient a palm tree is in the storm in Mexico. Here's a little more colour symbolism in the arts: this painting expresses some Palestine and Trans colours. Please stay tuned for Christmas Fiesta Video to see the arts again with all the stunning visual elements and intercultural dancing energies. 

The Story: A Shepherd's Tale

Did you hear that Jesus is born?

Ah, right. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Yosef. The baby’s father’s name is also Yosef. Yosef is a very popular name. 

I just saw baby Jesus, and my heart feels like it's going to burst with love.

I am a shepherd, by the way. That’s what I do. 

There’s something people call the “Midwife’s Tale.” I want to tell you my story, let's call it, a “Shepherd’s Tale”. Ah, I like that.

I want to tell you tonight what the birth of Jesus means to me. I’m uneducated, but I’m a thinker who loves to count the stars.

The world I live in now seems like it's in the middle of a deep night. Not a night that’s quiet and calm with warm fire and tender love, but a night that people say might as well be the end of the world, an Apocalyptic night. Roman soldiers terrorize and threaten us, and our king, Herod, only fuels this oppression, offering us no protection. Poverty, tribulation, and oppression are so long-standing that people often wonder if this night might be the end of the world. They hope the Messiah will come to end this cold, uncaring place and start everything anew. People believe that the world as it is now is just wrong: nothing new, good, beautiful, can start in a place of inequality and pain. So, many wait for the world’s end.

I was one of them. Often, sitting far from the other shepherds in the middle of the night, counting the stars and watching over a few sheep, which are not even mine, I would find myself in tears. Unable to find hope, peace, joy, or love to fill my heart.

A few days ago, I was sitting alone on a hill, counting the stars, hoping for a powerful and strong Messiah to save me and lead our people to a new world - one of peace. But my heart was empty and heavy with grief. Then suddenly, a group of other shepherds came and told me this story. A host of angels appeared, shining so brightly with light, that if it were the Roman army, we would have already experienced the end of the world. My friends were shaking with fear, unable to lift their heads, but the angel said, “You have been living in an era filled with fear; God doesn’t want to add another fear. I bring you a message of peace you’ve never experienced before. In the poorest part of the village below the hill, in the stable of an inn, a baby named Jesus was born. Jesus is like a wildflower that will spread far and wide, a new birth of peace. When nights get too long, people’s hearts can get drenched in darkness, but he will be like the dawn, opening people’s hearts to God’s love and peace.”

 

I just came from seeing the baby Jesus, and the light in his eyes and the sound of his breath makes my heart brighten with hope,  like the light returning to a dark land.

What I realized is this. We were waiting for the end of the world, sort of the “death” of the world, but the gift of God is the “birth" of a new creation even in the midst of chaos and grief! The birth of Christ isn’t about bringing the world to an end, but bringing an end to oppression. It's not that there’s a beginning only after the world as we know it ends. Even admist chaos and terror that we are going through, the beginning is now. The birth of new creation is now. The beginning is like how the dawn emerges. it’s the courage to see God’s love and justice rise again and again, like the rising sun or wildflowers. May peace on earth prevail with those who celebrate the birth of possibility every day!