Two Epiphany reflections

‘The Magi’ by Henry Siddons Mowbray A gift for a broken and frightened people (us)

This fall the Thursday morning Bible Study group has gathered each week to consider passages from scripture which prompt the response, “What?!” These passages draw the reader to this exclamation for many reasons: some are surprisingly silly, like the fish with the coin in its mouth (Matthew 17:24-27), while others are far more complicated than we learned as children in Sunday school (Noah’s ark, anyone?). Still others prompt a “What!?” that is more shocked than amused; these Bible stories are not for the faint of heart. Soon we celebrate the season of Epiphany, a season begun by the visit of the three Magi to the infant Jesus in the manger in Bethlehem. This story is familiar to us, prompting images of sumptuously dressed strangers drawn to the baby by a star, bearing gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Indeed, the Gospel appointed for the feast day depicts this story as we remember it, ending with the Magi seeking an alternate route home, “having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod” (Matthew 2:12). The story does not end there, however. Unfortunately, “when Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men” (Matthew 2:16).

Y’all, this is one of those stomach-churning “What?!” moments— the kind of moment I am left to wonder what we are supposed to make of this. What does it mean that Jesus’ birth causes such a thing? At the root of some of my discomfort here is, I think, the Epiphany reminder that following Jesus has tangible political ramifications. That word, “political,” is charged in our current By the Rev. world—it conjures ideas of partisan loyalties and national Cate Anthony governments. It helps me to remember that to be political is to be concerned with the polis—the community—and its flourishing. We know that Jesus’ ministry as an adult focuses on challenging the principalities that hoard power and maintain a skewed status quo: Jesus was intensely concerned with the flourishing of the community. And, as it turns out, even his birth sent waves through the political leaders of the land, a first sign that their power was not as almighty as they probably hoped it would be. And so Herod does the unthinkable, killing innocent children in a desperate attempt to maintain control. The fact that even Jesus’ birth disrupts and threatens the political order of his time should not be too surprising, all told—and Herod’s actions are one of many stories we have of the corrupting influences of power and fear. Ultimately, I wonder if the hope of Epiphany is this: that Jesus is not only the king of all things, not only the true priest for his followers, but also the gift that a broken, frightened humanity really needs in order to be made whole and flourish.

Epiphany: A revelation

The Epiphany is a revelation. What was known at Christmastime to Mary and Joseph and the shepherds—that God is with us—is now, “by the leading of a star,” made known to us and to all creation. A friend once explained it to me this way: “At Christmas, the sun has begun its return; you just can’t see it yet. Then in January, little by little, you start to notice the days are getting longer.” It’s a good analogy if you live in the northern hemisphere, and surely not unrelated to the dates of the feasts. But the Epiphany must mean more than longer days, as if all this broken world needed were a global redistribution of sunshine temporarily in our favor. Rather, this feast is an opportunity to ask, “How am I to participate in the revelation of Christ?” One day my son, Emmett, and I were playing “I Spy” with the pictures in Richard Scarry’s What Do People Do All Day? Emmett pointed to a railroad switch and asked, “What’s that?” I began to explain, and—between Emmett’s insatiable need to know “Why?” and the train obsession I inherited from my model-railroadenthusiast father—things got a little advanced for a two-year-old. To make sure he was still with me, I stopped and asked, “Does that makes sense?” Emmett nodded breathlessly. Soon Briget came in to join us, and Emmett took the book from me to show his mom the train page. He twisted his face in concentration, took on a serious tone of voice, and proceeded to explain all about the trains. It was nearly unintelligible, lots of pointing and nodding, with a word here or there that sounded almost like English, and then he said, “That make sense, Mommy?” I had to bite my cheek to stop from laughing. No, it didn’t make any sense at all. It was nonsense. The words, anyway. What came across loud and clear were wonder and love—his wonder at this world, filled with amazing things like railroad switches, and that wonder spilling over in love, in the desire to

By the Rev. share these awesome revelations with his beloved mother.

Michael Sweeney

It’s what we do when we’re amazed by something. We want to share it—the great book, the beautiful vista, the best song— with someone we love. The Epiphany is like this. If the most amazing thing has, indeed, happened, we will want to share it. And yet, given the magnitude of the revelation, this desire might feel more like fear. Who am I to say anything about God? “Fear not!” says the angel. Your love will speak louder than words.

This reflection was originally published in the 2019 AdventChristmas-Epiphany edition of Seasons of the Spirit. The Rev. Michael Sweeney is the former director of family ministry at St. Stephen’s Church. Earlier this year, he graduated from Virginia Theological Seminary in Alexandria and was ordained to the transitional diaconate. He is scheduled to be ordained priest December 18, and the next day, Sunday, December 19, he will celebrate his first Eucharist at St. Stephen’s Church at 9 a.m. Michael serves as middle school chaplain at St. Christopher’s School, and he, Briget, and Emmett have welcomed another son, Isaac, to their family since this was originally published.