Seeing

Epiphany

Matthew 2:11,12

An epiphany is a moment of sudden recognition, insight, or revelation—it is a moment of extreme clarity, understanding, and perception that nearly defies reason. 

As the magi entered the home of Mary and Joseph, they had an epiphany. God was there. God was comprehensible. They understood they were God’s. They clearly perceived the full intent and promise of God. They saw through what was in front of them to what was actually there.

That is harder than it seems.

Think of all the times we pass things everyday without really seeing them. Billboards become so much visible static. Familiar neighborhood vistas no longer even cause us to pause even for a second. Sometimes even faces become so known to us we do not see them as they are. Everyday sights become routine. But even more profoundly, we see things without seeing them. We can watch an interchange between two people and assume we know what is happening, when the truth is that we see nothing of what is really happening. Therapists are trained to listen for metacommunication—the words spoken are not really what is said, but rather what is behind them. 

So to actually grasp what appears takes effort, intentionality, and focus. 

The magi did nothing if they did not exert effort in seeing Jesus.

They traveled perhaps 1000 miles across the desert, rocky road between “the East” and Judea. They traveled slowly by camel—if they went at top speed, it took them about six weeks; if they went at a more normal speed for camel train, it took about four months. If they came from further east, that time stretches out to years potentially. They took risks having no idea how they would be welcomed once they got to Judea. The Romans may have stopped them. Herod may well have eliminated them out of hand as threatening. Then there were marauders along the desert roads. All in all, this trip was no easy journey. All along the way, they followed a sign no one else seemed to see —something in the sky that grabbed their attention. They made the effort to tune in for the whispered voice of God, a God they had no real reason to listen for. They had to make the conscious choice to go way outside their normal. 

To gain an epiphany, then, is not a matter of simply waking up, looking out the window, and reaching new heights of awareness. 

In many ways, we are like the religious residents of Jerusalem who first met the magi. Lost in the routine and ritual of organized faith, they missed God completely. Somewhere along the way, they replaced God with the building meant to house him—both the literal temple and the figurative one of practice, rote rite, and institutional rulebooks. Perhaps without meaning to, they blinded themselves to the ineffable presence of God. Too often, we do much the same thing—we assume we know what God wants, who God is, and how to be with God because we have been doing the same things Sunday after Sunday. We hear the Bible stories the preacher is comfortable preaching. We hear summations of religious behavior and moral teaching, without bothering to question how those summations came to be. Without realizing it, God begins to talk like us, act like us, and make choices based on our assumptions, presumptions, and judgments. 

You see immediately that every one of those things was something the magi jettisoned. They set themselves up to be surprised. They prepared themselves by emptying themselves of all that might get in the way of God. Rather than assuming deep understanding and insight, they assumed the opposite—they really knew nothing at all.

That is an incredibly deep form of wisdom.

As I work with elderly folks, I run into this wisdom again and again. Men and women reach the closing chapters of their lives realizing that they have much left to learn. They recognize the fallibility of the knowledge by which they ordered their lives. They see the frailty of their perceptions. Astoundingly, rather than being cause of great distress or depression, this realization rejuvenates them mind, heart, and soul. As they let go of certainty, they understand the wondrous joy of discovery. God once again becomes huge, unfathomable, and miraculous. C.S. Lewis pointed to such self-recognition when he penned the phrase for the life of faith—surprised by joy. Joy becomes possible when we release God from the confines of our religious trapping.

And look at the magi bundled around Mary and the baby. 

There is joy in their eyes. Weary as they might be from months of trekking, there is energy about them. Their ridiculous baby gifts suddenly make sense. Life has meaning—real meaning—they see why we are born, they see what we are to be, they see what we are to do—they see it all in the gurgling baby squirming on mama’s lap. 

That is the true and real essence of epiphany.

Now, the work for us to do is to reacquaint ourselves with God. Schooled as we are in the stories, we need to reread them. We need to take in the uncomfortable bits. We need to ponder the parts that make no sense. Letting go of what we assume to be there, we see the truth. 

Practice this way—stop at the next doorway you pass through. Take it in. Really take it in. Look at the frame, look at the door, look at the floor, look at the ceiling—look at all of it—what is there?

That is epiphany.

Enjoy.