My Dear Sisters and Brothers

Epiphany is the perfect feast with which to begin a new calendar year. It represents all that is wise, all that is noble, and powerful and rich, kneeling before that which has been revealed and made visible - a ragamuffin urchin of a Christ child in the rural poverty of a Kwa-Zulu Bethlehem.

It is so improbable a scene that some scholars have suggested that it is a theological statement, rather than the description of an historical event - a statement that introduces the major themes of the gospel. Sent by God to be the saviour of the world, Jesus is rejected by those to whom he is sent and is threatened from the beginning by those wielding civil and religious power. And as the story unfolds, it soon becomes evident that Bethlehem, the city of the messiah, will not shelter him for long. But even as he is rejected by some, so he is accepted and worshiped as king of the universe by those to whom God has revealed him.

But improbable though the story may seem, its historical truth is no more improbable than that of the incarnation itself, and is its logical conclusion. For if God is indeed born in human form, then there is nothing else for anyone to do - be they wise, or rich, or powerful, or even magicians - but to kneel before him in the dust of our poverty? Epiphany is not just a story of three wise men, but the story of God made visible for all to see, and made visible in a way that reveals the emptiness and foolishness of so much of our posturing and of our preoccupation with things of no real consequence. It is the good news of God's gracious initiative in revealing him / herself and the story of our destiny; to kneel at the feet of our God.

In one of his books, Evelyn Waugh tells of how Helena, the mother of Constantine, discovers the relics of the cross of Christ, and reflects on the three kings:

Like me," she said to them, "you were late in coming. The shepherds were here long before; even the cattle. They had joined the chorus of the angels before you were on your way. . . .

How laboriously you came, taking sights and calculating, where the shepherds had run barefoot. How odd you looked on the road, attended by what outlandish liveries, laden with such preposterous gifts!

"You came at length to the final stage of your pilgrimage and the great star stood still above you. And what did you do? You stopped to call on King Herod. A deadly exchange of compliments in which began that unended war of mobs and magistrates against the innocent.

"Yet you were not turned away. You too found room before the manger. Your gifts were not needed, but they were accepted and put carefully by, for they were brought with love. In that new order of charity that had just come to life, there was room for you, too. You were not lower in the eyes of the holy family than the ox or the ass.

"You are my special patrons," said Helena, "and patrons of all latecomers, of all who have a tedious journey to make to the truth, of all who are confused with knowledge and speculation, of all who through politeness make themselves partners in guilt, of all who stand in danger by reason of their talents.

"Pray for me, and for my poor overloaded son. May he, too, before the end, find kneeling space in the straw."

Like Helena, the wise men are also my special patrons. Like them, I, too, have been slow in coming, a habitual latecomer. For me, too, the journey has been long and laborious, with many false turns and delays, a journey with too many compromises and partnerships in guilt and far to much dependence upon my own abilities and talents - in short, a journey made possible only by the ongoing grace of God. It is my journey, and possibly yours as well. And it is almost certainly the journey of many in our congregations. And the good news is that we will not be turned away, but will be welcomed and received with joy.

The incarnation breaks into our world, unbidden and unexpected. "I have come," says Jesus, 'that you might have life, life in all its abundance." In our calendar, the twelve days of Christmas continue until the Epiphany - until we have all reached the place where we kneel before him in wonder and adoration, knowing the bright wonder of his appearing. For only then is incarnation made real in us, only then is his bright light reflected in my life, only then, does abundant life begin.

But even as abundant life beckons us, even though we know it to be our destiny, yet we are afraid of it - afraid to what would happen to us. And so, as Jesse Trotter in his book, 'Christian Wholeness: Spiritual Direction for Today,' says, "We 'run away forward' into work, 'backward' into tranquilizers, 'upward' into fantasy, 'downward' into depression, 'sideways' into evasion and avoidance. All to avoid the . . . (abundant life) . . . for which something in us so hungrily longs."

If we are to be a people of the Epiphany, a people of abundant life, we must chart our course with care and journey along the way with determination and diligence. As we enter into this new calendar year, we begin a year that we have designated a "Year of Implementation." Through the year, we will journey on a road together - as individuals, as parishes, and as a diocese - seeking to implement our Diocesan Vision and making it a reality in our life together.

As Christ becomes incarnate in the world (Christmas), so Christ must become incarnate in us (Ephiphany). My hope and prayer is that in this "Year of Implementation", we will truly become an Epiphany people, united in a ministry of all believers, conformed to the image of God's Son, living together in vibrant Christian community, and reaching out with Christ's love into the world around us. And as this happens, so we will become a people fully alive, a people of abundant life.

May we, by God's grace, all live to see this happen.

(Do you want to see related pages, the whole site or the non-frames Sitemap?)