January 8, 2012 | 8:00 a.m.

Catch and Reflect

Matthew J. Helms
Pastoral Resident, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 67
Isaiah 60:1–6
Matthew 2:1–12

The Christmas mystery has two parts: the nativity and the epiphany. . . . In the first, we commemorate God’s humble entrance into human life, . . . and in the second, God’s manifestation to the world. . . . The first only happens in order that the second may happen. . . . The birth of Christ in our souls is for a purpose beyond ourselves: it is because God’s manifestation in the world must be through us. Every Christian is, as it were, part of the dust-laden air which shall radiate the glowing epiphany of God, catch and reflect God’s golden Light.

Evelyn Underhill
“The Light of the World”

In 2000, author Catherine Ryan Hyde published a novel entitled Pay It Forward, a novel that unwittingly moonlights as a fantastic theological statement on gratitude and generosity. The concept was simple: perform an act of kindness for someone and insist that rather than feeling they owe you, they must instead “pay it forward” and perform acts of kindness for three other people. This style of giving avoids reciprocity or personal gain and it instead focuses on the heart of giving—offering joy to another person that cannot and need not be repaid.

The story begins as a journalist recalls his first encounter with someone who was paying it forward. On his way to work, the journalist’s old car irreparably stalls in the middle of the road and is blocking traffic. Frustrated, he hops out of the car but soon realizes that it is a lost cause. Now we’ve all witnessed such a thing ourselves; we know that these situations can quickly turn nasty—honking, yelling, special hand gestures that are definitely not waves of sympathy. But then, out of nowhere, the journalist sees a man park his new Acura nearby and offer to help push the car off the road. Grateful for the man’s help, the journalist accepts, and soon the two men have it safely off to the side of the road. As the journalist turns to shake the man’s hand, he is stunned to see the man offer him the keys to the Acura. “Let’s trade,” the man says. Too stunned to even think, the journalist listens as the man explains that he had been helped recently and had been tasked to pay it forward to three different people. And now, the man explains, it is the journalist’s turn to do the same.

Fascinated, this journalist spends time tracing the pattern of kindness and is amazed to discover that it all began from three acts of kindness done by a twelve-year-old for an extra-credit assignment. There is something contagious about generosity, and it has spread across the city regardless of age, race, gender—it is a force that cannot be stopped.

It’s easy to dismiss a story like this as unbelievable, particularly since Pay It Forward is a work of fiction. But even though it’s a fictional story, I know the contagiousness of generosity is not. I’ve witnessed that firsthand. Every day I ride the Green and Red Lines to and from Fourth Church to my home in Oak Park. It’s a long ride, about forty to fifty minutes total. Anyone who routinely rides the L knows that there is a good chance you’ll end up with one or two bizarre characters on any particular ride. People yelling, muttering, pacing, or far, far worse. As such, I’ve developed what I call my “L face” in which I, for all intents and purposes, tune out the world around me and have the same blank, expressionless look no matter what anyone around me is doing. It’s my own little mental vacation, often aided by a book or magazine. When I am in “L face” mode, I am on autopilot until my Oak Park stop, and very little will shake me out of it.

However, a few months ago, I was on my way home in a crowded train when a mother and her young boy got on board. The boy did not look well and was clearly going to vomit; the mother was worried, because she kept repeating “Just hold on, hold on.” But he couldn’t. The poor boy vomited on himself and the train wall, and people began moving away from him. The train car smelled awful, and the boy was clearly very embarrassed. Not sure of what to do, I just went into my “L face,” blocking out the smell and merely focusing on making it home. Most of the other passengers appeared to be doing the same. But a minute later the woman next to me stood up, took off the jacket she was wearing, and asked me to give the jacket to the boy and his mother so that he wouldn’t have to wear those clothes. Stunned, I got up and handed the boy the jacket. And suddenly it was as though this woman’s generosity shook everyone out of their own worlds. People began digging through their pockets, purses, and bags to find anything of use—plastic bags, cleaning wipes, tissues, antacids. Within a few minutes, the mother had enough to clean the boy up and change him into the woman’s jacket. What had seemed like an irreparable situation when it happened had suddenly become an outpouring of kindness—but it had only occurred because one woman was bold enough, generous enough, to offer what she had without expecting anything in return. Her gift was contagious, encouraging others to do the same.

This past Friday, January 6, was the day of Epiphany. Epiphany celebrates the gift of God being revealed in a human being, Jesus Christ, to the whole world as represented by the wise men in our Matthew passage today. Epiphany is the close to the Twelve Days of Christmas, a season that honestly seemed long past already last week as both Michigan Avenue and the church were eerily quiet after the December shoppers and visitors. It is fascinating that the church calendar focuses on Christ’s birth in the days following Christmas just as many of us seem to be letting it go. On December 26, frankly, Christmas is over. And yet the significance of this nativity story is still bearing out, as Evelyn Underhill, an early twentieth-century English poet and mystic, wrote: “The Christmas mystery has two parts: the nativity and the epiphany. . . . In the first, we commemorate God’s humble entrance into human life, . . . and in the second, God’s manifestation to the world. . . . The first only happens in order that the second may happen.” And so we turn now to this Epiphany event as described in Matthew’s Gospel.

The wise men, or magi, were travelers to Jerusalem from someplace afar, referred to in the story only as “The East,” but likely Persia. They came following an unusual star and spoke to Herod, who was King of Judea, with questions about a child in this area who had been born King of the Jews. Herod is disturbed and immediately summons the chief priests and the scribes to figure out where this child was born. Amazingly, the chief priests and scribes know and respond that this child is located in Bethlehem. Herod, then, sends these wise men on their way with a request to keep him informed of specifically where this child is.

However, Herod’s sinister motive seems to dissolve once the wise men reach the place where Jesus is. The text says that “they were overwhelmed with joy” and that they “knelt down and paid Jesus homage.” We have heard of the great expense of these gifts many times—gold, frankincense, myrrh—items that would be fit for a king. But those gifts aren’t the focus of the text; these wise men’s reverence for Jesus is. In his haunting devotion “Only a Rumor,” Søren Kierkegaard notes that these wise men were following only the light of a star—a rumor—all the way to Jesus. Their openness contrasts with the response of the chief priests and scribes, those who knew where Jesus was born but made no movement themselves. Instead, it is these strangers to Judea—Gentiles, as they would have been called—who are drawn to the light of Jesus.

Five hundred years earlier, the prophet Isaiah had boldly proclaimed to the Israelites as they were rebuilding Jerusalem, “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. Darkness shall cover the earth, but the Lord shall arise upon you. . . . Nations shall come to your light. They shall bring gold and frankincense and shall proclaim the praise of the Lord.”

Epiphany celebrates the coming of God’s light into the world, a humble light born in the person of Jesus Christ. This light was not contained in, limited to any one nation but was generously extended to all in love. And incredibly it was the wise men, the Gentiles, who caught this contagious generosity, this contagious light. Like the contagious generosity of the twelve-year-old boy from Pay It Forward or the woman offering her jacket to the boy on the L, the light that came into the world in the person of Jesus shone forth not out of personal gain but out of pure love. Light shines in the darkness because that is what it is meant to do: it doesn’t stop to think about limitations, weigh its options, consider the futility—it shines. It is the same way with love, the type of pure love that we find in Jesus. God’s love shines forth in the darkness because that is what it is meant to do: love doesn’t think about limitations, weigh its options, consider the futility—it responds, it gives, it shines forth freely.

When the wise men approached the baby Jesus, they were overwhelmed with joy. How foolish must those gifts have seemed once they had arrived? How could they ever repay the gift of pure love that this Christ child brought? Truly, they couldn’t. We can’t. God’s gift of love and grace that is freely extended to each of us can never be repaid. But that love and grace can be caught—caught, appreciated, cherished, and, perhaps most important of all, reflected.

Christopher Hays, a former Old Testament professor at Emory University, notes that “God’s people themselves do not generate light; they can only gather and disperse the light that has shone on them.” What a model this is for each of us. Many of us love to reflect God’s light because we don’t feel embarrassed when we are giving. It is easier, I think, to give than to receive. But we can each only reflect what we receive, and in order to reflect God’s light, we must first experience the fullness of that light—God’s generosity, love, and grace in the nativity story—before the Epiphany, before we reflect that light to others. It was this that Evelyn Underhill was referring to when she said, “The birth of Christ in our souls is for a purpose beyond ourselves: it is because God’s manifestation in the world must be through us. Every Christian is, as it were, part of the dust-laden air which shall radiate the glowing epiphany of God, catch and reflect God’s golden Light.”

One of the most unique and awe-inspiring worship services at any church is their Christmas Eve service, and at Fourth Church it is no different. In the service, we each have a chance to rehear with fresh ears the story of Jesus’ birth. But the part that moves everyone the most, members and pastors alike, is that quiet, holy moment leading up to the singing of “Silent Night.” The lights dim, and the sanctuary feels dark and cold aside from the Advent candles at the front. But slowly and deliberately, one of the pastors lights a candle from the Christ candle and passes it to their neighbors around them. The process is repeated, and each person who receives the light turns and offers it to their neighbors. Slowly but surely the light spreads out from one single candle until the entire sanctuary suddenly does not seem dark and cold but instead bright and warm. Somehow a single candle is able to brighten a massive building like that of Fourth Church.

But the most incredible part is when you look around and see the faces of this community illumined in the pews. People of all ages, races, and genders together, catching and reflecting the light of the Christ candle. “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.”

What can we give the Lord for this light? After giving their gifts, the wise men go forth, avoiding Herod, reflecting God’s love to their own country. Rather than repay the man who gave him his car, the journalist sets out to pay that gift forward to others. Rather than worry about losing a jacket, a woman offers what she has to a little boy in need.

We have each been exposed to the light of Christ, this contagious love that God has freely offered in the nativity. The birth of Christ in our souls is for a purpose beyond ourselves: God’s manifestation in the world must be through us. May we each radiate the glowing epiphany of God—catch and reflect God’s light.