Epiphanies

The feast of the Epiphany, “the shining forth” of the glory of God, captures the imagination like few others. The oldest images we have of the Incarnate Child and his mother are in the Catacombs of Santa Priscilla in Rome. A bold painter frescoed the image in a dark vault of an underground graveyard. One shows the procession of the three men marching in solemn step to a seated woman holding her child on her lap. Not too far away is another image, more legible, of that same woman, same child, sitting under the dimlight of a star.  

The pious legends of the middle ages tell us the names of the marching men, Gaspar, Baltasar, and Melchior. They were sages, wise men, astrologers, kings. Young, middle aged, old; Asian, African, European, representing the nations and peoples of the earth. They were looking for something, something that kept them up at night, gazing into the darkness. What they were looking for, we don’t exactly know: I suspect it was meaning they looked for, or answers, or maybe just the question itself. What they found was a cosmic sign so dim that most did not recognize it: the light of a new star rising in the heavens. 

And here we find ourselves this year: gazing as they did into the darkness. In a year as dark as we have ever known in our lifetimes, we gaze into the dark. Death and division seem to hold the upper hand, to be winning. Wars are raging far away, and students are gunned down in their schools and churches. We live surrounded by walls of hatred and racial discrimination designed to keep out and demonize the other. One suspects that if the Magi coming from the East set out today, they’d be locked up in Guantanamo. 

Let’s return to today’s story. Those wise folk shrugged their shoulders, left what they knew, threw together a caravan, gathered their wives and children and gifts, and set out on a road trip to see what there was to see, learn what there was to learn, worship what there was to worship. 

Along the way, they met another king, a fourth king more like the evil kings we know from fairy tales. Herod was vain, insecure, conniving. He had no time for celestial visions: he was truly a King of the World, a manipulator who conned the stargazers from the east with lies and promises. “Go and search diligently for the child. When you have found him, bring me word, that I too may go and do him homage.” As if. As if…

Yet the story of three kings, four kings, does not end with Herod’s lies. It begins at the feet of the Fifth King, the infant of Bethlehem, sitting on his mother’s lap, cooing at the baubles these strange visitors brought: a king who would be a sign of contradiction to the all the Herods of the world, a revelation of the glory of God to the travelers from far away, a sign of hope and mercy for us. 

You are here today, we are watching and waiting together, because somewhere deep inside, we believe that light still shines in the darkness, as dim at this moment as a distant star. I suspect that we would all love to embark in the company of friends and fellow travelers on a road trip, a caravan to just about anywhere.

Our journey takes us through dark and dangerous places. We huddle together with those we love, and together we search for solace in our loneliness, courage in our fearfulness, hope in our despair. And most of all, we pray for patience, until the sun of justice rises again in our hearts, and in our world. 

Blessings,