Epiphany - Fanfare

Rebecca Clancy

Matthew 2:1-12

I always miss my dad around the holidays. In this I know I am not unique. We all miss our lost loved ones around the holidays. That’s one reason the holidays can be bittersweet. The thing about my dad was that he really got it. With him, I never once in my life felt misunderstood. He was forever confirming my experience of reality.


Case in point. Not surprisingly, I love the Bible and have loved it from a very young age. I chose my college specifically because there were two great biblical scholars there, one who taught Old Testament and one who taught New. I declared my major to my advisor when I registered for my first semester – Religion with an emphasis on Bible. He winced ever so slightly. “ Why don’t you hold off on declaring your major until next year?” he suggested. “I am sure you can come up with something more practical.” When I told my dad my major, on the other hand, he responded, “Excellent choice. Really, really sound judgment.” “My advisor said it was impractical,” I replied. “Nonsense,” my dad insisted. “The Lord will provide.” And the Lord has.


One of the many things I love about the Bible is that it there is always more to glean from it. You’d think that if you read a book continuously for fifty years, it would get old. Just the opposite, the more you read it the more it discloses.


I have over the last few weeks, not surprisingly, been reading the Nativity accounts, just as I have been doing year after year around the holidays. But this time something struck me about them. It struck me that the nativity accounts were incongruent with the life of Jesus.


For Jesus was, if he was anything, down to earth. He took an informal view, for instance, of the ritual formalities of his religion, much to the chagrin of the religious establishment.  “Then Pharisees and scribes came to Jesus and said, ‘Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? For they do not wash their hands before they eat?”  “…Jesus went through the grain fields on the Sabbath; his disciples were hungry, and they began to pluck heads of grain and to eat. When the Pharisees saw it, they said to him ‘Look, your disciples are doing what is not lawful….'”


On top of that, Jesus valued in people not the qualities that tend to mark people for greatness –some exceptional talent or acquisition – but rather qualities that were rather ordinary – mercy, meekness, goodness, humility, discernment. “Blessed are the merciful,” “Blessed are the meek,” “Blessed are the pure in heart.” “Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” “The eye is the lamp of the body.”


And consider of the company he kept. “As he sat at dinner in the house, many tax collectors and sinners were sitting with him and his disciples.” “A woman in the city, who was a sinner, having learned that he was eating in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster jar of ointment.”


True enough, for one who was down to earth, Jesus did do some remarkable things. He healed the sick, the blind, the deaf, the dumb, and the paralyzed. He even raised the dead. But these things were born of his deep compassion for human suffering and to assure people his deep compassion for human suffering was God’s deep compassion for human suffering. 


And too, he fed a multitude, not once but twice, but this was out his great concern for human need, and again to assure people that his great concern for human need was God’s great concern for human need.


And too, he stilled a storm and walked on water, but this to get through to his inner circle, his disciples, who had proven themselves very slow to learn, who he really was – to demonstrate that he was the word of God through whom all things were created.


Jesus was down to earth. Never, never did he do any of these things for the sake of fanfare.


In fact, to the extent that he could he tried to keep these things a secret. “Immediately his leprosy was cleansed. The Jesus said to him ‘See that you say nothing to anyone…’” “Many crowds followed him, and he cured all of them, and he ordered them not to make him known.” This was because he knew people would be prone to misunderstand these things – to conclude that he did them precisely for fanfare, to proclaim himself some kind of wonder worker or magician. Yes, it may still be asserted that Jesus was down to earth, despite the remarkable things he did.


Yet his birth was the occasion for fanfare -- the Star of Bethlehem and the Magi, the angels and the shepherds. This is what struck me as incongruent. Why was there fanfare? But it struck me next that it perhaps wasn’t really fanfare at all.


But, you may reply, a uniquely brilliant star rising in the eastern sky, for the whole world to see? And perhaps the whole world did see it, just as the whole world saw eclipses, shooting stars, and other heavenly spectacles; just as the whole world saw just recently a uniquely brilliant star.


The whole world may have well have seen the Star of Bethlehem, but it didn’t attach any significance to it, save for three Magi, who read the stars for their portents and knew that the Star of Bethlehem portended the birth of the king of the Jews and came from far off lands to pay him homage. But they then returned to their homelands, sensing perhaps but never knowing the fullness of it.


And so with the angels and shepherds. The shepherds heard the angels’ glad tidings and songs of praise and made their way to the manger and were amazed, but it was an isolated event devoid of any trajectory.


After all, had the whole world understood the significance of the Star of Bethlehem and the angel chorus, Jesus would not have been misunderstood by everyone for the whole of his ministry, would not have had to accommodate their misunderstanding, and would not, above all, have been crucified. The whole world would have known who he was from the start and would have afforded him the honor due him.


So the fanfare was in fact modest fanfare, or perhaps better to say, obscure fanfare. But what could be the possible purpose of obscure fanfare, if there even is such a thing as obscure fanfare? Fanfare by definition means with a loud flourish of trumpets. Fanfare was precisely to call attention to itself. Obscure then fanfare is a paradox. But then again, paradox is not lost on a God who was both human and divine.


The paradox can better be grasped in the understanding that God sent his son into the world for all intents and purposes, incognito -- a root out of dry ground with no form or majesty that we should look upon him -- born to sacrifice himself for our sin. And God stuck to his plan.  By his crucifixion no one knew who he was, not those who slew him, not even his own disciples. Yet, at his birth, God was so filled with fatherly love that he could not let the event go unnoticed. The birthday of his only son go unnoticed? 


So in celebration, God fixed in the sky the Star of Bethlehem that beckoned the wise men from the east who, beholding him, laid aside the wisdom of the gentile world, and too the pride they must have taken in it, and fell down on their knees in adoration. And God sent angels with glad tidings and songs of praise to announce his birth to unlettered shepherds, part of the humble folk who would come to so love him, so that they too could pay him homage. It was, for the occasion, a perfect celebration. The rest of the world wagged on. God’s plan was not breached.


And so, the Star of Bethlehem, the Magi, and the angels and the shepherds serve for us as reminders of the father’s deep love for his son, love that must have swelled and broke his heart when his son willingly and obediently did what he had come to do -- sacrifice himself for our sin.


And from here it is easy to see what God wants from us. It’s very simple really. He wants us to love his son as he does. For this is the beginning and the end, indeed the only beginning and the only end, of being a Christian – to love the Son of God. May that be our Epiphany gift to him. Amen.

Waiting -- Greyfriars Bobby

By Rebecca Clancy • February 21, 2026
Romans 8:25 Waiting on the Lord Many years ago, almost too many to count, I had the opportunity to study the Old Testament at the University of Edinburgh. That means that I had the opportunity to live in Scotland for a time -- so I am here to tell you that there is more to Scottish culture than kilts and bagpipes. There is the Scottish national dish -- Haggis to be precise. In case you’re unfamiliar with Haggis, it is made from the liver, heart, and lungs of a sheep. They pack them into the sheep’s stomach, toss in a little oatmeal, and boil it. I only tried it once. Once was enough. Then there’s the Scottish national flower – the thistle. You see thistles everywhere -- on flags, coats of armor, dishware. They were once even featured on the currency. I would have thought that heather would have been a better contender for the Scottish national flower -- it is everywhere, and it’s much less prickly -- but no one consulted me. Then there’s the Scottish national poet, Bobby Burns. Burns wrote in Old Scottish. I actually picked up quite a bit of Old Scottish during my time in Edinburgh. I pride myself that I can recite much of his poetry by heart. Old Scottish is unintelligible to the modern ear, but the Scots still love him. I used to walk past the Scottish National Gallery of Art on the way to class. You could peer in the front door and see the famed portrait of him. If you’re unacquainted with his work, he wrote, To a Mouse. To a Louse. And, I kid you not, Address to a Haggis. And then, of course, there’s Greyfriars Bobby. I guess you could call Greyfriars Bobby the Scottish national dog. Grayfriers Bobby was a good Scottish breed -- the Skye Terrior. He and his master were inseparable, and after his master’s untimely death, Greyfriars Bobby remained at his master’s graveside -- day in and day out -- for 14 years, until he himself died. Greyfriars Bobby is a testament of devotion and loyalty not just to the Scottish, but to everyone. A statue of Greyfriars Bobby stands in the heart of town. At the funeral of his master, when the casket was being lowered into its final resting place, Greyfriars Bobby gave way to grief. He whined, whimpered and pawed at the grave. Beyond his grief, however, Greyfriars Bobby settled into a daily routine. Every day, when the 1:00 gun was fired, a man by the name of William Dow, who had befriended Grayfriers Bobby, picked him up at the cemetery. They strolled together to a local coffee shop, where Grayfriers Bobby ate his daily meal. After a bit of socializing, they strolled back to the cemetery. Greyfriars Bobby settled back onto his master’s gravesite and watched the sunset. There were attempts to lure Greyfriars Bobby away from his master’s graveside, especially in inclement weather, but they were fruitless. Greyfrirs Bobby refused to leave. Greyfriars Bobby is all the proof I need that dogs go to heaven. Do you really think that he when arrived at the Pearly Gates to be reunited with his master, Peter, who Jesus entrusted with the keys to bound and to loose, turned him away on the grounds that he was a dog? That makes no sense to me. And I’m sure it made no sense to Peter. There’s a lesson we can learn this morning from Greyfriars Bobby. And lest you register skepticism that there’s a lesson we can learn from dogs -- this is the whole point of the book of Ruth – that we can learn lessons in unexpected places. Ruth was a despised foreigner. She was feared. She was suspected. She was accused. Yet there were lessons that the people of Israel learned from her. There are lessons we can learn in unexpected places. At least that’s what the Bible proclaims. And it’s not just Ruth. It’s Ruth, yes. But it’s also the Good Samaritan; it’s the Magi, it's the Roman Centurion, it’s the Canaanite woman, it’s the Ninevites, it’s the Ethiopian eunich, it’s Cornelius. And if the Bible hits you over the head with something that many times, and you still refuse to accept it, you’re just being stubborn. There are lessons we can learn in unexpected places. And the more unexpected the place, the more important the lesson. Sure, there’s a lesson we can learn from Greyfriars Bobby about loyalty and devotion, but there’s also a lesson we can learn from him about waiting for someone. Because if you think about it, we are all waiting for someone. Every one of us. It could be someone who is angry with us – someone who holds a grudge against us, someone who dislikes us, someone from whom we are estranged. It could be someone who is stationed at a far-flung corner of the earth -- someone who is called to serve and sacrifice, someone who has placed himself in harm’s way, someone we may never see again. It could be someone who has fallen prey to an addiction – someone who is facing an uphill battle, someone who has made strides only to fall back, someone whose potential and possibility are under siege. And it could be, like with Greyfriars Bobby, someone that we lost – someone who is irreplaceable, someone who enriched and defined our lives, someone who spared us from loneliness and aimlessness. We are all waiting for someone. And so, we can learn a lesson from Greyfriars Bobby, and it is this. Yes, for a time we grieve their absence. We weep. We mourn. We despair, even. We do all these things…for a time. But then we must get back to the business of living. As Langston Hughes reminds us, Life is for the living. We must get back to the business of living – of caring for others, of speaking the truth, of practicing fairness, of sacrificing for others, of sharing our abundance, of striving for peace – of doing the best we can to prove, day by day, that we have heard the upward call of Jesus Christ. While all the while we are waiting for someone. But here’s the thing. We don’t wait in vain. Because we wait, ultimately, through Jesus Christ -- so we wait for our eternal home in heaven where those for whom we wait are waiting for us. And we will know that joyous reunion that Greyfriars Bobby and his master now know. Amen.

Easter: Mary Weeping

By Rebecca Clancy • February 20, 2026
John 20:1-18 But why? Why did Mary stand weeping outside the tomb? There is, of course, the easy answer. Mary stood weeping outside the tomb because, arriving at the tomb, she discovered that Jesus’ body had been stolen. But that’s the easy answer. Easy answers are, as often as not, simplifications; and simplifications are, as often as not, distortions. So, let us look beyond the easy answer and ask again, Why did Mary stand weeping outside the tomb? Mary was one of those people whom nature had favored. And nature does play favorites -- that much is undeniable. Mary was tenacious, discerning, steadfast, spontaneous, courageous – not to mention brimming with natural affections. Yes, she was one of those people whom nature had favored, but sometimes that is not enough. Mary had a bad start in life, and that tends to temper even nature’s most generous gifts. When Jesus first encountered Mary, she was not of sound spirit. She was afflicted and tormented. But Jesus performed a miracle that recalled her to life. She became his passionate and devoted follower. It would seem that her past was behind her. Like with so many others Jesus encountered, Mary had been lost and now was found. But this only led her to the foot of his cross. She had endured the entire spectacle. Dark men – petty, jealous, and scheming -- closed in on him. They subjected him to a farce of a trial, and this only as a formality. They intended to see him executed from the very beginning. The disciples, for their part, panicked and scattered. What if they were next to be targeted? But not Mary. She abided with him those endless hours as he hung on the cross right through to his death agony. She watched from a distance as Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus deposed his body from the cross and laid it in a tomb. Mary was shattered. She was traumatized. She was devastated. She was forced to endure the unthinkable – the death of one deeply beloved, and to malicious violence. But Mary was not entirely bereft. She still had his body. She could cleanse and anoint it, bestow upon it what loving care she could. And going forward she could become that person – the one who visits the graveside, the one who keeps memories alive, the one whose tears are never exhausted. In time she would achieve a sort of notoriety for it, but it’s the kind of notoriety no one wants. But she arrived at his tomb only to discover that his body had been stolen. So why did Mary stand weeping outside the tomb? She stood weeping outside the tomb because she had hit rock bottom. I have never hit rock bottom. If dread keeps it at bay, dread has done that much for me. But I have seen others who have. It’s a terrible thing to witness, much less to experience. A kind of derangement takes hold. They aren’t recognizable. They aren’t themselves. This is why Mary couldn’t add up two and two. She peered into the tomb and saw two angels robed in white raiment. Why are you weeping? They asked. Now they didn’t ask because they wanted to hear her theory about the graverobbers. This was not the sense of their question. Woman, why are you weeping? They were asking to convey that there was nothing to weep about. And it was the same thing when the resurrected Jesus asked the same question. Woman, why are you weeping? There’s nothing to weep about. I am alive. I am here. I am with you. Dry your tears. But Mary had hit rock bottom, so it didn’t add up. But then Jesus said something. Something cataclysmic. Something earth shattering. Something beyond description and explanation. And something right under our noses. If there’s one trait we all share, one thing we are all good at, one thing we are all GREAT at, it’s not seeing what’s right under our noses. Jesus called her by name. Mary! he said. And suddenly the truth broke in on her. Dimly, but at the same time, and paradoxically, with crystal clarity. She knew. She knew how we know most deeply – in our bones, in our guts, in our hearts. This man so beloved by her – her teacher, healer, leader, friend….he was much more than that. He was the one that time could not bind, the one that darkness could not thwart. He was the one over whom death had no dominion. He was the one she declared him to be. He was the Lord. And he called her by name . Rock bottom? There was no rock bottom. There was only hope, consolation, meaning, purpose, direction, relief, and rejoicing. From his height to her depth, he called her by name. Rock bottom? She now had good news to proclaim, and she proclaimed it for all she was worth. Friends in Christ, her good news is our good news. No matter what you’ve done, what you are doing, or what you will do. No matter how low you fall. No matter how deep you sink. No matter how bad you’re stuck. His deliverance has your name on it. His triumph has your name on it. His love has your name on it. So let us call him by name – Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen. 

Do You Come In Peace?

By Rebecca Clancy • February 20, 2026
I Samuel 16:4-5 Matthew 5:9 To set the scene for our Old Testament lesson -- Tension was rife. Anxiety was rife. Dread was rife. And why? It was because there was conflict, and conflict produces tension. Conflict produces anxiety. Conflict produces dread. And let’s not pretend that it doesn’t. The hold outs among us might stick their chests out and assert that conflict has no effect on them -- that they are immune from conflict. But personally, I’m a bit skeptical. As I’ve mentioned before, in my various vocations and avocations, I have been subjected to psychological tests. And not just a few of them. And one of the areas that is tested is how you react to conflict – whether you are conflict tolerant or conflict intolerant. According to the tests, I am conflict tolerant, as conflict tolerant as one can be. According to the tests, there is nothing that makes me more comfortable, and more relaxed, and more at ease than conflict. Conflict? Bring it on. There’s nothing I relish more. At least according to the tests. But why is it that in the face of conflict, I become preoccupied. I can’t get it off my mind. I become sleepless. I toss and turn at night. And I feel an enormous sense of relief when the conflict is resolved. So, in my own experience at least, conflict produces tension. Conflict produces anxiety. Conflict produces dread. And that leads us back to our Old Testament Lesson. Talk about conflict! But to understand it, we must back up a bit. In fact, we must back up quite a bit. We all know that Moses received the Ten Commandments atop Mt. Sinai. We all know that with the Ten Commandments in hand, Moses wandered with the people in the wilderness for forty years toward the Promised Land. But we might not all know what happened next. What happened next is that Moses died. Moses was succeeded by Joshua, who conquered the Promised land. And after that? The people settled onto the Promised Land. Since the people were comprised of twelve tribes they settled into the Promised Land accordingly. Each tribe deployed itself on a parcel of land. And they all lived happily ever after. Or not. Problems emerged in short order. The tribes did not get along. Surprise, surprise, the strong tribes picked on the weak ones. Why is it that at all times, and in all places, the strong pick on the weak? But that’s another question. Bottom line, there was disunity among the tribes. Beyond that, they were twelve tribes who each deployed itself on a parcel of land. But they were surrounded by enemies, enemies that had not been wandering around in the wilderness for the past 40 years. Enemies who were trained to fight. So, the people were threatened from within and from without. The closest thing that they had to a leader was Samuel, so they demanded of Samuel a king, a king to unify them and protect them from their enemies. Samuel listened to their demand and anointed King Saul. King Saul was the man of the hour. He was a standout. He stood head and shoulders above all others, was strikingly handsome, and teamed with charisma. He was clearly meant to be. So once again, they all lived happily ever after. Or not. There was something wrong with Saul. Now sometimes when there is something wrong with someone it’s obvious, it’s easy to name – as in the case with addiction, or physically abuse, or mental illness. But sometimes it’s not obvious. Ask twelve scholars what was wrong with Saul, you’ll get twelve different answers. For whatever reason, he proved not to be the stuff of it. He had some fatal flaw. Was it his temper? Was it his jealousy? Was it his paranoia? Was it his anger? Was it his desperation? Because all those things can prove to be fatal flaws. In that last analysis, it doesn’t matter what was wrong with King Saul – simply that there was something wrong with him. Predictably, those closest to him saw it first. But no one else was inclined to believe them. They believed what they wanted to believe, what was easiest to believe. And this is how it goes. The ones closest see it first, and no one is inclined to believe them. Moveover, they didn’t want to face the fact that King Saul was one big false start. But King Saul had some fatal flaw. And fatal flaws are fatal. King Saul deteriorated. It became increasingly difficult to deny. Conflict was brewing. It was not yet open conflict. Soon it would be and in terms too horrific to describe. But rumors were circulating. The atmosphere became charged, and not in a good way. Not one knew just how the thing would play out, but everyone sensed that it would not end well. And that brings us to our Old Testament Lesson. Samuel arrived in Bethlehem, unannounced, unexpected -- in full vestment and with full retinue. What did he want? Why did he single them out? What had they done wrong? Was he there to exact vengeance? In a spark would they all be dead? To set the scene for our Old Testament lesson -- Tension was rife. Anxiety was rife. Dread was rife. And why? It is because there was conflict, and conflict produces tension. Conflict produces anxiety. Conflict produces dread. And so, the people approached Samuel with a question. It was the right question. It was the key question. It was the decisive question. It was this question: Do you come in peace? If you remember one thing about this passage, if you remember one thing about the whole book of Samuel, remember this question. Do you come in peace? Because the people’s question to Samuel is the people’s question to us. Do we come in peace? In the face of conflict do we come in peace? Do we come in peace, or do we come bearing blame for things for which we know we are full well complicit? Do we come in peace, or do we come exacting retribution demanding an eye for an eye? Do we come in peace, or do we come rehearsing old grievances, resentments, jealousies, and grudges? Do we come in peace, or do we come pressing our advantage -- power up, poised to defeat? Because the people’s question to us is also Christ’s question to us? Do we come in peace? Have we gone that extra mile for the one who has burdened us? Have we turned the other cheek? Have we declined to let the sun set on our anger? Have we made peace with our accusers? Do we come in peace? For Christ declares that the peacemakers would be blest, and that through them, but only through them, would his kingdom grow. Amen.