Sermon for the Last Sunday after the Epiphany (February 15, 2026)
Transcript
This transcript was generated by YouTube AI and edited for clarity.
May only truth be spoken here, and only truth be heard. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Please be seated.
From the Letter of Peter: You will do well to be attentive to the stories of Christ, as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts. You will do well to be attentive to this, as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.
The Letter of Peter is thought to be the latest writing included in the New Testament. The books are not arranged in the order they were written. Much of this letter seems addressed to a Christian community asking, “Wait—he said he was coming back. It’s been a while.” So this is a pastoral letter saying: be attentive. Watch what you are looking at. Be attentive to the light that is shining in the darkness until that day dawns.
It is a wonderful letter for us to hear, because we have been waiting a bit longer than the community to whom it was written. But this invitation to be attentive to the light still matters a great deal.
I finally finished reading Eleanor Roosevelt’s Nightly Prayer this week, just in time for the author to come speak to us next Sunday at three o’clock here in the church. I hope you will join us. On the very last page, in the epilogue, are words that Adlai Stevenson spoke about Eleanor Roosevelt at her memorial service at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City. He said this:
“She had a luminous faith that testified always to sanity in an insane time and to hope in a time of obscure hope.”
I underlined that. Then I circled it. A luminous faith that testified always to sanity in an insane time, and to hope in a time of obscure hope. I even took a picture of it so I would remember it.
This is why, in our church, we lift up saints: to remind us of the light that shines in the darkness. And it is light in ordinary people. I was struck again and again in reading that she was often terrified of the things she had to do. She did not feel adequate. She did not feel prepared. She was often afraid—whether it was boarding a ship to help lead the committee that would draft the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, or serving as First Lady of the United States.
When I was a child, I thought that by the time you became a grown-up, you had everything figured out—that you were never frightened and always competent. But that is not so. It is the same with the saints. She was afraid. She was uncertain. She was unsure of her own abilities. And yet her luminous faith testified to the world—sanity in an insane time, hope in a time of obscure hope, light in the darkness.
This can be true of you and me, too.
Today is the Last Sunday after the Epiphany. We are closing the cycle of the Incarnation and bringing this season of light to completion. The whole point of this season, which begins in Advent as we wait for light to come into the world, moves through the birth of Christ, and culminates on the holy mountain where Jesus is transfigured, is this: the light shines in the darkness and can be found in human beings.
On the mountain, Jesus and his disciples hear again the words spoken at his baptism: “You are my Son, the Beloved.” The whole point is that the light shines in the darkness and can be found in us. We were created for this. And when we forgot, God came to live and die as one of us to reveal the light that shines in every human heart.
There are two things about light I want us to consider as we close this season.
First, light brings clarity. And what is revealed when we shine a light into darkness is not always easy or uplifting to see. I think of my first apartment in New York City. When I came home at night and turned on the light, the cockroaches would scatter. It’s unpleasant—but true. Light reveals what we might rather hide. Jesus says nothing is hidden that will not be revealed. If we are to repair, if we are to heal, if we are to do what is right, then we must see clearly what is broken, what is wrong, what is evil.
The gift of light coming into the world, often by contrast, shows us what is not God’s will for human beings and for creation. In Epiphany we see the star shining over the stable, and that light reveals the evil of King Herod—who, fearing the loss of his power, sent soldiers to slaughter the children of Bethlehem. The light reveals the evil at work in Jesus’ time, as in ours.
But light also gives us vision. If all we saw when the lights came on was evil and wrong, we would despair. Eleanor Roosevelt prayed every night, “Give us a vision of a world made new.” The light that has come into the world and shines in the darkness reminds us—often by contrast with what is evil—that we are created for and called to love one another, to tell the truth, to practice mercy, justice, and freedom.
All of these things Jesus embodied.
On the mountain we hear: “You are my child, my beloved one; with you I am well pleased.” And St. Matthew adds: “Listen to him.” What are we listening to?
This is the same Jesus who says: Blessed are you who are merciful. Blessed are you who mourn. Blessed are you who hunger and thirst for righteousness. Blessed are you who are persecuted for doing what is right. You are the light of the world. A light, once lit, is not hidden but shines so that all may see.
The truth of this whole season—from Advent to the Transfiguration—is this: the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. The face of Jesus, transfigured in glory, is also your own and your neighbor’s.
As we move now into Lent, think of yourself as carrying this light. You are a bearer of the light until that day when it fully dawns—when all people awaken to the light within, when the morning star rises in your heart.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Amen.