4th Sunday after Epiphany | February 1st, 2026 | The Rev. McKenzi Roberson

 One of my favorite annual experiences in seminary was the Easter vigil. It starts, as Easter vigils tend to do, by gathering outside of the church and lighting the paschal fire. These are often sizeable fires, but in Sewanee the dean of the school of theology is also a captain in the volunteer fire department, and a handful of the seminarians also serve as firefighters. You know that people who know how to put out fires are also experts at building giant fires. These flames would leap ten, maybe even twelve feet in the air, burning so hot it was uncomfortable to be within six feet of the flames.

This wild flame would then be used to light the paschal candle, and from that candle all the small candles we each carry would be lit as we processed into All Saints Chapel. Those small, tame candles, born of the wild paschal fire, would then be the only light, but indeed enough light, in the chapel as we recalled the story of God’s salvation history.

I’ve been thinking about flames a lot this week, and not only because of the low snowpack out on the Olympics. I’ve been thinking about flames not least because my gallows humor coping mechanism was entirely engaged by a picture of a cross stitch I saw online. The image was some neatly done bits of flame framing the phrase, “I was told there would be handbaskets.”

The news is bleak, my friends. You might be looking at what is happening in Minneapolis, murder and unlawful detainment – including the arrests of the capital J journalists trying to share the truth of what is happening – or closer to home and the recent news that Mary Bridge Children’s Hospital down in Tacoma has chosen the path of anticipatory compliance and closed their gender clinic, leaving many trans youth without life saving medical care. There is plenty happening to worry and enrage. Even the news here at St. Peter’s these days might be stirring up fear, anxiety, grief, or all of the above.

To return to the imagery of fire, we certainly know something of it up here. As Pacific Northwesterners, we are becoming people of wildfires. We know the power of fire to grow uncontrollably and indiscriminately devastate everything in its path. Fire can be all consuming, leaving only death in its wake.

And we also know how controlled burns are necessary for the long term health of the forest. Occasionally, the undergrowth needs to be burned in order to allow space for saplings to establish themselves and to help reincorporate nutrients into the soil. We know that some trees have evolved a special coating around their seeds so that they will not germinate until they have been exposed to a forest fire, but not one too hot because that can leave them unviable.

When Jesus says, “blessed are the meek,” he isn’t talking about the timid and the cowardly. The meek Jesus is talking about are the people who have been downtrodden, the ones whose voices the people in power have tried to silence, and even the ones who have have power and privilege in this world but have chosen to set them aside in favor of following the leadership of those considered by society to be less than them.

When Jesus says blessed are the meek, he is describing those who are neither caught up in peacocking or showboating their power, nor those who deny the existence of what power they do have. The people Jesus calls blessed are the ones with humility and discernment, who gather together with their community and use their collective wisdom to act, trusting that God is in the midst of them guiding their best efforts to tend to the forests we have been given to steward.

Jesus is not saying, “blessed are the doormats.” Jesus is saying, “blessed is the controlled burn.”

The wisdom of the world, to use Paul’s language, is an out of control wildfire. It is a burning of everything that is different from you, that makes you uncomfortable, in order that you might feel safe. It is the elimination of competition for resources. It is to never cease reaching for the moving target of “enough.” Hoarding power because that is how you gain access to what you want. Burn it all to the ground if that’s what it takes to “win.”

“But the message about the cross is foolishness.”

The message of the cross is of a topsy-turvy world. The message of the cross is one of generosity in the face of scarcity. The message of the cross is one of power residing with the disempowered. The message of the cross is one of life defeating death.

I do not believe that we are called to respond to the evil in this world burning like out of control wildfires, leaving nothing but ash and the risk of mudslides in our wake for years to come. Nor are we called to keep fires away from the forest at all cost.

We are called to a middle way. We are called to use our fire with wisdom and intelligence to burn away what will only cause greater destruction later if left unchecked. We are called to use our fire to bring light to what would rather hide in the darkness. We are called to use our fire to bring warmth to those who have been left out in the cold. We are called to use our fire to light candles as we bear witness to the grief of death, because even though we know resurrection is coming, death is still worth grieving in the here and now.

To many people, it looks like foolishness to cling to our faith as we face the injustice and violence of the world. But it is precisely in this foolishness that we find our strength. We can stand firm against the deathdealing powers of this world precisely because we know that death does not win. We can resist the siren songs of fear and selfishness precisely because we have experienced a better way in the life of Jesus.

Choosing paths of nonviolent resistance in the face of a violent regime, choosing to love our neighbor rather than build fences to keep them out, choosing the hope that allows us to keep working rather than descend into passive despair are far from weak and foolish ways of being. They are, in fact, the only way to true life.

In my recent travels, I had the honor of attending the priestly ordination of a dear friend. In the ordination rite, directly before the laying on of hands and the making of the priest, there is an examination of the candidate. The bishop explains the duties and responsibilities of a priest, and then asks the candidate a series of questions to determine if they are willing to do this work.

In these tumultuous times, I was particularly caught by the last words of the bishop in the examination. The bishop does not end with a question, but with a blessing: “May the Lord who has given you the will to do these things give you the grace and power to perform them.”

This blessing is central, not only to the ministry of ordained priests, but to all of the baptized. When we live in the way of the kingdom of God, when we do justice and love kindness and walk humbly with our God, we do so by the grace of God who shapes our imaginations and strengthens our convictions, calling us into this way of life and giving us the capacity to live it. We have the agency to answer God’s call, and that agency is unspeakably important, but we do not answer that call on our strength alone.

It is God, moving within us individually, as the present community, and throughout the whole body of Christ across space and time, that draws us ever closer to a world where there will be no more weeping but healing for the nations. It is God who will bring all this healing and redemption to completion, and we have the choice to let God act in us and through us towards that end.

Let me return to the Easter vigil for one last image. After the big fire has been used to light the paschal candle, and as that light is then being spread to the candles each of the gathered community are carrying, we begin to process into the church building. Traditionally, the paschal candle is carried by the deacon who will lead the people in a simple call and response chant: “The light of Christ.” “Thanks be to God.” This is repeated three times in the course of bringing the candle to its place and the people to their seats.

It is that light, Christ’s light, the light of resurrection, the light of a topsy turvy world, the light that we now share, that illumines our texts in the vigil as we recall who God is and how God has saved us again and again, ever drawing us into life.

In this season, as we discern how God is calling us as the people of God and the people of St. Peter’s, Seattle, at this moment in the history of our parish, city, and country, we must never forget that we go forth with our paths lit and lighting the paths of those we meet along the way, carrying the light of Christ. Thanks be to God.