04 / The Christmas Storm and the Epiphany
A huge storm hit the coast on the days before Christmas
A huge storm hit the coast on the days before Christmas. Hurricane winds and giant seas combined with the highest tide of the year to wreak havoc. Coastal roads flooded. Waves breached seawalls and pummeled wooden docks. Lines and mooring chains groaned under the load of wind and waves even in the inner harbor. Some moorings failed, leaving boats to crash onto the rocks. I worried that we might not make it to church, for I serve a little parish on an island offshore. Many of the ferry trips cancelled because the seas were too rough to safely cross.
But on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, a lull arrived that allowed us to drive onto the ferry that would take us to Christmas on the island. We lashed our tree to the roof of a truck full of gifts to be opened on Christmas morning. I confess that the stress of the storm made the night more special when we finally made it to church for Christmas Eve. The wind still howled, and the walls shook in the gusts, but the church was warm inside. And even in the storm, more people showed up than any of us expected – to gather and sing and pray and remember the old story about the loving purposes of God coming into the world in the holy child, born in a stable and laid in a manger.
In the warm church on Christmas Eve, we remembered that the first ones to hear the good news from the angels were the shepherds, literal outsiders in the fields, taking care of their flocks by night. I wondered if this story were re-written for today, how would such good news get shared in the world? Would the angels send out a tweet? Or share it on Facebook or Tic Toc?
I don’t think so. The fullness of the Christmas story cannot be rushed. We need some time for the message to sink in.
As I write these words, it’s the twelfth day of Christmas and the Eve of the Epiphany. For most Christian history, Epiphany is the day for sharing gifts. We remember the wise ones who saw a light followed a star that led them to a place far away, where they came to see with their own eyes that what they had hoped to see was true. The truth in the sign was as real as something they could grasp in their hands. That’s what manifest literally means. Just as Epiphany literally means light from above. They fell to their in knees and offered gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Books could be written about the symbolism of the gifts, but on this day I just want to keep it real.
The young family would not get to rest for long. The gold would come in useful when they fled to hide in a foreign country. The lovely aroma of frankincense reminded them of God’s abiding presence, and their dignity in the coming travails. And the myrrh, a symbol of mortality, was also potent antiseptic to dress and clean the inevitable wounds of living. The wise ones knew what the family needed for the days to come.
Many of us struggle after the holidays, when we must get back to normal – or move ahead with the chatter of incessant news of “the new normal” - a euphemism for a state of affairs that no one I know believes is normal. There are boats that need to get hauled off the rocks after the last storm. We have some new presents that we never needed or don’t fit. But returning them feels wrong. It’s kind of funny if it weren’t so predictable.
But say what you want, I still am still moved by the message of the angels, and the astonishment of the shepherds, and the gifts of the wise ones. The story of the loving purposes of God who came into to this stormy, messy, chattering world as a child in a young family in a tender situation still moves me. Like waves of light from far away and long ago, there is good news that warms my heart on this cold day.
I hope that the manifestation of Epiphany will bless you with the reminders of what matters most in your life, and what is most needed, as you carry on into the days to come, knowing you are not alone.
Blessed Epiphany, my friends.
