1 Epiphany
January 7, 2007

O Lord, help us to become the masters of ourselves that we may become the servants of others. Take our lips and speak through them. Take our minds and think through them. Take our lives and live through them. And take our hearts and set them on fire.

The Great Rift Valley in Eastern Africa is one of the great geologic wonders of the world. Twenty million years ago, massive tectonic activity under the crust of the earth caused the Eastern part of the continent to pull away, creating a new ocean extending from what is now Mozambique to present day Lebanon. This great upheaval exposed lost ancient worlds from earth’s dark past .

All of this is very much on display when you travel to the northernmost boundary of the Great Rift in the Dead Sea region of modern day Israel and Palestine. The Dead Sea occupies the lowest continental basin on the Earth, and in the steep cliffs surrounding the sea, the fossilized record chronicles 3 billion years of our planet’s history. There in one stratum you can find the remains of the complex, blue green algae that was the first appearance of life on earth; in another stratum there are1 billion year old multi-cell fossils of the life forms that dominated our planet for aeons; there is the more recent record of the dinosaurs and the cataclysm that caused their extinction; and the most recent record of the evolution of mammalian life that gave birth in this very last instant to humanity. Indeed, scientists tell is it was this Great geological Rift in the earth’s surface and the climatic changes that accompanied it that made it possible for the first human beings to evolve in the first place.

I can think of no better way to introduce our Gospel reading from Luke today. For to the immediate north of the Dead Sea, there flows a modest little river named the Jordan. It was here, scripture tells us, that John the Baptist followed a long line of Hebrew prophets preaching in the desert. It was here that Jesus began his public ministry, and here too where he was baptized. It was here, witnesses say, a dove descended on him, and a loud voice was heard: “You are my beloved, in you I am well pleased.”

Friends, the simple thing I want to say this morning is: it is all connected. The vast expanse of time and space, the intricacy of creation, the colossal outpouring of organic life, the wild dance of our planet earth, the prophetic witness, the dove, the heavenly voice, divine love made incarnate, the naked man Jesus in the muddy Jordan, our lives, our purposes, our hopes and fears and dreams. It is all one. It all belongs together. It is all connected. And if it is all connected, then all of it, all of it is beloved. And all of it, all of it is pleasing in the sight of the Great One who created all of it.

Is this not what we proclaim? Is this not what we believe? Is this not what we mean when we say these words: In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God. And the Word was God. All things came into being through Him. And without him, not one thing came into being.

Last night marked the twenty fifth anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood. And anticipating this date has given me pause. When I was ordained, I was twenty seven years old, nearly the age of my children now. I was very wet behind the ears, barely out of adolescence, recently married, the father of a one year old son. The audacious thing is, back then, I thought I knew what I was doing. I know now how little I knew, how little I could have known.

It was a very cold night in Minnesota, the night I was ordained, twenty below on the thermometer. I remember the glow of the light around me. I remember the weight as the bishop and priests laid hands on me . I remember the joy and affirmation. But after all this time, the thing I remember most is a little meditation my spiritual director at the time had given me to reflect on. He asked me to trace my life back through all the people and experiences I had in life, back to my birth, and further still, back into the intricate colloboration of history, and genetics, and circumstance which had brought me into being. Then he asked me, how do I feel about the summing up of this vast creative process in me and in my vocation?

A quarter century later, it is this question I ask myself this morning. How do I feel? It is hard to say. Not because I don’t feel anything. But because my feelings are too great for words. I feel grateful. For all the souls who have touched me, and who I have touched. In birth and baptism. In friendship and marriage. In sickness and death. In laughter and tears. In work and play. In good times and bad. In struggle and pain.

I feel blessed. To have parents who gave me the gift of faith in the beginning. Who have nurtured me, who have loved me, who have guided me. To have a wife who has stood by me in thick and thin, who has always inspired me to be my best self, who has never tolerated anything less than this. To have friends and mentors who have showed me patience, and kindness, and generosity.

I feel humbled. For this vocation. For this privilege. For this honor.

And this morning, I feel something even deeper. Something greater. I feel a oneness with all of you. I feel a oneness with all of this. This vast creative process that is summed up in you, and is summed up in me.

I think of Jesus in that cold, muddy river, intuiting in his own heart being one with everything that was, and is, and is to come. And it takes my breath away.

And there are no more words to offer. Only feelings. And a voice that says: You are my beloved. In you I am well pleased.