Epiphanies

The official celebration of Christmas ends this weekend, and when I was growing up, the Feast of the Epiphany signaled time to pack away the tree and tinsel. But first, I got to move the three kings closer to the Baby Jesus in the manger. My mother put the Nativity scene on the bottom bookshelf (way below the Encyclopedia Brittanicas), so the younger kids could adore the felt-tipped figures, worn by toddler hands adjusting their views of the Christ Child.

I’d kneel before the Nativity scene and gradually move the three kings closer to the manger from Christmas Day to their day of adoration. The kings traveled awkwardly on the crumpled, silver-speckled, white fabric. I figured it was snow because Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and the kings wore so many clothes. I wondered how they walked, dragging those long robes around. The crowns looked pretty heavy, too.

Shortly after the kings’ arrival, my mom packed the Christmas stuff away until the following December. The house returned to normalcy, sans the sparkly revolving silver tree of the 60’s with the magical colored lights shining from below, the red bows, Christmas pillows, wreaths and candles.

I wondered what those three kings did after they got home. What did the shepherds tell their friends? How did they describe it?

The Epiphany. The wonder. The faith in the path. The venerence, the reverence, the joy of what is in that moment of mystery. The belief.

This is the gift - always available and always accessible. I often forget that the peace of Christ is everywhere and in every moment of awe. With age, I’m remembering it more as I spend more time marveling at the amazing goodness in this world - in the greeting from the guy at Manny’s on my first trip to the famous Chicago deli. At the ease of conversation when I introduced myself to the lector at daily mass. At our shared prayer as she described her recent cancer diagnosis. At my friends’ storytelling and in the healing shares in my meetings.

Epiphanies are openings in awareness, and the more I revere them, the more my awareness of all that is good expands. I used to look at all that is wrong and think I had to do something to make it right. I’d feel helpless, inadequate, inconsequential, like I have nothing to offer to solve the world’s problems or even the issues within my own family. Like the little drummer boy, I thought, “I have no gift to bring.”

Then the epiphany - some things just are the way they are. I cannot fix mental illness; I cannot resolve global turmoil; I cannot employ the unemployed or shelter the homeless; I cannot end cynicism and hatred.

I can bear witness to pain and suffering and do what I can in a moment - I can live love, through prayer, presence, generosity of spirit and resources, and listening.

Epiphanies come unbiddened. When I’m open, they show up. Sometimes they hit me over the head with a frying pan. Last week in church, I was contemplating my word of the year, “reverence.” Honest to goodness, I stopped daydreaming and heard the priest say, “May we revere with appreciation the mystery of our Lord.” “Bam!” went the flying pan.

Epiphanies are incognito when I’m rushed, frenetic, and frenzied. When I slow down and soak in what is, they lighten my heart, brighten my perspective, and renew my hope - even in great suffering. They can be an oxymoron - meant to shed light, yet the truth may be painful. The truth often takes time to accept.

These revelations arrive when I’m praying, conversing, reading, witnessing, walking, and wholeheartedly being with. They bring me a sense of groundedness, peace, gratitude and wonder.

I have no how-to checklist for awareness. I imagine epiphanies emerge for others when gardening, sewing, quilting, drawing, woodworking, studying languages, dancing, cooking, yoga-ing.

They are miraculous moments. And I want to hoard them. They are unhoardable. They just are what they are. I wish I could tie them up in a bow.

I’ve discovered new freedom since Christmas, and I have no idea why. I feel free from self-inflicted obligations. I don’t have to finish the book. My mom used to say, “If the book doesn’t grab me in the first thirty pages, I might not live that long.” She put the book away. I give the book eighty pages. I’m younger than she.

The book serves as a metaphor for many unfinished projects. Who says I have to revise the essay or tidy my notes? Not me - anymore.

I’m free from proving, free from having to get it right - as long as I do my best. I’m free from thinking I’m bad if someone is annoyed with me. I’m not the center of the universe - thank God. Everyone has their own realities, and I get to honor them by listening with love.

To me, wisdom is a collective flow of epiphanies that stay with me. My heart says, “Ah, I get it now. Thank You.” And my brain says, “I wish I knew this sooner.” And my soul says, “You weren’t ready. You are now.”

Every moment is an offering for an opening. Some are not so great - like a late payment notice, an irregular spot on my leg, a disturbing email, a hurt feeling, a painful disappointment, a rejection letter, bad news from the doctor.

Some are cause for tap dancing - a great sense of oneness, connection and understanding, an empathetic response, a new interpretation, a newness in insight, a cleared up misunderstanding - forgiveness.

And laughter! Bring on more of those blessed epiphanies! Bring on greater awareness of the unique quirkiness of the human condition.

Epiphany is movement toward holiness and oneness, just as the three kings moved toward the Christ child. That beautiful Christ child dwells within and without.

Like my friend Cathy who passed away last year and my friend Maggie, I keep a Nativity scene out year-round. What a blessed reminder of reverence.