January 6, 2013

Clay Nelson

The Epiphany     Matthew 1:1-12

When I was in seminary, my Church History professor would assign us to have a conversation with some of the bright lights of Christian history taking into consideration the context of their times to see if we could get to the heart of their message. I thought today being Epiphany Sunday, the day the Eastern Church celebrates the Incarnation, I would have a conversation with one of the wise men.

Hi Mr Wise Man, I’m Clay, which one of the three are you?

First, there were a lot more than three of us and the story Matthew records doesn’t say how many of us there were. Every one assumes there were only three because there were three gifts. Matthew didn’t give us names either, but people started trying to name us in the 6th century, but by the 8th century they had settled on Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar. I’m kind of miffed because I made the same difficult journey they did, but didn’t get a name.

I’m sorry, could I call you Einstein for the sake of this interview?

Why?

Well, he was pretty smart and interested in light and its movement.

Oh! that works. We were following a star after all.

Good, so Einstein, where was your kingdom?

People keep thinking we are kings because of that damn song you like to sing. The person who wrote it was referring to Psalm 72, “May the kings of Tarshish and of the isles render him tribute, may the kings of Sheba and Seba bring gifts. May all kings fall down before him, all nations give him service.” The only problem is the Psalm is about Solomon’s coronation not the baby we visited. Those who call us Magi are closer to who we are, but even that is a bad Greek translation of the Persian word for priest. We aren’t magicians. We are priests of Zoroaster who was a Persian prophet of the God of Light. At the time our religion was the oldest and most respected one around.

So what else do we have wrong?

The star. What does your song say, “Star of wonder; star of night; star of royal beauty bright”? It was just a star, but new to us whose job it was to study the heavens and interpret them. Some see it as special because it led us like it was moving. In case you haven’t noticed all stars move, at least from our perspective, and people have used them for navigation since forever. If it had been particularly bright and unusual don’t you think that manger would have been jammed with people from all over the world or at least from the curious who lived in Bethlehem? No, it was just a star most people didn’t notice and we had nearly missed.

Well, if the star wasn’t so impressive, the angels heralding good tidings must’ve been pretty awesome?

Really? Haven’t you read the story? No angels were seen by us or spoke to us. Kind of miffed about that as well. Throughout Luke and Matthew’s nativity stories every major character is visited by an angel that tells them, “Hey, listen up! No, don’t be scared, but pay attention here…” and then proceeds to tell them what will happen, what they should do, and what it will mean. An angel visits Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, even Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist. We never heard a peep from any of them or even the flutter of wings. It would have made our lot easier if someone or something totally outside the realm of our experience had said, “Look here, this is a big deal.” But noooo, we had to look for subtle changes in the night sky and interpret our dreams. We had to figure out that something important was happening on our own, out of our own ordinary experiences. What I wouldn’t have given for a chorus of angels.

Well, what about the dream one of you had? Wasn’t that like an angel giving divine guidance?

Well, I’m the one who had that dream. It was an easy one to interpret. We were Zoroastrian priests after all. It’s part of our skill set, but anyone who had met Herod could interpret that dream. He was a nasty piece of work and when we met with him you didn’t need 20/20 eyesight to see right through him. Anybody who could kill his own family members to maintain his ill-gotten power was not going to be sending layette sets and baby rattles to the manger, more like a death rattle. So no, there was nothing special about the dream: Just another common occurrence.

So no miraculous stars, no angels, no divine dreams. Why is it then this story has stood the test of time? I thought that epiphanies were supposed to be a big deal. Lots of flash, like fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

How long have you been a priest? Don’t you know every good story can be embellished to tell a truth and the facts are not all that important? A good story invites us into it so it can change the facts about who we are. A good story is only good because it helps us see the world and ourselves in a new way. They create epiphanies, which are a realisation or comprehension of the essence or meaning of something or someone. They are an inspired understanding arising from a profound insight, awareness or enlightened truth. They allow us to focus in a particular way. A good story lets us see and recognise things as they are.

If we are as wise as you remember us as being, it is because without any miraculous events we met divine love born in a human and recognised we were one with him. We rejoiced in that as we made our way home and yet, we were shaken to the core. Epiphanies are not always as pleasant as sweet little manger scenes. We brought him gold to recognise his royal ancestry, and frankincense to acknowledge his priesthood and myrrh in anticipation of his death. While we don’t like to think about it, we all know we begin dying at our birth. Not exactly breaking news. What was an epiphany was recognising that living out the divine love within us is can be harmful to our health. It is not the safest thing we can do with our lives, but it is the only way to be fully alive.

When we returned home we knew that we were one with him and all creation. That was an epiphany. It meant how we treated anyone in our retinue or who watched us as we passed by or who welcomed us when we returned home mattered. They were part of us or we them. They should all be treated the way we treated the baby. That was an epiphany. Such an epiphany is not always a source of joy. If that person is hurting or poor or abused or hungry or ill we are one with them. Even if that person hates us we are one with them like a Siamese twin. There is so much pain in the world. Once you realise that truth, it becomes your pain. That is an epiphany.

It awakens in us knowledge of our interdependence. While offering a deep sense of belonging to this life, it also offers a rather frightening sense of insecurity. Epiphanies can sometimes be experienced joyfully, but sometimes they awaken us to changes we must make, no matter how risky they feel. Sometimes an epiphany sweeps away things we once believed, leaving a deep sense of loss in its wake. Sometimes an epiphany brings with it little or no comfort at all, except for that comfort we feel when we ground ourselves in our very best approximation of what is true.

Epiphany is about a new awareness that can leave us uncomfortably out of place in our old existence. We may sometimes feel ourselves caught between two worlds, no longer able to return to our old one because of our new awareness, yet unwilling to enter the new one for fear of what might await us.

I have to say you aren’t making them very appealing Einstein. What happened to a “peace and love and all is sweet” kind of Epiphany? What you describe sounds easy to ignore or deny. Perhaps it’s best to pretend they haven’t happened? That’s easy to do in our busy days.

Clay, you aren’t exactly a rocket scientist are you? An epiphany is not a magical voice from outside; it is not miraculous vision that transports us to another realm; it is not a divine intervention, nor the sort of transcendent experience that lifts us above or beyond the every day world. It is a heightened awareness of what we often treat as negligible or ordinary: a particular focus on what is plainly before us. An epiphany does not make a grand entrance. They are delicate and easily blow away in the wind.

Our task is to embrace them and let them transform us if we have the courage. Record them with care. Respond to them. Don’t ignore them. Think of those you have experienced in the past. Picture them as a light that you hold within you. Find a place near your heart where you can keep that epiphany with you. Then imagine where this epiphany might lead you in the future.

Who knows what it may foretell?

Who knows what uncommon life may yet again unfold, if we but give it a chance

Thank you, Einstein. There’s a lot to think about in your non-miraculous journey.

No, thank you Clay. Can’t wait to tell those wise guys, Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar, that they can stop calling me “Hey you.” I have a name now too.