The church season of advent first appears to be a slow, measured period of waiting, serving to counterbalance the hectic preparations for Christmas. Often we may become impatient, even as we protest that we have lots to do. Then, when Christmas arrives at last, we yearn for a week’s rest, partly because of fatigue and partly because we experience a let down and low grade depression.
In the words of the poet W. H. Auden, “In the meantime, there are bills to be paid, machines to keep in repair, irregular verbs to learn, the time being to redeem from insignificance. The happy morning is over.”1
In our church’s calendar, the celebration of Epiphany, commemorating the arrival of the magi from far off lands and the disclosure of Jesus’ birth to the larger world, comes without much time for preparation at all. In the Eastern Church, Epiphany is traditionally a larger celebration than Christmas Day, but not with us. Epiphany is almost like a fading epilogue.
The magi seem to always arrive in the dead of winter, with snow imbedded in the hems of their garments, and ice encrusted to the hair of their camels. Wherever the magi came from and however many there were, it seems undeniable that their journey was rough, crossing moor and mountain, enduring cold and wind. Then very quickly, we celebrate the baptism of Jesus in the River Jordan. It’s now obviously summer. We are under the desert sun without benefit of shade. People are wearing light clothing and the water is refreshing.
I find this sudden shifting of scenes somewhat disconcerting. Yet maybe the wisdom of the church calendar is teaching us that Christian disciples are for all seasons. There is no guarantee that the weather will not suddenly shift, going from a gentle spring day when it seems you can see forever, to a stinging blizzard where all familiar landmarks are obscured. Fair weather Christians, like fair weather sailors, either quickly get seasoned or don’t last long.
The magi are symbolic of a planned and enduring commitment. They started off on their difficult journey not knowing the exact destination, nor having a definitive understanding of what they would find when they got there. I’d love someone to write a story of how they kept each other from getting discouraged and turning back. What was on their mind when they were assaulted by snow and sleet , threatened by robbers, or frustrated by poor maps and roads?
Those baptized on that warm summer’s day by John in the Jordan River, took a risk, too. Would their neighbors ridicule them? Would the Roman officials catch wind of it and believe they were engaged in sedition? Would the local rabbi approve?
Times of risk-free Christianity are usually an illusion. During a large part of the 1950’s, it seemed as if there would be no end to the growth and prestige of mainline denominations. The Episcopal Church built new parish houses by the dozens. Before we are too hard on the churches, remember this was an era when engineers would brag that soon there would be electrical power too cheap even to meter. It was an era of practically damming every major river in the West without considering long term environmental consequences down river. It’s a lot easier to look back now and see it, but the fifties were, in many ways, a grand decade of denial. The gentle calm didn’t last, and if we look deeper, even then in the so-called easy 50’s, courageous people of faith were taking risks, and began pointing out the many unresolved and quite often long ignored problems of modern society.
What does it mean to be a Christian in countries today where Christians are a small minority? If you think we have troubles, how many of us would want to go on an exchange program and serve on the vestry at a parish in Pakistan, for example? I would suggest, that for a majority of people who take their faith seriously, most of the time, life is a challenge, always a risk, always with uncertainty. History reveals that an insistence on certainty often turns out to be the way of a coward if not the charlatan. Yet if Christians are called to be disciples for all seasons, so is the God who issues the call. God is there for Mary and Joseph in the stable; the word of God is there for the shepherds in the dark fields. God’s light of guidance is there for the magi as they make their journey; God is there for those who are brave enough to go and hear John the Baptist at the River Jordan. Yes, signs of God’s grace will be revealed in Ithaca this year. In the months ahead, God will be present in our lives. The message for the season with all its rapid transitions is that God visits many places, and goes out in all sorts of weather, has no fixed address or even one outfit of favorite clothes.
1 W.H. Auden, For The Time Being
And I offer this to you in the name of the Living God, Amen.
