Star-Lit Hope: January 6th Is Always Epiphany

We usually leave up our decorations through the 12 days of Christmas. We embrace the whole liturgical season, even as our tree starts to brown, decorations are more found on the floor than their proper place, and the Christ candle at the center of the Advent wreath begins to wear down. The last thing to pack away is the star. We hold onto that sacred symbol longer than anything else.

January 6th is always Epiphany, a story of a universal chasing after star-lit hope in the midst of royal fragility, oppressive empire, and isolation, fear, and the vulnerable agency of children at the center of deliverance.

Epiphany has always been mixed with narratives of tyrannical rulers, violent insurrections, and maniacal manipulations. To expect the American experience to be different is #exceptionalism. Still, the hope of the magi is ours, too. And we can choose alternate routes to those laced in what the powers that be, regardless of partisan affiliation, sell us. We may need to cling to Epiphany and its lingering liturgical illumination even longer than Christmas.

What’s your subversive hope?

How might you change routes as you live into star-lit hope this year?

Epiphany: Looking for Stars of Hope in (Un)Common Places and People

One of the most powerful experiences for me of late was my recent visit to the wall in Bethlehem. As I walked alongside it and touched the concrete barrier between Palestinians and Israelis, I also found myself in unexpected awe of the subversive and beautiful graffiti that colored this symbol of intimidation. There were so many profound messages of hope in various languages, each called us to remember our shared humanity. And there was this star, too, that caused me great pause- to remember there is no darkness to which light cannot penetrate. 

On this Epiphany, I am reminded of the many ways God has shown up in the most unexpected people and places. These sacred encounters have led to holy pauses and dared me to travel different roads than previously dreamed or imagined. While these roads have had their share of difficulties, much like the Magi, I have also been doubtlessly “overwhelmed by joy” as I find the presence of Christ amidst the pilgrimage (Matthew 2:10).

I read the other day wise words from mystic Teresa of Ávila: 

[God’s] appeals come through the conversations of good people, or from sermons, or through the reading of good books, and there are many other ways, of which you have heard, in which God calls is. Or they come through sicknesses and trials, or by means of truths which God teaches us at times when we engaged in prayer; however feeble such prayers may be, God values them highly (Interior Castle, p. 24-25). 

In the midst of so many reasons to despair these days, may Epiphany be a call to holy pause as we look up and out to where the joy of Christ may be found. May we have our eyes and ears open to the appearances of God with Us through friendly conversations, thoughtful proclamations, good books, brilliant films, and even humble prayers, some which show up as graffiti on walls of division and oppression. In the end, may we dare to carve out new roads of liberation and love. 

Dreams of Resistance, Refuge, and Return: Epiphany and a Sermon on Matthew 2:1-22

Given today is the first Sunday after Epiphany, it is only appropriate to share of my recent experience as a wondrous traveler in search of a great mystery…in IKEA. The treasure in pursuit was Minde, the product name for the full-length mirror I was to pick up when there to purchase our table, Jokkmokk. I traveled from the East, or Mt. Airy, to the town of Plymouth Meeting, where the light in the sky led me to the sacred Swedish home decor store. I went there for what I assumed would be a 15-minute stop.

Fool.

I walked into the marketplace, determined that I would find what I needed rather quickly. And I did find Jokkmokk. But I still needed Minde. I asked the nearest salesperson who pointed me to the show room, where I could see a number of mirrors and even other tables, if I’d like. 

I walked into the showroom and immediately was overwhelmed but still committed. So I began to follow, not a star in the sky, but arrows on the floor that weaved me through the endless display rooms like a hamster in a glass-covered maze. And there was only one route, or so I thought- follow the arrows. And Minde, according to the next nearest salesperson, was at the end of the route. 

Needless to say, 45 minutes later, I found Minde, placed on my shopping cart with those 360 degree wheels that made me feel as though I was traveling on ice in bowling shoes, and headed for the checkout. I had overcome, but I was spent. I didn’t know the journey for such a simple item would be so complicated. It was supposed to be simple, quick, and easy. 

The story of Epiphany begins with what appears to be a harmless and holy venture of three Magi from the eastern lands following a route prescribed by a single star in the heavens. While we are accustomed to hearing the first half of the Epiphany story and all the imagery fitting for a seasonal carol, the latter portion is far from what you would want for a holiday jingle for the last day of Christmas. This may be why the prescribed reading in today’s lectionary cuts the narrative short,* leaving off the aftermath of the Magi's thwarting of Herod's orders. 

Yet today’s gospel story must be engaged in its fullness. Much like an IKEA marketplace, we cannot shortcut our way through; we have to weave through it all. Ok, for those seasoned IKEA veterans, maybe you can, but then you miss so much that’s on display. So, too, you cannot begin to understand the fullness of epiphany if you stop with the Magi returning home and tuck under a Swedish rug what happened in the verses that followed. So we won’t do that. Instead, we will briefly engage the full story by way of the common thread throughout Matthew’s Epiphany story: unsettling dreams. 

On Epiphany: The Dark Story Behind Jesus' Elevation of Children

Yesterday, I walked in the door to a dispute our twins were having, likely unique to minister kids.

Noah [running towards me]: Daddy, is tomorrow Epiphany? 

Me [barely having removed my coat]: Yes. 

Noah [arms raised]: Nailed it. Told you, Lily!

Then he ran down the steps in victory.

Our family lights the Advent candles all the way through Epiphany. This way the Christ candle does not get cheated.  Also, our kids get to embrace Christmas as a season that culminates with the star that led the magi from the east to pay homage to the toddler Messiah. 

Yet there is a dark and hellish side of Epiphany. The full script of Epiphany leaves a bitter taste in our mouths after binging on the more joyous pageantry of the Christmas drama. 

"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. Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah: ‘A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.’" (Matthew 2:16-18)

This is not exactly a preferred bedtime story for young children during this holy season. While we laud God who chose to become flesh and take on the form of a baby, the incarnation came at a cost. The response to the Christ child by those thirsty for power, or anxious about losing the power they already had, resulted in mass genocide of the holy innocents who stood in the way of and were deemed infantile conspirators against an emperor who wanted nothing to do with shared or surrendered power and influence. 

And while Mary, Joseph, and the newborn king may have escaped in the middle of the night to find refuge in Egypt, "Rachel and her children" throughout the neighborhoods of Bethlehem were not so fortunate. 

Then I wonder, is this precisely the story Jesus' parents told him every year when they celebrated or at least acknowledged his birth? 

You can almost hear Mary whisper, unaware of her prophetic wisdom, "My son, you are our beloved. You are God's beloved. Yet your entrance into this world created quite a stir and has not been as beloved by the powers that press upon us from all sides. Many have already died so you may live, children even. Young ones like you. Never forget your life came at a cost. Never forget the babies of this world, the children of Bethlehem. So live and love, even offer up your own life, for all those who are threatened to have theirs taken away. And never forget the children of Bethlehem."

Jesus surely clung to the wisdom of his mother as much as he probably recited the lyrics of the song she sang while pregnant, "[God] has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly..." (Luke 1:52).

It's no wonder Jesus, the Christ Child now matured Messiah, forcefully spoke these words to his disciples who had become a blockade to little ones in their thirst for power and privilege:

"At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ He called a child, whom he put among them,and said, ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me." (Matthew 18:5)

"People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, ‘Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.’ And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them." (Mark 10:13-16)

Jesus never forgot the children. Jesus knew well the horrid story of the star. 

The days ahead of us as both a nation and church, even larger world, are full of varied questions that breed great angst and maybe fear. Those in positions of power continue to press in on all sides and the future for our children is as much at stake now as it was two millennia ago. 

Dare we not allow their future to be slayed in the name of politics, privilege, phobias laced in ignorance, the preference for self-preservation and nationalism masked as patriotism, and religious assimilation to all of the aforementioned. When little children cross our borders or enter our sanctuaries, may we have the courage, integrity, and Christ-like faith to receive and protect them. When we consider the state of health care, education systems, access to clean water, the impact of the wars we fund and sustain, and increased food insecurity, may the faces of Rachel's children from Philadelphia to Aleppo, Flint to South Sudan, Standing Rock to Bethlehem affect us towards renewed activism rooted in gospel witness. 

May we have the eyes to see the revealed star hovering over the parts of God's world where children are most vulnerable. Then, may we respond to this epiphany as we remember the kingdom of God belongs to these little ones. May we be willing to adjust course and lay down our very lives for their safety and security, for their future we dare not take away.