Unknown and Unknowable

Matthew 2:1-12

Anna Blaedel

Epworth United Methodist Church

When five year old Lucy, daughter of two pastor parents, was asked about the meaning of Epiphany, she could hardly contain her excitement.  She bounced up and down, clapped her little hands, and exclaimed, “Epiphany is like my birthday and Christmas and Halloween and Easter!”  Asked when Epiphany is celebrated, Lucy’s enthusiasm turned to confusion.  “Epiphany is all the time!” she said.

Though I am still not quite certain how to connect Halloween and Epiphany, I think Lucy is on to something.  I think she is doing theology, and has discovered an important bit of wisdom.

Epiphany, rooted in Greek, meaning “to show, or reveal, or make manifest” often seems tacked on at the end of a full to overflowing holiday season.  Advent is about expectation and anticipation.  Christmas is described as a time of joyful giving and exuberant receiving.  Another year begins, offering new opportunity.  And Epiphany is often lost in the let down of a consumer-focused, profit-driven culture.  But Epiphany is central to the Christmas message.  Birthday and Christmas and Easter and maybe even Halloween all rolled into one.  This celebration of the magi’s journey, their willingness to wander and wonder, guided by a star, a traveling light, is less an end to the Christmas story, and more a beginning of the Christian story.  Less of a conclusion to the past, and more of an invitation into the future.

The power of Epiphany—an a-ha moment or experience, something important being revealed, something powerful being recognized.  Mystery being made known.  But I do not think the power of Epiphany is clarity or conclusion being revealed or recognized.  I don’t think the meaning of Epiphany is limited to celebration of what is already known or received.  I think Epiphany has more to do with embracing mystery, succumbing to wonder, and journeying into an unknown and unknowable future.  Mystery being revealed and embraced, not clarified or explained.

This morning’s gospel text speaks of a powerful King, filled with fear over what might be because of a baby born in a barn.  Powerful potential wrapped in mystery.  This text speaks of the magi, entranced by a special star, traveling through unknown territory towards an unknowable destination.  Mission and ministry wrapped in mystery.  This text is about spiritual questing, about being willing to say yes to journey in faith, and about finding points of reference, discovering guiding light along the way.

The magi did not embark knowing what they would find.  They had heard rumors, sensed something spectacular, but they set out towards mystery, not clarity.  I have often thought of Epiphany, both the Christian season and the a-ha moments, as a celebration of divinity revealed, clarity recognized.  But I am beginning to think Epiphany is more about mystery revealed and possibility recognized.  When the magi traveled through Jerusalem and Bethlehem, they knew nothing about who and what Jesus would become, nothing of his prophetic passion, caring compassion, and healing ministry that would develop.  They certainly knew nothing of tinsel and carols and pageants and shopping that would become part of the story.  They did sense, however, the power and presence of the sacred, the mysterious wonder of the incarnation, God with us and in us in this world.  And they set out on a journey…

At the beginning of this New Year, the beginning of this new part of a continuing journey, I think we often, I know I often, look towards the future wanting answers and plans—about who we are as individuals and a community, as a nation and a world, and about who we will become, what we will do in these coming months.  How many of our new resolutions might we succeed in keeping?  How will we nurture our spiritual lives?  How will we as a community witness to the good news in this church and in a weary world?  What relationships will we enter into, enhance, and maybe even end?  What will our medical tests predict and how will we maintain hope in the midst of illness, need, and violence?  We want answers and certainty, and we are left with mystery and possibility.  Where will we go and what will we do and how will we be part of the transforming, reconciling work of God?

In a reflection by Howard Thurman on the days after Christmas, I hear wisdom about the meaning of Epiphany, wisdom that resonates with Lucy’s excited explanation.  He wrote, “When the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone, when the kings and the princes are home, when the shepherds are back with their flock, then the work of Christmas begins.”  The work of Christmas—the journey of faith—the power of the incarnation—the meaning of Epiphany—Bridging divides and building connections between Berkeley, CA and Pascagoula, MS through Volunteers in Mission, advocating for children in our church, local community, and global community, witnessing to the inclusive love of God every month by celebrating communion outside the church, reaching out to a scared, pregnant teenager in Richmond, offering community to an isolated young man, caring for one another, and extending care beyond each other—points of reference, guiding lights.  Being present and bearing witness, cultivating wonder and embracing mystery.  The work of Christmas.

What if we take the wonder and awe of Christmas into every day?  If we celebrate Epiphany ALL the time?  What if we approach the incarnation, God’s presence revealed to us, make known to us, and yet still a mystery to us, with all the joy of a 5 year old imagining her birthday, Christmas, Halloween, and Easter all rolled into one?  What if we embrace this mystery, of new birth and new life, and recognize our own powerful potential?

Epiphany might conclude the Christmas season, but it begins a new part of the Christian story, and it invites us to enter in.  Epiphany—to set out on a journey, experiencing and exclaiming God’s presence and God’s love in us and in the world.  May we journey in wonder, doing the work of Christmas, open to the mystery of God.