January 6^th is the Feast Day of Epiphany – the culmination of the Christmas season called Twelfth Night -- and also the beginning of a new liturgical season, the season of Epiphany which lasts until Lent.

Why is this feast day so significant that an entire church season is devoted to its celebration?  The term “Epiphany” is from the Greek “to appear” or “Manifestation.”  Whose appearance are we celebrating at this time?  It begins with the nativity which in the Western half of Christianity was celebrated around the time of the winter solstice, but in the Eastern Church January 6^th was the date believed to have been Jesus’ birthday.  Later on as traditions evolved, both dates were incorporated into the celebration of the Mass of Christ (Christmas) and the customs so honoring this light shining into our dark world.  Twelfth Night became a time of partying, gift-giving and the baking and eating of a special “King’s cake,” a yummy iced, cinnamon bannock with a little baby Jesus figure hidden inside.  In some traditions, the King’s Cake is eaten at the end of the Epiphany season during the festival of Mardi Gras.  In others, it’s baked and eaten every Sunday during Epiphany.

Who’s the King commemorated in the symbolic Epiphany cake?  It could be the King of Kings, the Messiah as denoted by the baby Jesus hidden inside.  The Evangelist Matthew, the originator of the Epiphany tradition, takes great pains to show us just how Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah prophesied in Hebrew Scripture. 

On the other hand, the King could also refer to the Magi who visited the newborn Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel, as sometimes this special Epiphany pastry is referred to as “Three Kings’ Cake.” 

Epiphany customs frequently dwell on the visit of the three wise men, whose legendary names are: Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar.  Their initials (C M B) are inscribed over door lintels with chalk in the custom of “Chalking the Door.”  This tradition includes a special greeting to the homeowner by the visitor that goes something like this: 

“Peace be with this house and with all who live here,” to which the residents respond: “and peace be with all who enter here.”

Sometimes the traditional blessing is “May Christ bless the house,” which in Latin is: Christus mansionem benedicat, abbreviated to C M B. 

We all know the story of the wise men from the Gospel of Matthew.  They were said to have been kings who traveled from the Eastern reaches of the Roman Empire in search of the Messiah whose birth had been foretold by a special celestial phenomenon.  The Kings presented the baby Jesus gifts of gold, myrrh and frankincense upon their arrival at the stable where Mary and Joseph were watching over their newborn child, thus instigating the custom of gift-giving at Christmas time.  Isn’t that how the story goes?

Well…Matthew tells the story a little differently than our Epiphany customs recall the tale.  King Herod I, famous in history for lavish building projects like the expansion of the temple complex in Jerusalem, as well as for murdering three of his own sons and one of his numerous wives for plotting to kill him, plays the central role in this chapter of the Gospel.  Herod sat on the throne of Judea, a Roman Province that was once the Israelite Kingdom of Judah.  Perhaps he was a little paranoid, but these were difficult times and he did his best balancing act to placate Rome after wresting the title of “King of the Jews” from Antigonus, the last of the Hasmonean dynasty  

When our story opens in Matthew 2:1, the three Magi, astrologer-priests from the East who were most likely Chaldeans, Persians or Medes – known throughout the Roman Empire as top-notch astrologers – had just arrived in Jerusalem.  The Magi were following a star, not just any star, but an astrological portent of a divine birth in the Judean Kingdom.  They’d spotted a star in the east, astrology-speak for the last visible celestial body before the sun rose in the morning.  The star was in the constellation of Aries the Ram, the sign of the zodiac representing the Judean Kingdom.  The “star” was probably the planet Jupiter which represented royalty – a signifier of a royal birth in the Kingdom of Judea.  Jupiter was eclipsed by the Moon in 6 BCE when it was rising in Aries, just two years before the death of Herod, I, conforming nicely to Matthew’s timeline. 

The Magi followed up on this sign of a royal portent in Judea by traveling to the seat of Judean power – Jerusalem – and consulted with Herod (why do we call them wise men?) who was naturally quite threatened.  Hadn’t Israelite prophets promised the return of David for centuries?  So when Herod heard about this royal birth, what else was he to think but that his days of ruling the Jewish people were numbered?

The Magi asked Herod, “Where is he who has been born King of the Jews?  For we saw his star when it rose in the East and have come to worship him.”  Oy.  Just what Herod needed to hear.  He fills in the Magi on some back history about David being born in the town of Bethlehem, and sends them there to do a little espionage.  When they get to Bethlehem, they see the star “resting over the place where the child was” – Jupiter, the morning star, seemed to stop in its tracks about the time the Magi arrived in Bethlehem.  In astrology this is known as a planet going stationary in its orbit around the sun.  A planet appears to stop, then go backwards (retrograde) as it is orbiting around the sun away from us from our vantage point on the earth.  This may have been what Matthew meant when he describes the Magi seeing Jupiter “resting” over Bethlehem.  Portents like this were recorded by Roman writers who put much stock in astrological events and signs.

Instead of reporting back to Herod the location of the newborn rival king, they finally get wise, thanks to a prophetic dream warning them not to return to Herod.  Prophetic dreams of this nature are common in Hebrew scripture and are usually interpreted as divine advice.  The Magi heeded this advice and “departed to their own country by another way” – a play on words as during Matthew’s time period, Christianity was known as “the Way.”  Thus a troop of Persian astrologers are actually the first Christians according to Matthew! 

Of course that’s not the end of the Epiphany story.  Herod continues as the anti-hero for another chapter, and most likely he’s not the king about whom the famous Epiphany kings cakes were first baked and eaten.  Hunting down the baby Messiah like Pharaoh in the Moses story and issuing the awful order mimicking Pharaoh’s slaughter of the innocents hardly casts Herod in a good light.  Matthew misquotes Hosea and takes Jeremiah out of context to remind his readers of Israel’s first savior leading them out of exile.  In the verses of Jeremiah following the passage quoted in Matthew 2:18, the prophet foretells the wonderful things the Messiah will accomplish.  It’s a happy, celebratory passage looking forward to good times when God’s chosen people are on the rise once again. 

It’s Epiphany, time for feasting, gift-giving and merry-making, because God hasn’t left us in the darkness of winter.

The balsam wreath with its five symbolic candles anticipating the arrival of the nativity, potted poinsettias arranged around the altar, little vignettes of the nativity known as “crèches”, and the liturgical colors of white and gold embellishing the garments of ordained clergy.  These are the trappings of the season of Christmas, lasting from Christmas Eve – the celebration of the nativity or birth of Jesus Christ – until January 6^th – Epiphany – named for the Greek term epiphania “to reveal” …and just in time, too.

 The Christmas season begins just as the darkness and icy chill of early winter threaten to consume us – and then all is light, music and feasting.  The winter Solstice has just passed, marking the slow return of the sun’s light so apparent in northern latitudes like the coastal towns and villages of downeast Maine. 

 The light of the physical world is a metaphor in many spiritual traditions for the inner light of divine awareness – a wakeup call strong enough to rouse us from the deathly inertia and loss of focus that life on the human plane encourages.  This wakeup call is celebrated around the time of the winter solstice by different cultures, each with its unique traditions for how humanity recognizes and responds to the presence of the divine manifesting in the limited world of the senses.

 Many of these traditions have been incorporated into our common shared culture, some within the context of Christian worship services like the lighting of the advent wreath, and others play roles ranging from peripheral to central in our family gatherings, in our workplaces and in our communities like the Christmas Tree with its twinkling lights and glittering ornaments, or the candles shining in every window of our homes.  Rather than scoff at the commercialism of these customs or worry over their “pagan” origins, let’s appreciate them for what they are – vestiges of wisdom from very wise ancestors.

 In ancient Egypt, Greece and Rome, palm leaves symbolizing the idea of resurrection from the dead and the cycle of rebirth were used to decorate homes during solstice celebrations.  In the more temperate climate of northern Europe, evergreen branches replaced the palm leaves, on which candles and fruit were hung to honor the Germanic god Wodan – an interesting deity whose sovereignty ranged from Lord of the Sky to something akin to the Greek Hermes – the divine messenger who aided the dead in their journey to the afterlife. 

 The Roman festival of Saturnalia, honoring Saturn – the Roman Kronos – was one of the favorite Roman holidays lasting from two days up to a week, depending upon which Roman Emperor was in charge.  Despite the fact that Kronos was the personification of time and therefore physical decay, this festival always included much feasting, drinking and gift-giving.  Wax candles were particularly favored as a Saturnalia gift, another excuse to celebrate the solstice, perhaps.  Although Saturn/Kronos wasn’t a sun god, his role as “father time” a/k/a “the grim reaper” may have evolved from his even more ancient role as the corn god.  As a harvest deity like his consort Ops, the cycle of death and rebirth would have been a familiar theme and significant part of Saturn/Kronos worship.

 In the latter centuries of the Roman Empire, Sol Invictus the “unconquered” or “invincible” Sun, became wildly popular and competed with Saturnalia for the solstice celebration.  This solar deity was originally a Syrian sun god named El-Gabal who was brought to Rome by the Emperor Elagabalus, a Syrian by birth. 

 Although the birth date of this Middle Eastern deity, embraced by Rome, was said to be around the winter Solstice, Emperor Constantine, who was extremely fond of Sol Invictus and like many of his predecessors minted coins with the deity’s name and likeness, established March 7^th as the “day of the Sun” dies natalis solis invicti  -- a day of rest.

 But Constantine wasn’t just talking about El-Gabal, the Syrian Sun God.  In the 2^nd and 3^rd Centuries C.E. another Roman deity of Middle Eastern origins was merging with Sol Invictus.  Can you guess who that was? 

 How about Mithras, the former Persian “Judger of Souls” who also protected humans from demons?  Mithras was born of the virgin Anahita and established an ethical path for his followers to emulate, then defeated death itself in the guise of a bull by emerging victorious from a cave, symbolizing his release from the confines of the physical world into eternal life.  A Mithraic inscription reads “He who will not eat of my body and drink of my blood, so that he will be made one with me and I with him, the same shall not know salvation.” 

 Like Sol Invictus, the birthday of Mithras was celebrated around the time of the solstice – another spiritual tradition to teach us how to access and honor the inner divine light.

 When all these traditions are so meshed together with the traditions of Jesus of Nazareth and his mission to become our savior, the Christ, how can we do anything but appreciate and honor their wisdom?  If anything, giving gifts, decorating boughs of evergreen and lighting candles only adds to our celebration of the miracle of God’s word incarnating into human form.  If these customs remind us that we are more than limited, fragile beings subject to death and decay, does it matter under which name the deity for this or that tradition goes by?  Mithras, Wodan, El-Gabal, Kronos or Jesus Christ…we celebrate his birth into our hearts and minds this season.

 

Since the Hebrew Bible was the larger part of Christian Scripture for almost 100 years after Jesus' ministry, it is not surprising that Christian traditions are often associated with their Jewish precursors.  In most languages except English, the same word is used for Jewish Passover and Christian Easter – a reference to the Paschal Lamb that is central to Passover and the Israelites' escape to freedom and the Lamb of God who gave up his life on our behalf.  “All the imagery of the Jewish Passover was brought into the [Christian] rite – the Exodus, the Passover, and the entrance into the Promised Land.”[1]

 

So it is also with the Christian season of Pentecost that runs from Pentecost Day until the First Sunday of Advent – the longest season of the Christian year.   Acts 2 recalls the descent of the Holy Spirit on the disciples on the day of Pentecost – a Jewish festival that offered barley after the Passover and initiated the seven weeks of harvest that ended in the feast of Pentecost (50 days).  Early Christians continued marking a series of days and seasons in distinct ways that commemorated important events in the life of the faith community.            

 

Jews who came to believe that Jesus was the promised Messiah continued to worship in synagogues for a while – steeped in Jewish liturgies and history.  These Jesus following Jews were eventually expelled from synagogues and some were attacked; Stephen, the first Christian deacon and martyr, was stoned to death for his faith in Jesus as Messiah.  It was after Stephen's martyrdom that some Jesus followers began to flee Jerusalem – many going north to what is now Turkey to cities under the cultural, religious, and political influence of the Greek and Roman world.  Soon after, Paul traveled to Greece, thus introducing Christianity to Europe.

 

And while the birth of Christianity was influenced by its Jewish parent, the growing young church was also influenced by its Gentile converts in the Greco-Roman world especially after the Christian Church became established under the Emperor Constantine.  Growing stronger, the Church was in constant contact with “competing” religions that had been an integral part of many of its new members' lives.  Though Jesus' actual birthday is unknown, the Church in Rome determined that it needed to establish a feast to celebrate the Incarnation as a way to compete with pagan festivals of the winter solstice; the birthday of the Unconquerable Sun, was celebrated on December 21 and lasted for a little longer than a week.  By about 336 Christians chose December 25 to celebrate the birth of Jesus followed by the Twelve Days of Christmas and the Epiphany on January 6.  In Egypt, January 6 was the day the Sun God made his appearance – his epiphany – and was honored with light, water and wine.

 

As any group may do, Christians are tempted to think of their traditions as unique.  After all, we are taught that Jesus is God Incarnate and that God's presence here among us in the form of the Holy Spirit guides us and is our advocate.  That may be so, but in these small examples above it is refreshing to see that our faith did not “pop out of the head of Zeus” (to use a pagan image to explain), but grew up with other faiths who, like ours, struggle to understand who God is and how that affects how we live.  We say that each of us is unique, a work of art by the creator, but that does not mean that we do not share common experiences with the human race.

 

And, like the human experience, our religion is also surrounded by other faiths whose spiritual journey is uniquely valuable and, if we listen with an open heart, valuable to our own understanding of who God is in our lives.  We are not here to prove ourselves right or to become perfect; we are here to become more faithful – which means that we are here to act in ways that are consistent with the core teaching of Jesus.  When he was asked what the greatest commandment was, he answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.  This is the first commandment.  And the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.  On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.”  Christians believe that this is as close to a summary of their faith as is possible but the real value of our faith is not only in seeing its value but in working this summary out in our daily lives.

 

                                                                                                             Dick Gilchrist

 

“Now the green blade riseth from the buried grain,
wheat that in dark earth many days has lain;
love lives again, that with the dead has been:
love is come again like wheat that springeth green”[1]

 

So goes one of the many festive songs sung in churches on Easter Sunday, describing the death and resurrection of Christ – the core events around which Christianity has and continues to formulate its theology – in agricultural terms.  This age-old metaphor of the dying and rising god-man/woman has roots that date back at least as far as the Sumerian God Dumuzi who’s sent to the underworld as a substitute for Innana, the Queen of Heaven representing the uniting power of love.  Dumuzi remains in the underworld until Enlil, the Sumerian Wisdom God, engineers his release back to the land of the living. 

 

This motif is echoed throughout sacred mythologies, including the myth of Dionysus and the myth of the raised Kore, Demeter’s daughter, celebrated as the heart of the Dionysian and Eleusinian mystery religions so popular during the Hellenistic and later Greco-Roman period – the period when the Jewish Rabbi Jesus of Nazareth was born, died and his resurrection celebrated by devoted disciples.  What did he teach us that was so all-consuming that he was ready, able and willing to die for?  What was it about this man and his teaching that puts us in mind of the dying vegetation god/goddess?

 

We see the agricultural metaphor echoed in John’s Gospel [12:20-27] in one of the Master’s teachings:

Like the song reminds us, “love lives again like wheat that springeth green.”  This is an easy metaphor for us to grasp – we’ve all had at least some experience planting a seed and marveling as it pushes up through the ground, transformed into something many times more beautiful, abundant and nourishing than the tiny, single seed.  But John’s lesson is deeper than a seed simply being buried.  “Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”  Here we learn that living only to sustain our own lives, such as we understand them, bars us from the life Spirit has created us for, but if we’re willing to love to the extent that our Teacher who is the Christ modeled for us, then we are transformed, as the grain is transformed when it rises from the soil.  “A new commandment I give to you,” Jesus says to his disciples in John 13, “that you love one another:  just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.”

 

We may never know the secret of the dying & rising Kore or Dionysus – locked into eternity as mysteries worthy only for the initiated – but we can sing the song of Jesus of Nazareth rising from the dead and his message of a love so profound and all-encompassing that to follow in his footsteps is to realize the words of Paul of Tarsus when he wrote in his letter to the Roman Church:

Loves comes again like wheat that springeth green.

 

March, when the first stirrings of spring are felt, when the sap is flowing and the ancient god of nature is celebrated in myth and felt in the excitement of the first waves of warmth and melting snow, our exuberance is tempered by the season of Lent which spans the entire month this year. 

 

Lent is traditionally a time of preparation in the Episcopal Church for the annual celebration of the resurrection of Christ.  How we prepare is a matter of individual concern, but the Church as a whole offers a few suggestions, such as using this period of time for penitence, forgiveness and introspection.  

 

Introspection is the turning of one’s focus inward rather than outward to examine one’s own actions, motivations for action, and the feelings arising from both.  Penitence – from the Latin paene, “nearly” or “almost” – means that upon such self-examination we feel that what we have done isn’t enough.  It may have been “nearly” or “almost” enough but it hasn’t quite hit the mark.  If it hasn’t hit the mark, then it’s in the category of hamartia, the Greek word often translated as “sin” in Christian writings.  The “mark” in this case is the behavioral code or the new ethic modeled by the actions and teachings of Jesus called the Christ in the New Testament.  This ethic becomes our motivation for actions arising from feelings engendered by the resurrection when we are “on target” with Jesus’ teachings.  We must all search our hearts to learn what the resurrection evokes for us – introspection.

 

When we realize that we’ve failed to live up to these ethical teachings, we have to forgive ourselves and try again.  At the same time, we are encouraged to forgive other people who fail in hitting the mark, giving them permission to try again as well. 

 

All of this introspective work means that the season of Lent is less about celebrations, parties and rushing around “doing” than it is about slowing down to ask questions and to practice forgiveness.  This is why, for example, weddings are discouraged by the Episcopal Church during these 40 days.  This is tough because we want to celebrate in March – it’s spring for goodness’ sakes!  We feel invigorated by the lengthening of days and want to get out of the house and start doing extroverted things with our friends. 

 

So, perhaps we can compromise and spend some of the time examining our feelings, actions and motives, forgiving ourselves when we’ve missed the mark and taking what we’ve learned out into the community.  Starting new projects with our friends and colleagues based on Jesus’ ethical teachings is certainly an appropriate way to prepare for the coming celebration of the resurrection.   We’ve got the energy, all we need is a little inner focus.

February has always been a time of hope for cultures living in northern climes like ours, as the darkest of winter is behind us and Spring, although still months away, starts to become imaginable.  In St. Aidan’s day, the Celtic festival of Imbolc would still have been celebrated in parts of Scotland, possibly even on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, on the 1^st of February.  Imbolc (“in the belly”) commemorated the lactation of the ewes in anticipation of the spring lambs.  Our congregation at St. Aidan’s Mission Church in Machias will begin anticipation of our own “Spring Lamb” with Shrove Tuesday on February 16^th, the day before the season of Lent begins on Ash Wednesday.  Our tradition incorporates a “Fat Tuesday” type of celebration, combining a last eating binge before Lent with our annual pancake supper fundraiser for Sunrise Opportunities.  This year’s Mardi Gras pancake supper will be held at the Kay Parker Building on Hadley Lake Road in Machias, from 4:30 to 6:30 p.m. 

 

February 1^st was also the feast day of Brighid, the ancient Celtic triple goddess, whose sacred flame was commemorated by bon fires and many other rituals on the eve of her festival.  Over time she was incorporated into Christianity as St. Brigid, second only to Patrick in popular reverence.  St. Aidan, a native of Ireland, would have been well acquainted with customs honoring this deity of light.  In February we begin to discern the return of the light as the days grow perceptually longer.  In order to internalize the light returning, we gather together each Sunday morning in song and prayer, reenacting the last feast of our Spring Lamb, the light that “shines in the darkness,” and the traditional mourning and penitence in preparation for the Lamb’s sacrifice symbolized by the service of Ash Wednesday -- dies cinerum “day of ashes.”  This year we celebrate this special service at noon.  Ashes will be distributed to participants who desire this outward sign, receiving ashes marked in the sign of the cross on their foreheads. 

 

Some years it’s easier to empathize with the suffering of others, and as we consider the implications of that final act of the cross, this year our thoughts turn to those suffering nearby and far away.  Many people we know suffer on account of lost jobs, benefits and other challenges, and further away, the suffering of those in Haiti is on a scale almost too great to imagine.  Coming together in prayer and song, we can channel our concern into positive action; healing our own wounds in service to others.

 

We urge you to help us support the important work of Sunrise Opportunities by stopping in for pancakes and sausage at the Kay Parker Building on February 16^th, and whether you wish the imposition of ashes or not, you are welcome to join us at noon on February 17^th – Ash Wednesday – for a service of noon prayer. 

This is the most difficult time of year for many Downeasters…the excitement of holiday celebrations is past while the days are short and the nights long and cold.  Darkness seems to close in and just getting through the work or school week takes all our energy.  That’s why we at St. Aidan’s drag ourselves out of bed in time for Sunday morning service and the fellowship that follows.  Stepping into the Sanctuary we’re immediately greeted by friendly faces, music and the light from more than just flickering candles. 

 

Here is where we can release our fears of isolation, endless chores, financial problems, and other worrisome thoughts that plague us.  Spirit is strengthened when two or three are gathered together in the name of the One whose birth we celebrate on December 25^th. 

 

When we drink from the common cup and eat the communal wafers we disconnect the shrill voice of our own ego reminding us to fear this and hate that.  Instead, this act of sharing the host and wine connects us to the greater body of the Church – a network of loving minds in sync with their creator.  Join us and do more than just survive the winter!