Third Sunday of Epiphany 2023

 

Third Sunday of Epiphany 2023: Isaiah 9:1-4, 1 Corinthians 1:10-18, Matthew 4:12-23

There are a lot of names in our readings today, names of fathers and sons, brothers and coworkers, names that are to do with the establishing of the often quarrelsome People of Israel and the often quarrelsome Church of Jesus.

In our Old Testament reading, quoted in our reading from the Gospel, we find the half-brothers Zebulun and Naphtali, two of the twelve sons of Jacob. Jacob’s sons and daughters were born to him by four women, two sisters and their two handmaids. Jacob loved Rachel, and asked to marry her, but was tricked into marrying Rachel’s sister Leah. Rachel was loved, but unable to conceive. Leah was unloved, but had many children, six of Jacob’s twelve sons. Each had what the other wanted.

Zebulun was Leah’s sixth son, and she gave him the name Zebulun. Jewish names often sound like another word, an idea that would be evoked every time the name was spoken, and Leah gave her son a name that would evoke the idea of exaltation, in the hope that her husband would at last exalt and love her.

Jealous of her sister, Rachel sought to give her husband sons by her handmaid. In the end Jacob would have two sons by each of his wives’ handmaids and Rachel would have two sons of her own, dying in childbirth at the end of her second pregnancy. It is undoubtedly a messy story of wealthy women exploiting women in their service, and those women in turn seeing additional security in turning exploitation to their advantage.

Naphtali was the second son of Rachel’s handmaid, technically her possession, and the name she gave him sounds like ‘to grapple,’ framing her relationship with her sister Leah as a wrestling match, and claiming that now, as Leah seemed to have stopped falling pregnant, Rachel had prevailed against her rival. In an emotional hook to catch her husband, Naphtali’s name resonated with Jacob’s birth, wrestling in the womb with his twin brother Esau, and with Jacob’s own name, ‘heel-gripper.’

Many years later, on his deathbed, Jacob blesses his sons, which is to say, he calls them to flourish as fully as is possible, given the circumstances of their lives, the decisions made by others that impact on them, and their own choices for good or ill.

Jacob blesses Zebulun, the exalted child, saying that his descendants will be a haven, like a safe harbour where ships that have crossed stormy seas carrying the wealth of nations can find shelter. The promise of strategic importance, of commerce and of peace.

Jacob blesses Naphtali, the grappler, saying that his descendants will know release from the grip that holds them fast; that they will be like twin fawns, lovely, not at loggerheads, redeeming the history of sibling rivalry. Though it should be said that the Hebrew is obscure, and some have argued that rather than bearing lovely fawns the blessing might be understood as giving lovely words; again, a redemption of rivalry. It is a short blessing, but powerful nonetheless, not overpromising, but leaving a lot of room for its outworking.

In our Gospel reading, Jesus appearing on the scene is understood as a fulfilment of the promises made to Zebulun and Naphtali. He comes, not only bringing light where there was darkness, but as a haven for fishermen and as one giving rebirth to rival sons, to Simon Peter and his brother Andrew, and James and his brother John.

In our New Testament reading we hear of divisions in the early Church, factions forming among those who claimed to follow Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas (that is, Peter), or Christ. More names, more quarrels. Paul appeals for unity. This Sunday falls in the middle of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, and, this year, coincides with proposals from the Bishops to General Synod for the blessing of same-sex civil partnerships and marriages, something that goes too far for some and not far enough for others. And yet we are where we are, and our bishops are wisely seeking to bless, to speak words that open up the possibility of lives flourishing as fully as may be possible, given the messiness of our lives together, the constraints we place on one another and ourselves, the at-times heated sibling rivalries we all contribute to in our sinning against God and our neighbour, and God’s settled commitment to bring life and light to us and through us to others.

Your name may say more about the person who named you than yourself, but it embeds you within a story: we do not create ourselves out of nothing. May you know blessing, perhaps first and foremost the blessing of standing in a long tradition of blessing. May you, who know what it is to walk through deep darkness, know increasing joy; you who carry a great weight, be delivered from evil; and may we all find grace and courage to repent: to lay aside every other identity that defines us in part, and follow Jesus into the unknown, where we may become more fully whom we are called to be.