Dear Friends,
Years ago, when our young family created new traditions for Advent and Christmas in the Berkshire winter, we added a sweet moment for Epiphany. Our little guys, wrapped in navy blue bathrobes with Burger King crowns on their heads, processed down the hall from bedroom to living room. Each carried a toy to donate for another and, together, we all sang “We Three Kings.” Instinctively, their hands held these gifts out before them as the melody unfolded: Star of wonder, Star of night, Star with royal beauty bright. Westward leading, still proceeding, guide us to thy perfect light”
This year’s Epiphany finds us still in New England, Beseck Lake is frozen and covered with snow – an expanse of white and stillness before me. I wonder, what gifts do I carry to the Christ child? How do I find the Star in my sky? Where is it leading me? My invitation to our sons to reenact the Wise Men’s pilgrimage was an innocent desire to share the mystery of Christian tradition and today, decades later, I return.
And I remember… their long journey from far away lands revealed the powerful reach of the Light of Christ. These travelers crossed boundaries and expectations, made choices and exceptions to open their hearts before this Light, to kneel in reverence and protect the truth. In doing so, the revelation of Infinite Love was made available to all traditions and cultures, to all hearts, traveling through all doubts and tending to all wounds.
The celebration of these early manifestations of Christ date back to early 2nd and 3rd centuries, January 6 was established in 336 AD by the early church. For these hundreds and hundreds of years, cultures around the world created rituals to live out this understanding, this Epiphany. My contribution is to honor the journey inward, and to answer the questions, “By what name, do I call the Star in the sky?” “What do I receive as I kneel before the Christ?” “How am I called to share Light in this world?” How are you, dear friends? How are you being called on this journey of Wonder?
In peace, Lisa