Canon Oliver
Washington National Cathedral
March 2, 2003

First of all may I say what a privilege and a great pleasure it is to be preaching here in Washington National Cathedral this weekend. And I bring the very warmest of greetings from St. Paul's Cathedral in London, and as I was talking to the new Archbishop of Canterbury earlier last week, he wanted me to convey to you his warmest greetings as well, as he was enthroned in Canterbury Cathedral last Thursday.

And thank you for the best wishes on the news that I am to be consecrated Bishop of Stepney. I have to say that I have a rather checkered history where Bishops are concerned. I don't have much claim to fame. But when I was a radio and television producer, I was the very first producer ever to be allowed to use a radio microphone in a live broadcast. And I put it on a Bishop at a very important Cathedral service. And the Bishop preached magnificently. And afterwards, there was one of those pulpaville silences. You could hear a pin drop. And with great dignity, he came down out of the pulpit, and his Chaplain approached him and put his miter on his head firmly. Unfortunately, the Chaplain had gotten it the wrong way round, and the two tassels hung over the Bishop's eyes. The Chaplain panicked, grabbed the miter in both hands, and twizzled it round the Bishop's head. This brought a tear to the Bishop's eye, and a rasp in the Bishop's throat. And he uttered the immoral towards, "You put it on. You don't screw it on, you fool!"

Unfortunately, I had failed to turn the Bishop's microphone off, and those words were broadcast to the great British public! You understand why I am even more a little nervous about wearing a mica.

Today is the last Sunday in the great season of Epiphany. Epiphany celebrates the appearing, the manifestation of Jesus, in those moments of recognition as the story of his life and ministry unfolds. It's there in the coming of the Wise Men to Bethlehem. It's there in the moment that he's recognized by John the Baptist by the River Jordan. It's there in the call of the first Disciples, "Come, follow me." And it's there as we read this morning in the Gospel, in that glimpse of glory on the Mount of Transfiguration.

In fact, Christians in the first four centuries of the life of the Church, celebrated the season of Epiphany with more enthusiasm than they celebrated the Feast and Nativity at Christmas. And it's not difficult to see why.

Those early Christians lived in a very harsh world of superstition and mystery-cult, of Emperor- worship, and of secret societies. It was a dark and threatening world indeed. And yet they knew that by the grace of God they could be brought out of darkness into God's own marvelous light. And so they celebrated Epiphany, not as some story just about Jesus in the past. But they celebrated Epiphany as their own vibrant, Christian experience in the pilgrimage of faith, in being brought out of darkness into the light of Christ. In the coming of the Wise Men they recognized their own searching after truth, and they would have recognized that picture of cold and dark that T.S. Eliot captured so well in the poetry that he created of the Journey of the Magi, "A cold coming we had of it, ... For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter."

That was the darkness from which they had been led to the light of the Christ child at Bethlehem.

And in Jesus' baptism they recognized their own baptism, their own dying and rising to the new life that they knew in Christ. And in the Call of the Disciples they heard again that whisper that had resonated in their own soul, "remember that you did not choose me; I choose you."

And on the Mount of Transfiguration they saw again the radiance of that glory, that glory which shines as brilliant light in the darkness, knowing from their own experience, that the darkness will never be able to overcome it.

And that is important as we turn in this Christian year to begin our journey of faith with Jesus in the weeks to come in the season of Lent. Epiphany is the unfolding story of the Christian community's inner life, the experience of the pilgrimage of faith.

But Epiphany also points us to the future. You know, beyond the East End of Canterbury Cathedral there is a College of St. Augustine that was built in 1832. It was built as a missionary college, a college to train doctors, nurses, teachers, engineers, agriculturists, to be missionaries for Christ. And in that College, in the crypt chapel, around the walls are simple plaques. And those plaques tell the story of those that went out in the name of Christ. Here is a teacher who served in Africa for only eight months before dying of malaria. Over there, a nurse who went to Australia. She was taken by a crocodile. And here is a doctor who drowned in India trying to reach a village that had been cut off in the storm. Talk about being fools for Christ! These people went out with courage and with faith.

But above the altar in that tiny chapel are the simple words inscribed in stone. And they are the words of Jesus: "Behold, I am going before you." The best of those missionary nurses, doctors and teachers, knew that wherever they went, there was a sense in which Christ was already ahead of them, already there. And they went to bear witness, to bear witness in faith that through their skills of healing, of teaching, of service and of self-giving, Christ might in their day be revealed, made manifest, made known.

For it is the truth of our experience that there is always more to be recognized, more to be acknowledged, more glory to be seen of the riches of Christ that are yet to be revealed even in our own day. And one of my most heart-felt prayers is always that God will keep us open to the truth that he is yet to give us.

And that again has been the story of the Christian experience down the ages. It's always been the truth that once it's recognized you see as being there all the time. But it takes particular circumstances to uncover it, or better to open our eyes to its glory.

It happened in the early monasteries when they began to found hospitals and places of rest for sick people, and for pilgrim people. And it's no accident that in London, and of course in the United States, that our oldest hospitals are called after saints: St. Thomas, St. Mary, St. Barthtolomew. In them, Christ the Healer was recognized, made present, revealed. And in that service of healing, Christ the Healer was made known and became the foundation for those healing services. That we enjoy today.

And in the nineteenth century in the United Kingdom, it was education. The Church was there pioneering education. And education, education, education was on the heart of the Church before ever it was on the lips of politicians. And gradually Christ the Teacher was revealed in their day and became the foundation for the education that we know is so important in our own day.

And what to make of all this? There is no doubt that the future before us is a time of challenge and a time of threat. We live in uncertain days. But whatever the future holds, hang on to this, that Christ has already gone before us. The future can be safe with a healthy and even an eager curiosity. For we still much to learn, and God has still much to give us. But when we reach that point to where our eyes are open and we behold an even more radiant glory, it will be Christ who has already gone before us.

And the future can be faced with faith and with courage. With faith in the purposes of God and courage in the grace of God that supports and nurtures us. For whatever the future holds, to all his people Christ says, "I am here among you, as you worship. Come to me."

Christ says, "I am there as you live by faith and by grace, go with me." And Christ says, "I will be there in the world that you will inherit wherever the light and the radiance of love still shines. In that world, look for me."

Amen.