My Epiphany

This is Epiphany.

What an irony.

Every January 6 is Epiphany, the day when the Christian story is that three kings—or three wise men—completed their journeys from the places where they ruled, having followed a star to a manger in Bethlehem. They knew—as wise people do, who follow their own north star--that a holy moment was upon them. A birth that stopped them in their tracks and guided them to bring gifts to honor what mattered most.

Imagine a message coming to you so strongly that you stop all the important doings. You lay it all down and set out to follow a star toward something you have never seen. And you bring precious gifts to show your devotion to what you have never met.

This is faith. So much faith, that the unseen has power over the familiar.

Have you ever had faith in something or someone you haven’t even seen yet? If you’ve been pregnant, you know what I mean. If you’ve committed to a relationship or to a job or to a mountain trail without being able to see what’s ahead, you’ve had faith.

And what gifts do you bring on such occasions? Maybe some tangible ones. But the truth is, you try to bring your best self. You try to bring the gifts you’ve built inside yourself. You bring hope. You bring strength. You bring love.

We know that often, our faith is betrayed. Or we betray others’ faith in us. We are fragile humans.

That’s why I feel it’s ironic that January 6 is also the anniversary of the attempted coup on our Capitol. Many people made a great effort to stop what they were doing and travel there because they believed something good might come of their journey. They were honoring what they considered to be power, undoubtedly out of feeling powerless and frustrated themselves. And like those who crucified that little baby in the manger, they vented their frustration, their longing for power, in violence and destruction.

People have always contained a firey element that can erupt in destructive ways. It’s a mistake to think we haven’t all done that, hopefully in more subtle ways than at the Capitol. But we can recognize the force within us that requires discipline if we are to restrain it.

So what is the saving grace? What could be our epiphany? The word with a lower case ”e” means “a moment of sudden revelation or insight.”

Maybe only a star could guide us toward such a moment. Not our rational minds, and not that firey rage that is part of our nature. But perhaps it is awe. Awe over a light in the darkness. Awe over a light that keeps moving, keeps changing direction, and beckons us to change ours as well.

How ironic that it was kings who became wise men. They put away their earthly power and journeyed to a humble stable that probably reeked of animal smells,to see a poor baby born to a nobody.

They made a choice. And my epiphany today is once again to remember that we have a choice as well. My daughter Laura Weaver said it best in this poem from her book, River of Awe:

                   Choice

Push the river
drive the wheel
shoulder the grindstone
command the world
to do your bidding
run off with sacks of gold
brush the shoulders of the gods
become immortal
and then you will be King
of your own world.

A pathway opens
late afternoon light flickers
in tall seeded grasses
twists and turns
a sky full of star scatter
there are others in the meadow
waiting for you
there are others in the sky
calling your name
there is a brilliant arc
around the sun of your life
and wherever you go
you are home.

Laura Weaver