Sermon | Light for All People | Rev. Ann Mann | Barnesville First UMC | January 4, 2026 скачать в хорошем качестве

Sermon | Light for All People | Rev. Ann Mann | Barnesville First UMC | January 4, 2026

Sermon | Light for All People | Rev. Ann Mann | Barnesville First UMC | January 4, 2026 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Those opening lines of John’s Gospel soar, but today the scripture gently comes down to earth. The Word enters the world God loves. The Light shines into ordinary streets and homes, into workdays and worries, into a world busy and distracted and, Scripture tells us, largely unaware that God has come near. Scripture Reading: John 1: 10-18 (please read on your own) John writes, “He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him.” That sentence holds both heartbreak and hope. The Creator steps into creation, and creation barely looks up. The Light comes, but many are too busy, too fearful, too accustomed to the dark to recognize it. Epiphany is the season of revelation, the season when we proclaim that God has been made known. Yet John reminds us that revelation does not always arrive with trumpets and spotlights. Sometimes the Light comes quietly, standing right in front of us, waiting to be noticed. We know something about that kind of missed moment. Think about how often grace shows up in ordinary ways and we almost overlook it. A neighbor checks in when grief is still raw. A stranger holds the door when your hands are full and your heart feels heavy. A child asks a question that stops you in your tracks and opens a deeper truth than any grown-up answer could manage. Light comes like that, not flashy, not loud, but real and steady. John says, “He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.” This is not just a story about long ago. It is a mirror for us. How often does Christ come to us in familiar places and faces, and we mistake holiness for inconvenience? How often does God’s grace arrive wrapped in ordinariness, and we expect something grander? Yet, this is where good news breaks in. Even when the world does not recognize him, even when people turn away, the Light does not withdraw. The darkness does not scare it off. John tells us, “From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.” Not grace once. Not grace if we get it right. Grace upon grace. Grace layered over our blindness, grace poured out over our resistance, grace given before we know to ask for it. This is the heart of a grace-filled faith. God does not wait for the world to be ready. God does not wait for perfect understanding or perfect welcome. God comes anyway. The Light shines anyway. Magi, wise ones from another land, outsiders with different languages and customs, look up at the night sky and follow a star. They are not insiders. They are not part of the expected circle. And yet they are drawn by the Light. When they finally arrive, they kneel before a child, not a king on a throne, but a baby in a borrowed home. Their presence declares what John proclaims with words: this Light is for ALL people. Not just for those who recognize it immediately or who have all the answers. Not just for those who belong to the right group or know the right prayers. The Light of Christ shines for seekers and skeptics, for insiders and outsiders, for those who arrive early and those who show up late. There is a beautiful irony in Epiphany. The ones who were expected to recognize the Light often missed it, while those who were never expected to see it followed it across deserts and borders. God’s grace refuses to stay contained. It spills out beyond every boundary we try to draw. So, church, let’s think about an everyday kind of epiphany. Imagine a busy weekday morning. Deadlines looming. The TV murmuring bad news in the background. You stop at a red light, already running late, when you notice someone on the sidewalk struggling with bags. You could stay focused on your own stress, or you could roll down the window, offer help, offer a moment of human connection. Nothing miraculous. No angels singing. Just a small choice that lets light break through. Later, you may not remember what you said, but you remember how it felt. Something shifted. Something holy. Grace upon grace. That is how the Light works. Not always in blinding flashes, but in steady presence. John says, “The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.” Everyone. Even those who do not yet know its name. Here is the promise Epiphany gives us. Even when Christ is unrecognized, Christ is still at work. Even when the world seems dim, the Light has not gone out. Even when grace is ignored, grace keeps coming. Where is the Light shining in your ordinary days? Who might you be overlooking because you am expecting something more impressive? How might Christ be standing right in front of you, waiting to be recognized? In this season of Epiphany, may our eyes be opened to see the Light already shining among us. And may our lives, in small and ordinary ways, help make that Light known.