Sunday after the Epiphany
January 10, 1858
“A light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of Thy people Israel.” —Luke ii. 32.
The passage: Simeon, holding the infant Christ, calls him a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of God’s people Israel.
Two apparently unconnected subjects came before us on Epiphany day. The Gospel told of the Magi led by a star to Christ’s cradle; the Epistle told of St. Paul preaching to the Ephesians. What connects these — what has a star in the heavens to do with the sermons of a tent-maker?
A study of St. Paul’s words suggests the answer, and it is embodied in the word Epiphany itself. Neither a sermon nor a star is the real subject of the Epistle or Gospel, but God’s manifestation of His Son to the Gentiles. This manifestation can no more be explained by St. Paul’s discourses than by the shining of an outward star. It is to the spirit within that God makes His discoveries; only with that spirit can a man grasp any truth or enter into communion with it. Newton might have seen a thousand apples fall before one led him to perceive the law of the universe: the object presented to his outward eye became the instrument by which an idea was presented to himself, a universal truth shining through one instance. His devout mind would have acknowledged that God led him to the one through the other; and if he later studied Copernicus and Kepler, he would have confessed that they too were instruments guiding him to a truth that would have been no less true for mankind even had none of them grasped it. In the same way, the leading of the star and the labours of St. Paul are equally unintelligible apart from the object common to both; connected with that object, each helps us understand the other.
I have taken the words of the old Rabbi Simeon, now sung as a Vesper Song of the Church, to illustrate this. The best commentary on them is our Epiphany Collect: “O God, Who by the leading of a star didst manifest Thy only-begotten Son to the Gentiles, mercifully grant that we, which know Thee now by faith, may after this life have the fruition of Thy glorious Godhead, through Jesus Christ our Lord.” A discourse can only follow lamely after the movements of a spirit in prayer, but I shall try to keep this Collect’s method before me, examining its several clauses.
I. An Eastern sage believed in a light older than the darkness, one that would at last overcome it; he connected this light with the luminous forms he saw in the evening sky, and in honestly trying to learn what they were and meant, he was in fact sending up a prayer to the Source of Light to be shown his bewildered way. Such a man is deeply interesting to contemplate — but mournful, if it was all in vain, if his longings were self-created and met no answer, if his life passed in dreams from which death was only the awakening to find they pointed to nothing. Is not the doctrine of the Epiphany more cheerful and reasonable? If we take Scripture’s records, as we must if we believe them, as instances of a law, of the Divine way of working, is it not good news that God Himself was directing the thoughts of this student of the stars, and of all seekers everywhere — that their disappointments, sorrows, hasty guesses, and crude anticipations were schoolmasters by which He was bringing them to Christ, to the Light that lightens every man who comes into the world — bringing them to know that He was there Who had always been there — bringing them, through some commonly observed incident, to the deepest moral truth that concerned their own being, and by its commonness to feel it was a truth for all as well as for themselves?
If we think of the One born at Bethlehem as having never lived until conceived by the Virgin, we may lose ourselves in speculation about the miracle of that particular star. But if we hold the Catholic Faith set before us at Christmas — that the Word who was with the Father before all worlds, by whom the worlds were made, who had always been the life and light of men, was then made flesh and dwelt among us — then that star was no exception to the law all stars obey. They needed not leave their courses to become instruments of illumination to the inner spirit of man, any more than to show him his path through a wood or across the sea; in each case they obeyed their Creator, glorifying His settled order, and so ministered to the greatest as well as the humblest needs of His children. It may have been a wonder to the wise men, an overthrow of many conjectures, a tearing up of plausible schemes of the universe they had devised, when they were led to confess the glory in a Jewish child born in a Jewish stable — glory they had looked for in a Persian monarch or a sun of the upper world. But if there was this breaking-down of theories, such as every true man of science must endure and in the end give thanks for, what satisfaction was reserved for the humbled truth-seeker in the very meanness of the outward vesture — in discovering that the glory was all within, and no less a human glory for being Divine! Many lines of thought and hope, sometimes crossing, sometimes running forever parallel without meeting, found their centre in that cradle. And while they confessed how little the vision matched what, as wise men, as Magians, they should have anticipated and wished, they would be brought to see that this was what they required as men — that here was the Son of Man.
II. There is then no violent transition from this to the general manifestation of the Only-begotten Son to the Gentiles which came through St. Paul’s preaching, or that of any who followed him. He went forth as a messenger to men concerning a Son of God and Son of Man; this was his Gospel, and wherever he preached it he found other preachers had been there before him — the rains and fruitful seasons filling men’s hearts with food and gladness, the sun and stars, thoughts of One of whom men were the offspring, thoughts of a Judge and Deliverer, a feeling after One in whom they lived and moved and had their being. He had no hope in his own rhetoric or power to persuade men to a new opinion; his hope lay in declaring the thing as it was — that which was from the beginning but which God was now making manifest, through the birth, death, and resurrection of His Son, to Jew and Greek, Barbarian and Scythian, bond and free. His hope lay in this: that his truth was manifesting itself in men’s consciences, that he was awakening them, as he had been awakened himself, to know that the Son of God was shining into their hearts brighter than the sun — that in refusing to acknowledge the crucified Jesus as Lord they were kicking against the pricks. Wherever he went he found proof that God had other ways besides the leading of a star to manifest His Son to the Gentiles — that in every nation and language there were tokens and witnesses of Him which God Himself was drawing forth, which His minister first had to learn from the invisible Teacher in the secret ear, and then proclaim upon the housetops.
III. And how is it now, brethren? Are things altogether changed? Do we now have, as some tell us, the Scriptures and the traditions of the Church, separately or together, as substitutes for that inner manifestation of the Son of God which Scripture and Church say came to certain wise men through a star’s guiding, and to the nations through the Gospel’s preaching? The Collect’s prayer would make no sense with its own introduction — our desire could have no connection to the light that came to Gentiles of old, if our knowledge of God does not rest on essentially the same ground as theirs. The Magians had their traditions and paid them due reverence; they studied the stars in keeping with them. But had their traditions been a thousand times better, the traditions themselves would have said: trust God, not us; He is with you, follow His guiding. They acted on this conviction, opened their hearts to God’s teaching, and He manifested His Son to them, leading them to the Child. Those to whom St. Paul preached were not merely Gentiles; a Jewish colony was mixed among them, and he spoke to both alike. He used Gentile traditions and lore; he appealed to Jewish Scriptures and to Jewish history as authoritative and true. But in both cases his object was the same: to lead them to faith in the living Son of God, who had spoken and was speaking to the Gentile conscience, and no less to the Jewish conscience — not less directly for having given the Jews a Law, raised up Patriarchs, Kings, and Prophets to rule, teach, and reprove them, and caused His oracles to be written down as testimonies of His continual presence with them. The Jew mistook the Patriarchs, the Law, the Prophets for substitutes for the voice speaking to the Gentiles; he put these, and the written oracles, and the comments and traditions of the elders, between himself and God. So while priding himself on his superiority to the Gentiles, he actually reduced himself below their level. He renounced the human privilege he could not take from them; he cut himself off, so far as he could, from the Divine light and manifestation, using his traditions and even God’s own Scriptures to close the passage through which the light of Christ was entering his inner being. That is why St. Paul complains so continually that a veil is on their hearts — not lifted even in reading the Old Testament, though it testifies everywhere of Christ. Only when they turn to the Lord, seeking Him who is seeking them, will it be lifted.
This example is meant for us, and is fearful enough that the Collect’s truth needs continual pressing. It is God who manifested His Son to the Gentiles who alone can manifest His Son to us. No book, however divine, no Church authority or tradition, however venerable, can do it. We must know, not the book, not the tradition, but Him, by faith. We must trust Him as we trust a father — that is what the Book tells us to do, what the Church tells us to do; its authority and traditions contradict themselves and become blasphemies if they say otherwise. If we habitually believe in God as a living Person, seeking Him as refuge from our own atheism and idolatry, from our self-will, pride, spite, and malice, we shall know Him as one knows a friend — not by seeing Him with the eyes, not by reports or traditions about Him however trustworthy or reasonable, but by experiencing His help, discovering how much better He is than we are, and yet how well He understands and cares for us. To exchange this practical faith, resting on God Himself and His own manifestation in the Son, for mere belief in the holy book, is to disobey the Book’s own warnings, showing we prize it as a name, not for what it teaches. To exchange it for belief in the Church — a notion that the Church will tell us the right thing and bring us to Heaven — is to show we do not know what membership in a Church means, prizing it not because it leads us to the Rock it stands on, but because we suppose it is ours and gives us privilege others lack. This is to exalt ourselves and deny God.
IV. That is, we fail to adopt the Collect’s next clause: “we which know Thee now by faith.” I have anticipated these words somewhat, but they deserve separate treatment. We were willing enough to limit ourselves to objects of sight. The world offered many beautiful ones deserving admiration, but resting in them was impossible — we outgrew them. If we came to them with a heart open for joy, they fed it for a time; if we brought sorrow, they more often deepened it than lightened it. There was an inward ache, a craving of spirit for something like itself yet higher than itself, a craving for deliverance from itself, that these fair images only mocked. How good it was to escape from them to a friend, a kinsman — an object not of sight but of trust, one who could exchange thoughts and feelings with us, who actually suffered and rejoiced, who was wiser and better! But sympathy runs out, or some flaw appears in a character that seemed sound, or wisdom perishes, or jealousy severs the bond. We need more: one altogether better than ourselves, whose sympathy never fails, whose character has no flaw, who lasts forever. We need a Son of Man. What has the Gospel that there is such a Son of Man, who knows our birth, our poverty, our suffering and death, been to Europe for eighteen centuries! Into what hovels has that sound penetrated, over what cradles and coffins has it echoed! If you suppose the sun’s light and heat have only been felt by those who know the right astronomy, you might as well suppose Christ’s power limited to those who hold the right doctrine about His relation to the visible or invisible world. As the truest astronomy, by declaring the world’s unchangeable law, shows how independent it is of our conceptions, refutes such a notion — so the truest theology spurns the other with still greater indignation. St. Paul’s theology declares Christ the foundation laid for every man, not one men lay for themselves by their faith or feelings. St. John’s theology declares Christ the Light that lightens every man, whether acknowledged or denied. The Church, in her Creeds, Sacraments, and prayers, proclaims the Incarnation and Manifestation of the Son of God as good news to the world. She would rather be charged with presumption and dogmatism than earn credit for modesty by teaching men that truth is created by their own opinions.
V. But Simeon spoke not only of “a Light to lighten the Gentiles” — there was also “a glory” for the “people Israel.” The Collect does not merely thank God for manifesting His Son; it asks that we, though Gentiles, may have “the fruition of His glorious Godhead.” These are equivalent: we ask for the whole Church, the whole universe, what the Jew believed was reserved for his own nation.
He felt, rightly, that Abraham’s children had been trained for something higher than the sight of even the most blessed Child, the most perfect Man. Their whole discipline taught them they could only be satisfied on awakening after God’s likeness — that to know Him was their great reward. In converting them, we have, I think, paid too little attention to this: to the feeling, however confused, working in their minds, that there must be a revelation of divine glory encircling their nation, or else it had existed for nothing. But if we have failed to meet the secret cravings God has put in Jewish hearts, and this is why so few have cast their lot with us, we have done the same wrong to ourselves and to the other nations through the same misunderstanding. The fruition of the glorious Godhead is as needful for us as for them. Whenever we speak or think of glory, however paltry our words, however low our conceptions, this unspeakable blessedness lies behind them. Why else does the thought of glory so naturally attach itself to the thought of departure from this world? Why is there something painful in calculating the petty rewards we can give a man who has delivered his country? Why do we almost dread, however eagerly we desire his return, to hear the vulgar, formal phrases that are all we can devise to honour the toils we are most grateful for? Why is there something calming in the sadness that follows a brave man to his grave, in the very place his work was done, just when it was done? Solon thought those young men blessed above kings who yoked themselves to their priestess-mother’s car, brought her to her temple, fell asleep from weariness, and — since she had prayed the Goddess to pour her best gift upon them — woke no more. Such a gift, surely, our God would bestow on those who have offered themselves as freely for our common mother. Here the hard fighter knows Him by faith, seeking the Captain of his hosts amid jungles, watching for Him by camp-fire light, whatever the nature of his warfare. It is by his own weakness he learns the everlasting Strength, by his sins the perfect Righteousness, by the feebleness of the halo about the noblest of God’s servants, the substantial glory that halo reflects. After this life comes the fruition of that glory: the longing for selfish prizes ceases, the earthly weakness of wishing to exchange faith for sense is taken away, and what remains is the vision of the Light that fills earth and heaven, the revelation to the inward eye of the Godhead itself, as the spiritual body’s eye grows by degrees able to take in all the beauty and harmony of God’s works.
Yes — there is in us all a deep sighing for Home, a longing nothing but the beholding of God can satisfy. The more we know of the world’s faiths, the more we find this, even where the desire is most perverted. Buddha taught his followers to crave annihilation; though few understand his philosophy, hundreds of millions have been shaped by his practical teaching. That dream seems monstrous to us at our best moments — yet how often it has seemed most natural, most desirable! To lose oneself, to forget, to be forgotten: who, after months of intense restlessness, has not counted this the highest blessing the soul could attain? As long as a floating image of a God of wrath lingers about us, a God whose dominion we should be glad to escape yet who would curse us with immortality, we shall turn to this as a distant but not impossible hope. Terrible as it would be to part with all the beautiful things, energies, affections, memories, and hopes we have delighted in, the conscience will count this a small sacrifice to be delivered from its own growing burden, from the presence of an irresistible enemy.
But when the conscience receives the revelation of a reconciled and reconciling God, of One who has manifested His Only-begotten Son bearing the burden we could not bear, taking away the sin of the world, bequeathing peace, giving repentance, baptizing with the Spirit — all is changed. What was sought in nothingness is found in a Father. The death of self becomes the beginning of a new life of affections, energies, memories, and hopes, which find their fruition in God and realize their glory when He is revealed. So it remains true, as of old, that the desire of nations is for a Christ, a Son of Man — but a Son of Man in whom we may see the Father. So it remains true that the star guiding wise men from the East, be they Buddhist, Brahmin, or Mahometan, will rest on the cradle of the young Child — but rest there because that Child comes to manifest the glory of God. So it remains true that preachers of the Gospel to the Gentiles must tell them that the Word who is their Light took flesh and dwelt on earth and suffered the death of the Cross, that they may be signed with the sign of His Cross — because the Wisdom and Power of God were revealed at Calvary, because there the assurance was given that sinful and dying men shall hereafter behold the face of God, and that His Name shall be on their foreheads.