Often overlooked, the Epiphany season is rich in imagery and narrative. As I enjoyed the Reverend Dr. Ayla Lepine’s evocative presentation on the architect Bertram Goodhue’s grand endeavor to design our magnificent building, it occurred to me that our forebears must have harbored a profound affinity for the stories of the season, at least subliminally. Epiphany now begins with the Visitation of the Magi on January 6 and ends with the Transfiguration of Christ on Mount Tabor on the last Sunday before Lent. These two bookends serve as the backdrop for all our worship at St. Bart’s, with Ethel Parsons Paullin’s glorious Adoration of the Magi painting behind the chapel altar and Hildreth Meière’s Transfiguration mosaic shimmering high above the sanctuary.
Narratively, these are bold and spectacular choices. In the chapel we experience the Eucharistic celebration — the central act of Christian worship — surrounded by alien visitors from the East who came to adore the baby Jesus. It must be noted that scripture in no way suggests these mystic magi ever converted to Judaism (much less Christianity), made a confession, or were baptized before being warned in a dream to return home by another road in order to escape the violence of the tyrant King Herod. These alternative “kings” simply offer their gifts and cast their crowns in awe and wonder before the world’s true sovereign. Thus, the altar is rendered an open table, not by decree of the clergy or the canons of the church, but through the sacred and subversive scene created when the liturgy is enacted with the painting in relief. In an even more brazen display of irony, when Christ appears together with Moses and Elijah at his transfiguration, Peter is refuted by Jesus when he suggests they build a "dwelling" for each (Matthew 17:4 NRSV). Thus, the crowning jewel of our apse is actually a cautionary tale about building buildings for God to begin with. Amidst the paradox, the theological point stands: Faith is not a commodity; we can’t put God in a box.
It is over the uncontainable Christ that, echoing his baptism, God declares: “This is my son, my beloved.” It is over the uncontainable-you-and-me that the Spirit whispers the same refrain: We are all God’s beloved. The revelation of Christ’s light and love throughout Epiphany defies the boxes we try to build around God, ourselves, and one another. In Christ, the seemingly insurmountable chasms of the world — as vast as East and West — find unexpected harmony through worship. At a time when tyrants still wage war and during an election year that threatens even deeper division, we need to be reminded that we are all God’s beloved children. When we acknowledge this fundamental “epiphany,” we find liberation and permission to see, think, love, and hope outside the boxes we build. This is good news. It means:
- You do not have to be the person you have always been or that others remember you to be. It is okay to grow and evolve. We can choose another road.
- This world does not have to be the way it always has been. Change is possible.
- We can give ourselves permission to love and be surprised by those we find most different and difficult.
We will still and always be loved beyond measure.
This weekend we will remember and celebrate another “King” with a dream, who gave us a glimpse of a holy mountain and spoke of a Beloved Community. I hope you will join us for worship and find a healing and peaceful center amidst the competing allegiances and chasms that wage war within your own soul. Recenter your spirit in your infinite belovedness, and be strengthened to embody and bless the world with God’s uncontainable, reconciling love and grace.
"Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing." - Arundhati Roy
