Epiphanic Cacophony #1: A Cosmological Pilgrimage

A painting called Epiphany by an internet anon named Art Enrico.
Stars and roots and stars as roots and three desert pilgrims. 

“Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of learning. It doesn’t matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.” - Rumi

Welcome to Epiphany, which, according to my $15 liturgical calendar, means “to make manifest.” We’ve waited for Jesus (Advent), we’ve celebrated his birth (Christmas), and now we’re following him into new life (or being dragged, I don’t know). The color green is the color of Epiphany and it signifies growth, discipleship, and pilgrimage.

An Eastern star, a river baptism, bright lights on a mountain; this whole Word becoming flesh business involves a lot of earthy, material stuff. It starts with amniotic fluid and baby spit and ends with blood and burial robes. Then there’s the credit cookie, where the dead body gets up. It’s an epiphanic cacophony. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Since I skipped the end of Advent and the whole of Christmas with an impromptu trip to Hawaii, I reckon I’ve got a writing debt to pay, so I’m go keep this going with some Epiphany reflections. It’ll be a little rough since I don’t know what I’m doing, but I didn’t know what I was doing when I landed in Hawaii without a ride and without a place to stay. I’ve always learned best when I’m in over my head and getting blasted by waves and being dragged against rocks.

Today is January 6th. "Three Kings Day," according to Wikipedia. I don’t pretend to have anything close to a thorough understanding as to who these Magi were (from the sound of it, no one really does), but from what I can piece together, they’re a strange bunch. For starters, they dabbled in astrology and magic, which ‘round these parts is a big no-no (lots of church-goers can’t even handle Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings). The Wise Men let the universe speak; they offered it a listening ear. The planet wasn’t just a bunch of stuff for manipulation and consumption. The cosmos had a life about it, a spirit. Owen Barfield probably liked them (thanks, Edwin).

Also: take note, Indiana, of the enormous difference between kneeling at the crib of the infant Jesus and promoting theocratic political power in Jesus’ name. For kings, these men possessed an uncommon humility. In fact, the idea of men with political power kneeling before a baby is perhaps the most hard-to-believe part of the whole New Testament (though they may not have really been kings). But that’s the story. And they didn’t just kneel. They took a pilgrimage.

"Where can we find and pay homage to the newborn King of the Jews? We observed a star in the eastern sky that signaled his birth. We’re on pilgrimage to worship him."

I started a good thing in 2016, fasting, and I’m going to keep doing it 2017. It required fundamental shift in my diet and in my attitude towards eating, but it’s been worth it. I’ve learned a thing or two (though I’m going to keep those lessons to myself). I’ll just note that, in my experience, and in the story of the Magi, a good, earthy pilgrimage involves listening to the world around you. An important part of that world is your body. If it’s too much of a stretch to take life advice from a volcanic island, try a fast. The Magi were cosmological pilgrims, Jesus was a cosmological pilgrim, you’re a cosmological pilgrim, even if you don’t know it. We’re made of starstuff, right? Isn’t that what Carl Sagan said? Follow the stars.