"Giving and Losing" | The Rev. Peter Sipple | January 2, 2022
SERMON – Epiphany, 2022
Trinity, New Haven
On the first day back to school in January, Molly, five years old, couldn’t wait to tell her best friend Annie what she got for Christmas and with a little less enthusiasm to hear what Annie had received. Later, in third grade, Molly proudly gave her mom the scarf she’d knit in school. At 25 Molly spent a precious hour off work looking for just the right thing to give her mother. And recently, now in her 50’s, Molly came across that old scarf while cleaning the attic, and her eyes brimmed over as she recalled the pleasure it had given her mother, gone these past few months.
As she grew older Molly learned that giving not only expressed her affection for those she loved but connected her with them more deeply and fully. She recognized how a simple gift could convey meaning far beyond its objective reality. And, paradoxically, she learned something about loss.
People of faith who believe we were made in the image of God resemble God as we give to others out of love. Matthew included in his life of Jesus a story about generosity that reminds us of our own experience. It tells of loss, too—loss that ultimately led to a gift too precious for words. Three noble travelers journey a long distance from foreign lands to bring gifts to the new-born Jesus. The first one’s gold represents royalty. The second gives frankincense, made from the gum of a tree whose aromatic smoke enhances worship. And the third offers myrrh, used to anoint bodies for burial.
The story of the Magi, drawing on a prophesy in Isaiah, bristles with contrasts and paradoxes: the imagery of light and darkness, life and death, weakness and strength, poverty and riches, insiders and outsiders, mystery and revelation, receiving and losing. We can understand that gold symbolized royalty and incense worship, but why myrrh, so closely associated with burying the dead? Why must giving be accompanied by loss? At funerals we may hear that the Lord both gives and takes away. But the God who gives life so generously seems in conflict with a God who cuts it off like the Fates arbitrarily snipping the string of life. The Gospels suggest a different theology: that God created and creates a universe where giving and losing, light and darkness are in constant interplay and require their opposite in order to be understood. In such a universe, loss and separation are natural consequences of acquiring and receiving. The scarf Molly gave her mother years ago now turns up in the attic frayed and full of moth holes. One day it will disappear. That is the nature of things and it is the nature of life. The gift of myrrh suggests the ultimate loss humankind will experience even of the child lying with such astonishing promise in the hay. The Magi can head off death by avoiding Herod and going home a different way; you and I can look for alternative routes as well, and thanks to medical science some exist. Just as death naturally follows life, loss remains a natural consequence of receiving. We don’t need to spend anxious moments moping about this fact.
The third king’s gift indicates that inherent in the very presentation of this royal infant whom we worship is the loss of him. A paradox? Yes, and we’re being set up for many more to come. So it behooves us to think about the span of the seasons starting with Epiphany through to Good Friday and certainly beyond. After recognizing the Christ as God incarnate, we ask during Lent about how to make ourselves worthy of the gift. On Good Friday we grieve over the loss of this one we love; like him we are acquainted with grief. But if the story had ended there, if myrrh had been the ultimate symbol, our lives would be immeasurably diminished. For the Resurrection turned loss on its head; loss became a gift. In death is new life; out of darkness new light shines. This is the Bible’s story: that the God who gave life keeps giving it. We experience this gift every time we worship; out of the darkness of our confession shines the light of forgiveness and redemption. Epiphany reveals that inherent in this infant God is our salvation; his saving grace allows us to throw off the fear of loss and receive the gift of new life, a life that has no end.
The medieval poem Adam lay ybounden, now a familiar carol, turns on this whimsical notion: Ne had the apple taken been, ne had never our Lady a been heaven e queen. In its quirky, paradoxical way, that’s the idea. Had humankind not fallen into sinful ways, Mary would never have become Queen of Heaven. Had we not brought loss upon our condition, we would not have found the joy of God’s love in the gift of Jesus Christ. Out of weakness comes strength. Out of darkness, light; out of sadness, joy.
When Molly discovered the scarf she’d knit for her mother many years before, she recognized the symbol of the love they held for one another. A simple now-scruffy piece of wool connected them in ways more powerful than words. So you and I remain connected with one another through the gift of Christ’s love, a gift that will one day transcend our loss of one another. For in Christ we will one day understand all paradoxes: alpha and omega, darkness and light, death and new life.