Christmas’ twelfth night concluded, we arrive with those pilgrim kings at the Feast of Epiphany. Who among us does not need a revealing, a bolt of clarity that cuts through the dark night, a burning love that ravages our heart? Who among us, like those three wandering souls, have not pinned our hope on a promise, a radiant star offering only enough illumination to carry us a few more midnight miles through treacherous country, through bitter cold and toward uncertain horizons?
Perhaps it’s impossible to imagine, on a day when those poisoned with ego and deceit grasp for power, that the transformation of the entire world happens through absolute humility and helplessness, through a baby who cries in the night and can’t even wipe his own backside.
Perhaps like the magi, we’ve walked a road with no clear end, pointing our nose in the direction of hope with little to show for it. And now we feel like a fool.
Perhaps we’ve entered uncharted territory with no map and bare provisions–and with no friend or lover to walk this hazy mile with us. We can’t see where this leads, but we know we must keep trusting the mercy. And we hope with all we’ve got that the mercy holds.
This story of three hope-filled wanderers and a humble babe is our beginning and our ending. All the truth we need is here. All the hope. All the faith. It doesn’t tell us everything, but it tells us what we need for now. This is our epiphany.