The priest began his Epiphany homily with the old joke: If three wise women had traveled to see the birth of baby Jesus, they would not have needed to follow a star. They would have asked for directions, and they would have arrived on time, no doubt a little early (not 12 days late), cleaned the stable, helped Mary deliver the baby– and brought practical gifts, like casseroles and diapers.
History has been kind to Joseph. The poor Jewish carpenter that cared for Mary and Jesus and out-witted King Herod is a saint, literally. King Herod’s name is synonymous with cruelty and greed. He had a very bad end and was eaten by worms.
I have been thinking a lot about the light of regular good Joes and Marys lately. They are everywhere.
In a friend’s smile as we headed back into the cold after the Seahawks won.
The homes decked with lights to make the nights brighter for all of us.
St. Chip has been raking the snow off our roofs while I have been pointing out the dangers, and the clumps he has missed.
Then there’s the really nice young man who stopped and helped a woman he’d never met dig and push her car out of the berm on Second Avenue this morning, with all that snow and wind pelting him.
Still, I love the snow. I do.
There are so many snowy memories at the end of the holidays, especially on Epiphany. That’s the day when my then young son had an emergency appendectomy in Whitehorse after a harrowing drive through the pass in a blizzard much like today’s. The Canadian medics never even asked for our ID or an insurance card before they sprang into action. I didn’t have time to take off my coat before they rolled the gurney through the swinging doors toward the operating room and saved his life.
I attended a Quaker school and was taught that there is something divine in each of us. One teacher said to imagine a candle flickering inside our hearts. One little birthday-size candle. Then imagine the light from all those little candles in our classroom, the school, the town, the world. But most importantly – never forget that the light of God shines inside every single person you meet.
And in case you think that is a lesson just for children, or if you are worried about fires— you may imagine the gentle power of snowflakes or raindrops instead.
Here is a poem titled Advice from a Raindrop, by Kim Stafford. It is in The Wonder of Small Things: Poems for Peace and Renewal, edited by James Crews.
