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Third Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 9
9 [a]Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress. In the past he humbled the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the future he will honor Galilee of the nations, by the Way of the Sea, beyond the Jordan—

2 The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned.
3 You have enlarged the nation
and increased their joy;
they rejoice before you
as people rejoice at the harvest,
as warriors rejoice
when dividing the plunder.
4 For as in the day of Midian’s defeat,
you have shattered
the yoke that burdens them,
the bar across their shoulders,
the rod of their oppressor.


Suddenly, everyone is a photographer.

It was bound to happen, since anyone with a smartphone in their pocket has a pretty decent camera on them all the time. And these cameras are getting better all the time, something that makes traditional camera makers very nervous. So you’ve got a camera in your pocket, how are you going to make the most of it?

Well, after reading countless blogs and watching numerous youtube channels, and doing my own version of trial and error, I can share a few ideas. Let’s begin with the alarmingly obvious: let the sun shine on your subject, never let them dwell in the shadows. Or the rule of thirds, where you place your subject off-centre in the frame. There is just something more pleasing about putting your subject in one of the outer thirds. Some have suggested it is related to the golden ratio, the same golden ratio I told you about (recently) in one of my weirder sermons.

The there is the idea that you should get closer to your subject. And then closer still, and closer again, and there— that’s about right. Unless you’re trying to show that the shoes match the belt, you gotta get closer. And finally there is the light, or rather the quality of the light, and for that we need the golden hour. The golden hour is the hour after sunrise and the hour before sunset. Some call it the magic hour— magic in the sense that every picture taken then somehow seems better.

Some say it’s the diffused light, less intense than the harsh light of the middle of the day. Some say it’s the unique glow, the light filtered at a low angle through the atmosphere. And some say it’s the versatility of the light, being one of the few times you can place the sun behind your subject and allow the soft light to illuminate them from behind. In other words, magic:

2 The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned.


Dawn, of course, has long been associated with hope, renewal, birth, and alike. And when I say long, I mean long: places like Stonehenge or Avebury (largest stone circle in Europe) are linked to the solstice, as well as Newgrange in County Meath, nearly 5,000 years old and perfectly aligned with the return of the light each year. And the idea of the dawn is a busy metaphor, signalling new beginnings and the start of something new.

So why is Isaiah employing the dawn metaphor, and what is he signalling? It’s a long story, and it all begins when God was king. Actually, God never stopped being king, but there was a moment when the people of Israel demanded an earthly king like all the other nations in the neighbourhood. Partly it was jealousy, partly it was practicality: either way, God granted Israel a king. God did set up an “I told you so” by first describing why having a king is a really bad idea (1 Sam 8), but eventually relented and granted them a king.

What follows is a mixed bag of kings. There is Saul (neither great nor good) and then David (great but not good—see Bathsheba) and then Solomon (great but not good—see all those foreign wives) and then a parade of so-so kings all the way down to Jehoiachin (Ya-hoya-keem), the very last king in the line, dethroned and carried off the Babylon. It seemed an inglorious end for such a great house, and perhaps even the end of God’s covenant with David. Still, the promise remained:

2 The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned.


Walter Brueggemann, the other Old Testament scholar I turn to, defines faith this way: “Faith is understood in the Old Testament as Israel’s confidence that YHWH’s promises are reliable; in response, Israel is prepared to stake its future on that promise, even though it flies in the face of fact.”* Flies in the face of fact, like that fact the Jehoiachin (Ya-hoya-keem) is doing some sort of ancient Game of Thrones, former king in the land of exile, never to return home.

I think you can see a need for the dawn. Exile, humiliation, and the very real possibility of a broken covenant all point to a need for a sign, a signal, some sort of indication that faith is the right response in these times. The answer is messiah, the dawn of a new House of David, appearing in the time to come. God will come in a new way, to enact the promises of old and return people to a path of hope:

2 The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned.

Sadly, in the golden light of God’s new dawn, some could see Messiah and others could not. Martin Buber addressed this very problem when he said that Christians and Jews should wait together for Messiah, the second coming in our view and the first in theirs. The key at that moment will be to fight down the urge to ask who was right, since it will no longer matter.**

What matters in our passage, at this moment, is the dawning light. The magic hour of renewal and hope will come, and our task is to hold it fast, understand it, and share it with others. This might be the moment to reference the madness happening south of the border, but I’ll hold that for now. It might be enough to say that I expect the 95 million eligible voters that stayed home last time might be reconsidering that decision, perhaps even resolving to make amends.

In a few moments we will share the Sacrament of Communion, a ritual that Jesus gave us on the night he was betrayed. Two of the three evangelists who recount the story tell us that it was evening, as Jesus and his friends sat down for the Passover meal. Bread is broken and wine is shared, and the words of the Master leave little doubt that something has changed, as the sun has set and the evening come.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, photographers have a name for this moment too, calling the time immediately after sunset the “blue hour.” The residual light we name as twilight has a bluish quality, ample light to capture your subject, especially landscapes or architecture with some artificial light as well.

As we approach the table, perhaps it is helpful to remember that this is happening in the blue hour. The great light of the resurrection remains a hope is this hour, and Jesus is busy reassuring his friends and helping them understand that the dawn is coming and those living in a land of deep darkness will soon see the light. The words of institution provide comfort and hope.

As we navigate the fading light and dream about the dawn we have faith: faith that God will remain true to the promises of renewal and new life, faith that God will act through human history to save us, and faith that the golden light of God’s new dawn will soon appear, Amen.


*Reverberations, p. 156.
**p. 129.

posted by michael jacob kooiman @ 5:10 AM