Reflection on the Feast of the Epiphany of the Lord

These words from Wendell Berry call to me this Epiphany Sunday:

“And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.”

What we need is here…  It sounds so easy and straight forward.  But, at least for me, it’s a challenge to recognize that what I need isn’t out there some other place but right here, right now.  I need moments of epiphany or revelation to help me see.

With that in mind, I’ve been reflecting on the familiar Gospel story of the Magi. I’m indebted to Alexander John Shaia for helping me understand that Matthew’s original readers were traumatized survivors struggling with feelings of confusion, abandonment, grief and anger. Matthew was writing to Jews who fled to Antioch after the Roman emperor destroyed the temple in Jerusalem.  The temple wasn’t just knocked down.  It was totally and systematically destroyed.  The massive stones were removed from the site, the high altar was smashed to smithereens, the Torah and all sacred texts burned, the high priests massacred, and tens of thousands of Jews slaughtered.  Nothing was left. The very foundation of their faith, culture and economy was gone. Now what?

As I pondered the Gospel reading, I found myself drawn to the gifts the Magi offered. Gold, frankincense and myrrh were essential components of the most important Temple rituals in the Jewish tradition. The gift of those elements would have communicated to the traumatized readers of Matthew’s Gospel that Jesus represented the new temple, a temple not built of stone but of inner wisdom and knowing. The early readers of the Gospel received what they needed to envision “temple” in a new way which changed their worldview and allowed them to envision themselves in a new way.

We, like Matthew’s readers, are living in the midst of great change. What gifts are here waiting for me to recognize and receive? I found myself reflecting on three gifts, all of which are difficult for me to receive but hold an essential truth. I share these gifts which I need as an invitation for you to consider what gifts you might need.

The first is the gift of grief. Last week I listened to a podcast as I was painting the new cabin. The person being interviewed said, “I think grief is the love that has to find a place to go.” Love which had been directed toward a particular person or in a particular way needs to find new expression. Grief as we watch our health care and educational systems burdened under the weight of political divisions exacerbated by the pandemic; grief as we experience climate collapse along with resulting wildfires, tornados, drought and the untold suffering they cause to all forms of life; grief because we’re an aging Community overflowing with love for each other and for those who are suffering. Where does all that love go now that it can’t be expressed in the same ways it could in the past?  What if the God of love is hidden in the gift of grief?

The second difficult gift is the gift of uncertainty. When we’re sure we’re right, we become closed and stop asking questions. Why look when we think we know the answer? The gift of uncertainty keeps us open and humble, always seeking, always moving, always asking, “Now what?” The uncertainty I’m talking about is very different from insecurity and fear. Rather, it’s a call to find security in trusting that we are one small but essential part of a movement of Spirit that our minds are too small to fully understand or grasp. Alexander John Shaia expresses it well when he writes, “Our uncertainty is necessary and holy.  If we could manage to dispel it, we would also destroy Mystery — the very thing we seek.” I need to receive uncertainty as a gift that challenges me to trust that we live and move and have our being within the God of Mystery.

Confusion is the third gift, particularly confusion about our identity as beloved children of God. We are each loved by God and special in God’s eyes but, in our confusion, we’re tempted to think that “special” means “more special.”  How much damage has been done to Earth by our human assumption that we are more special than other forms of life? How much hurt is caused by people of different religious persuasions arguing that their beliefs about the God of love make them more special to God?  How many times do we subtly diminish another to build up our own sense of worth? Every time we try to elevate ourselves, we create division and separation. The gift of confusion forces me down deep into the place where inner voices tell me I’m not enough. It’s there that I learn to trust that I am special and beloved along with every other form of life.

Three difficult gifts — the gifts of grief, uncertainty and confusion — reveal that what I need is here. I wonder what gifts you need and what it’s like for you to recognize and receive them.

Once more in the words of Wendell Berry,

“And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.”

As we begin this new year, may we be quiet in heart, may we be in eye clear, and may we recognize that what we need is here.