Saying Goodbye to Christmas

Yesterday was Epiphany, which means Saturday was the “Twelfth Day of Christmas”. So, yesterday afternoon I took down the outdoor Christmas decorations—the last one in our neighborhood to do so. I suspect a large percent of folks don’t know about the twelve days of Christmas, or about Epiphany; even though, virtually everyone who has any familiarity with Christianity knows about the “Three Wise Men.”

Well, anyway, I took it all down yesterday. It was a bitter sweet exercise. The season has been busier than some in the past (or is it that at almost 77 years of age, it just takes more effort to do the same things?) So, I’m relieved that the pace is slowing; and, yet, I grieve the passing of what also has been one of the most enjoyable Christmases in memory. We’ve had all our kids, and they came in shifts, so we got to focus exclusively on one family at a time. Their trips to our home overlapped, so we also got to experience short times of “whole family” togetherness. It was good.

I’ve had what seems like a harder time than usual letting go of the season. I think I’m aware that, at my age, my usual assumptions about “next year” are not as solid as in previous years. Don’t misunderstand: I’ll still plan and anticipate and prepare for “next Christmas.”

Last Thursday (the Tenth Day of Christmas) I was at home alone. Jo Lynn had gone into Little Rock to keep a regularly scheduled appointment with her doctor, to do some shopping, and to meet some friends for lunch. 

I turned on all the Christmas lights in the living room, built a fire in the fireplace, and tuned in to my favorite YouTube Christmas channel: one final orgy of self-indulgent Christmas nostalgia. It was great; and it was even better when Jo Lynn got home and we could share the moment. She didn’t even laugh at me—too much.

So, now the cat’s out of the bag, and you know what a sentimental mush I am. I even like Hallmark Christmas movies.

But, yesterday was Epiphany. “What has come into being ⁴in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. ⁵The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1:3b-5 NRSV)

Light. Shining for all the world to see.

Christmas has been very personal for me this year—like birth. And now Epiphany calls me to acknowledge the universal manifestation of God’s love and grace. It’s easier to let go of something dear when there’s something drawing me/us toward something else that also is exciting and enriching.

I sense a new sermon series coming into the light: a series on “Light”. 

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness— on them light has shined. (Isaiah 9:2 NRSV)

May the light shine on you, and may your own light reflect the One who is light!

That’s the way it looks through the Flawed Glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

Shine!

Today is Epiphany.  Yesterday was the infamous twelfth day of Christmas (“twelve drummers drumming”).    

Epiphany comes from a Greek word which means “to shine”. Light has always been a primary symbol of God and truth.

Epiphany (or the Sunday before) is the day the church celebrates the revealing of Jesus, not only as a lamp unto my feel and a light to my path, not only as a light to the Jews, but also as a light to the nations—the “Light of the World”.  Matthew sees that revealing through the adoration of the “Wise Men from the East” (2:1-12). In the original language of the New Testament the word is μαγοι (pronounced "magoi") Various versions translate it thus:

·        Magi (note the similarity to the word, “magic”)

·        Magicians (Moffatt)

·        Astrologers (Goodspeed)

·        Wise Men (most versions)

They generally are understood to be from a caste of priests from the Medes who adapted Zoroastrian religion when the Persians conquered the Medes.

Zoroastrian priests were forerunners of modern astronomy; but in their day the stars held a magical attraction. The religion began about the time Jerusalem was destroyed by the Babylonians; a religion that said light from the stars represented knowledge and goodness.  They taught that one would come, whose nature was light—one who would be born of a virgin, and whose light would overcome the darkness of evil.  They were on the right track, at least. And their timing was right, too.  And they got all this from the stars. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

But this was the first time the Christ was acknowledged by the wider world. Epiphany.

Tradition says there were three wise men—probably because of the three gifts:  gold, frankincense and myrrh. But there also is a story about a fourth wise man who never saw Jesus. Henry Van Dyke is the author of the story, which is entitled, The Other Wise Man.

It tells about a "fourth" wise man, a priest of the Magi named Artaban. Like the other Magi, he sees signs in the heavens proclaiming that a King has been born among the Jews. Like them, he sets out to see the newborn ruler, carrying treasures to give as gifts to the child - a sapphire, a ruby, and a pearl of great price.

Artaban chooses his fastest steed and sets out for Borsippa, located in what we know as Iraq, where he is to meet the other Wise Men at the temple to Nabu, known as the Temple of the Seven Spheres.

At Babylon he encounters a man who is dying, and battles within himself whether to minister to him. "God of truth and purity," he prayed, "direct me in the holy path, the way of wisdom which Thou only knowest."

Then he turned back to the sick man and ministered to him until he died, and then performed the proper funeral and burial rites. As a result of the delay he is late to the meeting place, and the caravan of the other three wise men has moved on without him.

Having missed the caravan, and realizing he can't cross the desert with only a horse, he is forced to sell the sapphire in order to buy camels and supplies for the trip.

He then sets out on his journey, but arrives in Bethlehem too late to see the child, whose parents have fled with him to Egypt. In Bethlehem he is offered hospitality by a young mother, and Artaban muses, "Why couldn't this child have been the king?"

The peace of the moment is interrupted by confusion and the sound of screaming women as Herod’s soldiers move through the streets killing boy babies. Artaban blocks the door to the house where he has given hospitality, and bribes one of the soldiers with the ruby he has brought as a gift to the king. A child is spared.

He then travels to Egypt and to many other countries, searching for Jesus for many years and performing acts of charity along the way.

After thirty-three years, Artaban is still a pilgrim, and a seeker after light. He returns to Jerusalem just as the crowds are dispersing after the crucifixion of Jesus. He spends his last treasure, the pearl, to ransom a young woman from being sold into slavery.

He is then struck in the temple by a falling roof tile and is about to die, having failed in his quest to find his king, but having done much good through charitable works.

As his life slips away, he has a vision in which a voice tells him "Verily I say unto thee, Inasmuch as thou hast done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, thou hast done it unto me." (Matthew 25:40)

Artaban dies in a calm epiphany of wonder and joy, having found his King--or, rather, having been found by his king--through his own acts of kindness and generosity.

May you find him--and may he find you--in a similar fashion.

That’s how I see it through the flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim