Today the Church celebrates the Feast of the Epiphany.
This is much more than just a story of Magi visiting the Christ child.
This day is all about awe and wonder. It is about recognizing the cosmic impact that the Divine incarnation has, as even the heavenly bodies testify to the greatness of God through the stars.
It is about the global impact that the embodiment of the Word of God would have, as people from the far corners of the Earth are embraced by God’s holy in-breaking, compelled to seek it out.
It is about Christ’s nature: precious as gold, fragrant as frankincense, and self-giving as the myrrh used to wrap the dead in that final act of love.
The journey of the Magi will be echoed by the journey of those women who walk with spices to the empty tomb on Easter morning.
The symmetry is striking. The whole arc fills you with awe.
In these days between Epiphany and Transfiguration the church will continually ask, “Who is this Jesus?” And with story after story we’ll hear a variety of answers to that question.
But today we just get this one answer: the embodied Word is worth searching for, worth giving things up for, and worth defying the powers of this world for.
The Magi, like Jesus himself, will practice civil disobedience in an effort to keep their conscience intact, by God.
The Celtic calendar was built on a wheel, an ancient wisdom of spirals and turning on which they trusted all life to be built upon. It was a dance that humanity participated in along with everything else cosmic to microscopic.
There were two halves, the “Sam” (summer) and the “Gam” (winter), and those were divided again with Samhain in October (the start of winter) and Beltaine in May (the start of summer), and further divided by Imbolc in February and Lughnasadh in August. In between all of those were the celestial markers of equinoxes and solstices, further providing some guidance as to what rhythm the Celts would be adopting at a particular time of year.
This is the eightfold pattern of their year, spinning round and round.
And each day itself was said to mirror this pattern with dusk (wintering) and dawn (summering) and noon and midnight. In other words: each day held a year.
A similar wisdom is seen in the ancient creation stories (Genesis follows this pattern), and also the eschatalogical understanding that each day holds the liturgical year (waiting, celebration, mourning, growing, etc.).
All of this is ancient, cycling wisdom at play, if we’re willing to pay attention.
In a modern Celtic understanding, January affords us the opportunity to focus in on thresholds (liminal spaces from the Latin “limen” which literally means “threshold”). Though it was not the ancient New Year for the Celts (which was probably Samhain), the mentality of the people was one of adaptation and so we find it has shifted to enfold the Gregorian calendar into its thoughtful rhythm.
January is our modern threshold month. It is the doorway, the threshold, to a new year. For the ancient Celts thresholds were holy places in the home, the barrier between the world and the family, a portal through which humans, as well, as other spirits traversed. It was neither here nor there. The dirt of thresholds was seen as holy ground, good for repairing relationships and cleansing the soul (haven’t you ever said, “it is good to be home!”?).
When entering an ancient Celtic home you’d say a quick blessing just inside the doorway called “The Welcome of the Door.” This is mirrored in many religions, but specifically for Western Christians we see this practice adopted on January 6th as doorways are blessed in honor of the Epiphany and the Magi crossing the threshold of the home of Mary and Joseph to see the Christ child.
January, as our modern threshold, provides us a similar opportunity for blessing and newness, is what I’m saying. The wheel is spinning, but there are important markers throughout, and now we are at the threshold of 2024 and a “Welcome of the Door” is in order.
Today the church remembers a chatty 4th Century saint who, despite his best efforts, was terrible at living alone: St. Basil the Great, Bishop and Patron Saint of Extroverts.
St. Basil was born into a wealthy Greek family around the year 330AD. He was raised by his grandmother and pious parents, was well educated, and was influenced in early adulthood by a charismatic Bishop of the church, Eustathius of Sebaste. This influence compelled him to be baptized and spurred a spiritual awaking.
Feeling a call to the ministry, he left his practice of law and education to go where the monastics roam. Traveling to Palestine, Egypt, and Syria, studying the ascetics and the monastic life, he mindfully distributed his wealth to the poor and tried his hand at living the life of a hermit.
He was terrible at it.
He missed talking to people, and found his brain to be a poor conversationalist.
So, he decided to gather around himself a group of like-minded people, thereby effectively creating the first intentional monastic community of the church. His writings and reflections of this time became formative for Eastern Monasticism, and he’s generally thought of as the founder of the first monastic settlement.
As his stature and practice grew, and as his writings were circulated, St. Basil became a respected theologian and practitioner of the faith. He attended the Council of Nicaea and was a strong voice for Orthodoxy.
In 362AD St. Basil was ordained a Deacon in the church, and then a presbyter as his influence grew. He joined with St. Gregory in full-throated repudiation of Arianism (an ancient heresy), and eventually became the administrator of the Diocese of Caesarea.
In 370AD he succeeded Eusebius as Bishop of Caesarea. Though he had some bad blood with a few neighboring priests and bishops (if you think we have theological squabbles today, read some of the stuff coming out of the 4th Century church!), St. Basil was also known to see the best in people, even his opponents. He was also exceedingly generous with his money (he barely kept any) and his time, known for being on the front lines of the local soup kitchen in times of famine.
St. Basil’s writings, especially those regarding care for the poor and the sick, continue to confront Christians today. He did not mince words.
My favorite Basil line has him writing in a pastoral missal, “The shoes left unworn and rotting in your closet are meant for those without shoes, as is the food in your pantry and the unused coat.” And he was known for living this out, not just preaching about it.
The date of his death is unknown, probably sometime in the late 4th Century of liver disease and poor health probably brought on by leading an extremely ascetic lifestyle, but his memory lives on.
St. Basil the Great (as he is now known) is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that proximity is primary. You must be around the people you serve to know them, and you must engage with others, even if you disagree with them.
Today, as most of the world celebrates New Year’s Day, the church officially honors an odd festival (which was created in opposition to the New Year’s Day revelries): The Holy Name of Jesus.
To understand why we have this feast day at all you have to go back, way back, to when there were differing calendars, and therefore differing ideas of when a new year actually begins.
For much of secular recorded history, the new year began on March 1st (or at least in March) with the ushering in of meteorological Spring (note: this is not astronomical Spring, but rather just the date when Spring starts to show off in many places). The names of the later months of our current calendar, September, October, November, and December still harken back to this reality, as September is the seventh month (Sept), and October the eighth (Oct), etc. if you start the year in March.
If you care nothing else about this festival or this day, the above is a feather in your cap for 2024. Bet you learned something new.
There was, at the same time, a persistent thought that January 1st marked the beginning of the year, as it honored the god Janus who looked forward and backward and immediately followed the Winter Solstice.
When Julius Caesar reorganized the calendar for Rome, he made it the beginning of the year, and it made sense because the Roman Senate convened in January. The first day of that month became the official “Saturnalia” celebration day, though the weeks prior and weeks after were included in the festivities.
This date as the start of the new year began to spread throughout the centuries, and eventually landed in England and the American colonies who were late adopters to the idea (it took them until 1752).
But, as the Church was birthed in Rome and the Saturnalia festivities were in full swing with drunken parties and dancing and theater tournaments, influential clergy (like Augustine), though they would have rather have had no part in marking the day at all, decided that worship and fasting would be good practices to keep the Christians from the pagan celebrations.
This practice, btw, is still held in some parishes on New Year’s Eve until the wee hours of New Year’s Day, and is called “Night Watch.”
So the church, feeling it needed to keep Christians from getting too boozy and too happy around the pagan feast, went with a more Biblical understanding of the day. Using Christmas Day as a marker (which, again, was reluctantly placed on the calendar…Christmas wasn’t a thing for Christians in that early church) they saw that eight days later would be the circumcision and name-day of Jesus, and they decided, “Yup! That’s what we’ll call it.”
And so, this feast day was born as a reaction to the outside world and a coopting of other feasts at the time. In this way the church showed great ingenuity, in my opinion. After all, people don’t like it when you take things away from them, for whatever reason, so they’d much rather you add or shift things for them.
The above is interesting, but for those of us who are more interested in seeing these holy/holidays differently rather than understanding them as purely a reaction to the outside world (which makes me not want to honor them at all, to be honest!), I present to you this idea:
The Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus presents for the church, and for all of us, an opportunity to honor the importance of names for humans.
I remember one time as a young, smart-mouthed kid, that at a Cuban restaurant in Hialeah, Florida, I forgot to note something that I wanted to order and said, “Get Jose back here! I forgot something.”
My grandfather looked at me with a mixture of anger and disappointment and said, “Tim, that is not his name. He is proud of his name. You cannot change it without his permission, and you need to respect it.”
I was obviously (and rightfully!) put in my place. Indeed it was not his name, and I was making a terrible, racist joke that attempted to take that away from him.
Names are important.
This is why it is, in fact, racist to not learn how to pronounce the names of people of color (this tactic has long been used as a way to degrade people). This was recently seen in a prominent Georgia Senate election rally a few years ago.
It is racist to deny people job interviews because they have names that are not “traditional” or are specifically ethnic.
Names are given in love, usually in honor, and mean something.
This is also why when our trans brothers and sisters offer to the world a name that best fits them, we need to honor it.
This day is a reminder for me, and can be for the church, that names matter, by God.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Tonight the church honors not a saint, but an event: Watch Night, remembering the Emancipation Proclaimation of 1863.
Traditions surrounding a “night of watching” on New Year’s Eve can be found in Moravian and Methodist American history through the 1800’s. The practice may have begun almost a century earlier in Bohemian regions of Europe, however, as families marked endings and beginnings.
In America these vigils were taken as an opportunity to reflect on the past year and make resolutions for the coming one. Often held in churches and surrounded by prayer and music, these gatherings usually started in the evening and lasted past midnight.
In 1863, however, the tradition took on new life and a new focus in America as slaves in formerly Confederate States gathered in churches, homes, and rooms in the waning hours of 1862 awaiting President Lincoln’s signature on the Emancipation Proclaimation to take effect.
Watch Night continues to be an annual gathering, especially in communities of color, as a way to both remember what has happened and gather strength for continuing to work for the freedoms still to come. Recent years have been stark reminders that the Emancipation Proclaimation was not, and has never been, enough in the struggle for all in this country to live in peace and enjoy prosperity. Indeed, that first proclamation didn’t “free all slaves” in the United States…that would take acts of individual legislation in many border states and territories over time.
We need to remember that racism and prejudice still influence our civic and religious lives, Beloved.
Watch Night is an invitation for us all to reflect and resolve to partner together to do more.
Today marks the saint day of Saint Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury and Gadfly of King Henry II.
Becket was ordained a Deacon and then Archdeacon for the Archbishop of Canterbury in short order after studying in Paris as a young man. He was born the son of the sheriff of London in 1118, and therefore had many rights and privileges offered to him, including an inroad with King Henry II which allowed him to live the high life.
King Henry II decided, apparently on a whim, that Becket should be named Archbishop though he wasn’t even a priest. Becket protested, saying, “Then I would fall from your favor, your Majesty.”
Henry disregarded this prescient warning, and ordained him a priest and then elevated him to Archbishop in 1162 all in one fell swoop.
Becket, now as Archbishop, took his position quite seriously. He abandoned the trappings of the comfortable life he had been leading, and assumed the role of “shepherd of souls.” He and King Henry soon were on the outs as Becket argued fiercely over the boundary between the church and the state. The feud became so fraught that Becket was forced to leave Britain and take up residency in France, where he lived as Archbishop of Canterbury in exile.
Six years after being exiled, Becket was allowed to return, but the feud continued. One night King Henry, in a rage, asked rhetorically, “Who will rid me of this priest?!” Four knights in the room, who didn’t understand a rhetorical question when they heard one, rushed off to the cathedral in Canterbury and murdered Becket in front of the altar.
Becket’s last words were, “For the name of Jesus and in defense of the Church, I am willing to die.”
The people of England were shocked and dismayed, and soon after his death miracles were reported at the tomb. In 1173 the pope canonized him, and Henry was forced to be whipped by monks from the abbey over the tomb as penance.
The Henrys’ would have the last laugh, however, as King Henry VIII would avenge his ancestor and destroy the shrine over the tomb.
You may know Becket’s story as this ambitious and tough-minded monastic has inspired numerous works of art including Tennyson’s “Becket” and Eliot’s “Murder in the Cathedral.”
St. Thomas Becket is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that the church cannot be in service to the state if it is to adequately critique it. Becket knew this…I wonder if we sometimes forget it in nationalistic fervor.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church remembers not one person, but rather a family: The Holy Family, Vessels of Divine Communion.
Typical depictions of the Holy Family usually include Joseph, Mary, and the infant Jesus. We understand through scriptural accounts as well as the conventions of the day, that Jesus had siblings as well, which should not be forgotten.
It should also not be assumed that the Holy Family is somehow a prescription for how nuclear families should look. It is, instead, descriptive of the times…and even then, not so much, as Mary’s pregnancy out of wedlock certainly chaffed against the societal norms of the day.
But even with these qualifiers, the Holy Family as a unit is instructive for the kind of love that people can, and should, share within the family (biological or chosen). Joseph, the step-father of Jesus, is tenderly concerned when he cannot find his son on their pilgrimage, and is, by all accounts, kind and stalwart with Mary, keeping their engagement despite the pregnancy surprise.
Mary is a wise and protecting mother, accompanying Jesus on his travels, and sticking with him until the very end, even the cross. Truly, Beloveds, we are not meant to bury our babies, and yet she does so, not shying away from the heartache.
And though we don’t get much of a glimpse of the child Jesus, we find him appropriately rebelling against his parents, kindly watching out for his mother, and including his brother in his ministry.
Certainly it was not an idyllic family. No flesh-and-blood family, chosen or biological, is idyllic (despite what social media might portray). There were even a few arguments recorded (John 2, Matthew 12, Mark 3) that showed not everything was “Leave It to Beaver.”
And yet, they loved one another through it all.
This is why they are lifted up today: not because they were perfect, but because they loved one another in and through the imperfections.
Today the church remembers the slaughter of the Holy Innocents, the children King Herod killed when searching in fear for the Christ child.
We sing of this in the carol “Lully Lullay,” which is meant to mimic the lullaby the mothers of Bethlehem sang to their children to keep them quiet as soldiers searched for them.
“Herod the king, in his raging…”
This still happens today. Children are still our most vulnerable population, especially when the powerful become fearful.
Children are the first to die in times of famine and disease, when food and medicine are hoarded by the powerful.
Children are still the first to die in the wars their parents wage.
Children are the first to feel it when social services are cut by the powerful.
Children are the first to feel it when we pass laws of convenience instead of laws of conviction.
Remember our Holy Innocents today: -The children of Uvalde, Texas, Oxford, Michigan, of Newtown, of Columbine, of every situation where we fail to act to protect them and instead protect guns -The children of Ukraine, Gaza, Israel, Yemen, Iran, Syria, Afghanistan, and all places torn by perpetual war. -The children of the rural poor. -The children of the urban homeless. -The children of undocumented immigrants, especially those used as political pawns in recent years -The children born addicted. -The children who fall into addiction because their futures are bleak. -The children who have every privilege but are not loved. -The children who are greatly loved but have no privilege and suffer in a world of status games. -The children of Papua New Guinea tortured for being accused of witchcraft. -The children sold into slavery around the world for the powerful to abuse. -The children who are left without parents or grandparents in the pandemic because we are selfish.
On December 27th the church remembers St. John, the only apostle said to have died of natural causes.
St. John played a prominent role in the Gospels, and some believe he is even depicted in the Gospel of John as the “Beloved Disciple” (though, I would contend that the Beloved Disciple in that Gospel is actually the one reading the Gospel…but more on that in a different piece of writing).
After the Ascension, John traveled far and wide as an evangelist. He is said to have ended up in Ephesus, where he died of advanced age. Lore has it that in his last years faithful congregants would carry him into the church at Ephesus where he’d bless the gathered people saying, “Love one another, my little children,” a theme of the Epistles of John.
It’s an appropriate day to have a glass of wine or grape juice. Legend has it that John was challenged to drink a cup of poisoned wine, and as he held the cup, he blessed it, and the poison became a snake and slithered out, rendering it harmless. This is why John is sometimes depicted as holding a snake in a chalice.
These saint days following Christmas highlight the “Comites Christi,” or “Companions of Christ.”
St. Stephen died tragically, St. John supposedly died peacefully, and tomorrow the Holy Innocents of Bethlehem who died tragically are meant to highlight how Christ entered a world full of blessing and brokenness, sadness and joy.
God’s incarnation did not solve the problems of humanity, but showed that humanity is worth saving, by God…even broken as it is.
Reluctant Xtian 