January 5, 2025

Epiphany

How many times in recent memory have you heard someone say, “I had an epiphany the other day!”?  The word in our culture has become synonymous with a bright idea, or a new thought.  Etymologically, it’s actually come almost full circle from its origins.  The original word was Greek, epiphaneia, meaning a disclosure or revelation.  In the New Testament epiphaneia was used frequently to refer to a spectacular appearance of or intervention by God.  As the doctrines and rites of the early church crystalized into orthodox traditions, the word was used almost exclusively to refer to the first manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles – those magi from the East (or “three kings” of the famous carol), and hence, the annual celebration of that story.  In time, we returned to using the word epiphany more broadly to refer to any manifestation of God, and finally, we are now back to something close to the original Greek meaning: it’s just something that’s revealed or appears to us.

I think this little etymological excursion is very “revealing” (if you will).  It’s a wonderful illustration of the interplay between the sacred and the secular.  The early church picks up a common Greek word and makes it into holy language, then the culture re-embraces the word and re-secularizes it.  That’s a lot of what the story of Epiphany that we celebrate today is all about.

In this season, the retelling of the story of the wise men warms our hearts and reminds us of Christmases long ago, of moments in the spotlight wearing a raggedy bathrobe and a crape paper crown, or standing outside someone’s door with scarves thrown around our necks against a chilly wind singing “We Three Kings.”  The fact that the origins of the story are obscure, and that, nonetheless, the visitors mentioned in the account were certainly not kings, and there weren’t necessarily three of them doesn’t diminish the joy of its telling.  It’s a wondrous tale, and it was, I believe, meant to be just that.

It was, among other things, a declaration of the majesty of this singular moment in history, a moment of such profound meaning and transcendent power that even the stars were moved in their courses to mark it. But it was more than that.  These wise men bring something besides precious gifts; they offer to Jesus and to us a radical vision of the world as it could be – a vision so daring and so sweeping that its implications are still not fully grasped by us.

“. . .wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising.’” If we take a moment to figure out just who these guys were, and what part they played in this story, we just might catch a glimpse of the Divine vision, and discover the astounding message buried within the message of the manger.

“Wise men” as we read it in our Bibles is an English translation of the Greek word μἀγοι, or magi.  The magi were originally a priestly class of Medes, but the term came to be used of astrologers in general.  The center of astrology, since the third century, B.C. had been in Mesopotamia.  So, when Matthew refers to Magi from the East, he is no doubt speaking of Babylonian Astrologers.  Now, it’s important to note that such astrologers were regarded in New Testament times by many devout Jews and Christians as evil.  They were foreign practitioners of a strange brand of semi-religious sooth-saying that stood in total contradiction of their conception of God – the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob – the God of John and of Jesus.

Astrology was a very ancient practice.  These Babylonian mystics conceived of the ecliptic (the apparent orbital circle of the Sun) as being divided into 12 equal parts, or zodiacal signs.  As these signs rose successively in the eastern sky, they foretold the fate of those who were born beneath them.  These ancient astrologers cataloged a list of omens that were indicators of divine will, and predicted when evil would befall individuals.  For many astrologers, there was an element of polytheism in their practice.  The sun and moon and planets were regarded as gods.

So, when Matthew casually recites in the opening verse of the second chapter of his gospel that Magi from the East came to Jerusalem, having seen a significant star in the sky, we need to try to hear that phrase with more ancient ears.  We need to hear it with the ears of those first century Christians to whom it was addressed.  To do that, maybe we should translate it into words that might hit our 21^st century ears in the same way.  For instance: “In the time of President Biden, after Jesus was born in Philadelphia, Shi‘ite Muslims from Western Afghanistan came to Washington, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born your king?  For we learned about him while participating in a righteous Jihad.’”  The parallel is imprecise, but the shock value may be close.

These Magi from Babylon were not part of the club!  They not only weren’t believers in the “one true God,” they were foreigners from the land of an ancient rivalry who couldn’t have a clue about what the Lord was doing in bringing a Messiah into the world.  But this is how Matthew chooses to begin the story of the birth of Jesus.  In Matthew’s telling, except for Joseph, these Babylonian astrologers were the first people on the planet to receive a sign from on High that Jesus, the Messiah, was born in Bethlehem.  They were the first!  Not the temple priests.  Not devout Jews looking for the coming of the Holy One.  Not by a dream with a vision of angels and stairs to heaven.  Not by a voice speaking from the clouds or a burning bush.  No, it was these Babylonian morons who actually believed in astrology – that destiny could be interpreted from the stars and planets.  And they received the message by seeing the star of Jesus rise in their zodiacal system!  Can you even begin to imagine how that choice for the very beginning of the story of the birth of Jesus blew the minds of those first Christians?

Let’s be honest about it, most of the time we think Jesus is part of our club.  Rationally, we know that every culture on the planet has their own depiction of Christ with different pigments and facial characteristics, but deep down, we think all those Chinese and African and Hispanic pictures of Jesus are a little silly, don’t we?  Jesus looked like us, right? (Not really). And if Jesus were born today, our big question would be: who would he have supported for President?  Well, here’s a concept – what if Jesus weren’t a Democrat or a Republican or an independent, what if he were born in Ethiopia?  Now, wouldn’t that mess up your mind?

Here’s the power and breadth of Matthew’s vision: the Lord of this Universe transcends just about everything we hold sacred.  That Lord is bigger than any boundaries we establish, breaks down every wall we put up between human beings.  If the Lord chooses to communicate something of ultimate importance to those we would brand as heathens, so be it, or chooses to infuse an astrological sign with profound meaning, well, just put that in your pipe and smoke it. If the Lord of All decides to knock us off our pins by going against everything we hold dear, get used to it.

One of my favorite all time movies is Fiddler On the Roof.  You may recall that Tevye, the milkman, explains that in turn of the century Anatevka they keep their balance through “Tradition!”  Throughout the film, Tevye carries on a conversation with God, whom he regards as in control of everything and always there to hear his every question and complaint.  He talks to God even as his world starts to fall apart.  The traditions that have held everything together for generations are crumbling around him.  One by one, his daughters take up with men and violate the sacred rules and parameters of marriage.  First, his daughter, Tzeitel, gives a pledge of marriage to a man without having her marriage arranged by the matchmaker!  Then, Hodel falls in love with a man, and together they come to Tevye seeking not his permission to marry, but only his blessing!  All this is head-spinning for poor Tevye, who in each case talks to the Lord and to himself, trying to get his mind around these changes to the institution of marriage.  “No matchmaker?  No permission from the pappa?”  But in each case, he finally comes to accept the new way.  Then, the third daughter, Chava, goes too far.  She falls in love with the enemy.  She decides to marry a young Russian soldier.  For poor Tevye, this is too much.  If he bends that far, he says, he’ll “break.”  So he disowns Chava, and tells his wife their daughter is dead to them.  Everyone’s heart is broken.  But Tevye is caught within the walls of his own traditions, the same traditions that help them all to “keep their balance.”  He sees these traditions as sacred; they are the very embodiment of the Lord’s will.  But what Tevye seems to learn through the course of the story is that will is a far larger thing than he can begin to imagine.  And it seems to keep getting larger and larger.  Finally, in the end, there is a hint that Tevye will learn that will is larger even than his definition of “the enemy.”  As they all prepare to leave Anatevka for the last time, and Chava and her soldier are going off down the road, he looks up and says, “May God be with you.”

Not only Tevye, but perhaps, Joseph Stein, who wrote the story of Anatevka, might be blown out of their shoes and socks by the redefinition of marriage taking place in America today.

There is a new world coming.  There is always a new world coming.  And it’s always a bigger, broader, more inclusive world than any of us is prepared for.  The Lord of Life has great plans for us.  And our circumscriptions and orthodoxies frequently do more to impede those plans than to promote them.  That which we consider secular, even profane, can be inspired with sacred meaning, and that which we hold sacred may serve to separate us from our brothers and sisters, and ultimately from that Lord of Grace.

Matthew begins his Gospel with a thunderous overture.  And these strange visitors from the East deliver the message with unmistakable clarity: there’s a new kind of king born in Bethlehem, and it’s a new kind of kingdom; and it’s bigger than you think.