Monthly Archives: January 2025

January Journal, Second Sunday after Epiphany

January is a month of renewal and we are in the midst of many renewals and rebirths this weekend.

My novel in progress, The Music of the Mountain, seizes on these rebirths for it is set in the month of January 2023 with the floods, cyclone storms, and power outages of Northern California. In a way the story is baptized by these rains, and baptism indeed becomes a gateway to life, as our preacher said this morning. Baptism opens the door to salvation. Salvation doesn’t require baptism, but baptism makes the road to Heaven easier for each one of us.

Today’s Gospel account – the Baptism of Jesus by John – is chosen for the second Epiphanytide Sunday. For Epiphanytide shines light on the divinity of Jesus. St. Mark writes: “And it came to pass in those days that Jesus… was baptized of John in Jordan. And straightway coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens opened, and the Spirit, like a dove, descending upon him: and there came a voice from heaven, saying, ‘Thou art my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.’ ” (BCP 112)

John prepared the way, preaching repentance, for renewal and rebirth cannot occur without facing the reality of our world, the reality of human nature. Just so, America has woken up from being “woke” and is facing the reality of what we have become in the past and what we must do to ensure the future. We rise from the waters to seek the light of truth, how best to govern in a fallen world, how best to protect the weak in a fallen world, how best to care for the aged and the unborn in a fallen world.

America has been given another chance at life, having been champions of death. This week we remember the millions lost to abortion since 1973, our lost children of light. We pray for our nation that she will see the holocaust and redeem the time. Our tears are real, our grief unending.

We rise from darkness to light, to the music of the mountain, to the harmonies of the spheres that govern the universe, the songs of the angels.

We look to history to learn the words of the songs of freedom. We speak the truth about mankind as best we can, and in doing so we learn how to heal one another, and in the healing we learn how to love one another as Christ loves us.

And as America rises to this new day, she will see the heavens open. She will see the Spirit descend upon her like a dove, the dove of peace, the dove of life, and she will glimpse God the Father once again.

America will once again cherish children, honor motherhood, support families, and enforce the law. She will judge with mercy and care for the poor.

Merit and character will be celebrated and awarded, regardless of race or ethnicity. She will be truly colorblind.

And so it is appropriate that the inauguration of this renewal of America will occur on the day honoring Martin Luther King. For King gave us a dream, saying, “I look to a day when people will be not be judged by the color of their skin but by content of their character.” 

God is writing straight with our crooked lines as he raises us from the waters of self, reminding us to love as we have been taught to love, following the commandments given to Moses and renewed by Christ as he walked among us two thousand years ago. For Our Lord continues to walk among us, in his Body, the Church, baptizing us again and again with sacrament and scripture and song. His Holy Spirit lives within us. We need merely see, hear, and obey to be renewed and reborn.

January Journal, First Sunday after Epiphany

Holy Family of Nazareth, Denise Gosselin Gravel, Iconographer

This year, Epiphanytide, swinging on the date of Easter, a moveable feast, runs a full five weeks. The longest it can be is six weeks, so we are close to hearing all of the lessons appointed for this season of light. Today, the first Sunday after January 6, Epiphany, the Gospel lesson reveals another revealing of the Christ Child, who he is and why it matters.

The story is told by Saint Luke, thought to have been particularly close to Mary, and thus this writer also gives us the main narrative of Christ’s birth. It touches me, as a mother, for we forever worry about our children. My son is fifty-two, and when I learned there were raging fires in Los Angeles on the day his plane was due to arrive from Bangkok (Wednesday) I doubled, no tripled, my worrying. The plane arrived safely and one day I will find out what he saw in those skies, but for now I am grateful he made his connection home to Denver, albeit in the middle of the night. It is moments like these that make me grateful for cell phones, messaging, and even FaceBook. How did we ever manage without instant communication?

But returning to the story in today’s Gospel, about the boy Jesus in the Temple. We are told he is twelve years old and goes missing, at least his parents cannot find him. When they do, they fuss over him asking what was he thinking going off like that. (Sounds familiar.) And of course he replies that he was about his “Father’s business.”

An epiphany. A light shines on Jesus and who he really is.

The story produced other epiphanies in my little brain. He was born a baby, a human baby, and would have grown as we all grow, learning from our environment. He must have absorbed the lessons of the local synagogue, the readings, the conversations, as he grew up, for he needed to know these things, the history and rituals of his people, their prophets, their challenges. And so he is drawn to the temple in Jerusalem when they visit for the Passover feast. Luke writes that they had gone there every year (!) as was the custom. And yet we only have this one account of Jesus questioning the rabbis.

Given the choices all writers make, I have often thought the Gospel accounts were carefully curated. When there is a feeding of five thousand, this is only one account of many feedings we do not hear about. The healings too are probably too numerous to list, both of soul and of body. How many did Christ the Lord raise from the dead?

And just so, Mary and Joseph most likely were challenged with the boy Jesus and his remarkable parentage and his ways of learning, led by his Heavenly Father, guided by the Holy Spirit. This was their twelfth Jerusalem Passover, but Jesus is now of an age – a precocious age as mothers know – when his mental and physical growth take new turns. We call it adolescence. They called it becoming a man.

Today we ponder our time on Earth, Jesus’s time on Earth, and the accounts we are given, so carefully and prayerfully written “for our learning.” We are told in the Collect for Advent II to “inwardly digest” the Word, Holy Scripture. For indeed, these accounts, historical accounts, are food for our souls. Scripture tells us what is important in life, what is good and what is bad. Scripture, and those who interpret these Holy Words for us, gives meaning to our time, meaning to our individual lives. These words set us on the right path, shining a light in the dark forest of our days.

I for one am glad and grateful, for with every lesson, new epiphanies reveal more glory here and now and then in Heaven and eternity. What we don’t know, what we don’t understand, doesn’t matter. What matters is in the pages of this book called the Holy Bible. What matters is what we do about these matters in our own lives.

Are we part of a church community, one that welcomes us on board to sail the seas of our time? For community is one of the pillars found in Holy Scripture – community that teaches us, feeds us, leads us through the rough waters. It is the church family that gives us the songs to sing, the prayers to pray, the eucharists to strengthen our hearts and souls.

The answers to life’s questions are here for the taking. We need only trust and obey as the old hymn goes. Looking for happiness? Trust and obey, for there’s no other way, to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.

One of my grandchildren said she couldn’t find a church she liked. I suppose she thought there was a perfect one, just for her, as if she were at a buffet table, trying each dish. Alas, I told her, every church community is fallen, for it is made up of fallen men and women just like you and me. Find one close by and attend regularly. Be slow to judge and quick to forgive.

For without being a member of the community we call the Bride of Christ, the Church, we will die a slow death from spiritual starvation. We need to be fed, and this is where Christ is, feeding his sheep, caring for you and me. Don’t go it alone, or even imagine it is possible. Hermits are few and far between.

If you want to experience epiphanies of heart and soul, walk through those doors, take a seat, and sing with all your might. Pray prayers of repentance, prayers of petition, and prayers of thanksgiving. Listen and learn from the lessons read and the sermons preached. And do these glorious things with others, your new brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers. One day you will be in their shoes, and you will be given parish children, grandchildren, in your church family. One day you will open the doors for those outside who want to come inside, in from the cold, the damp, and the dark of our world.

One day you will see them from Heaven and you will hear the words, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Welcome home.” You will turn and see the Master, the one who questioned the rabbis in the temple and set our worlds in motion. And you will know the ultimate epiphany, Christ himself.

January Journal, Second Sunday after Christmas

My novel in progress, The Music of the Mountain, is set in the month of January 2023. It is a dark and stormy month, a time of short days and long nights. And yet January is a month of epiphanies, of new beginnings, of seeing what we didn’t see before. An epiphany is a sudden thought, a conclusion, an answer. January unveils these day by day, week by week.

But most of all, being the first month of the new year, time itself commands attention. What have we done or left undone in the past year? What do we regret? What would we do differently if we had the year to do over again? We make resolutions to be better.

It is unfashionable to admit fault, to judge oneself, to admit we are not all we should be. We are told that judgment is judged to be unkind, and above all, we must be kind to ourselves, looking for excuses, reasons why we didn’t love enough, circumstances that would send the judge and jury home for good.

Falling short of the mark hurts.

And so during Mass this morning I was glad to be reminded of my failings in the General Confession and the Absolution following. It is a crucial, cross-bearing reality, that we are human beings subject to moral law who will face God’s judgment one day, like it or not. I for one need reminding in this world of no fault, grievance, and victimhood.

And so we acknowledged and bewailed our manifold sins and wickedness we have committed by thought, word, and deed, provoking God’s wrath and indignation. We repent and are sorry. The burden is intolerable… we call on God for forgiveness.

It is good to be reminded of reality. It is good to repent on a regular basis after holding oneself up to the bright light of Heaven. In this way, we choose the best path to take in the new year. In this way we see ourselves as we are, not as we imagine, and allow God to carve away the darkness and bathe us in his light.

Today is the twelfth day of Christmas; tomorrow is the Feast of the Epiphany of the Lord. Epiphany, of course, is when the Magi or Wise Men arrive in Bethlehem, bringing gifts to the Christ Child. Epiphany, then, is the good news sung to the rest of the world, not just the shepherds and the holy family. We are included in this epiphany of light; we travel to the creche and kneel and worship too. We bring our gifts – ourselves. We too have followed the star in the heavens, wondering where it will lead. Could something so grand and cosmic as a star in the night sky shine upon the meager manger in Bethlehem? And yet angels appeared to the shepherds, the great choir singing to the lowly herders.

Christmas tells how the little becomes large, how flesh houses spirit. God becomes tiny and humble; kings follow a star and kneel before him.

To find answers to the human condition, the whys and the wherefores, look to the manger bed and see who kneels before the Christ Child. If kings and shepherds kneel, we can too. If they see, we can see too.

January is the month of the Holy Name of Jesus, so that we give the baby in the manger a holy glory by intoning his name, breathing the name, calling his name.

January is the month of life granted through this Holy Child, but it is also the month of death decreed with the slaughter of our own innocents through abortion. For half a century this month proclaims our grief, prays our petitions as we walk for life all across this nation.

The star is bright in the night sky as we embark on this year in time. We divide our time into months and days and hours, stepping through the squares on our calendars, trying to pay attention to each precious, passing minute. It is too much for our ashen earthiness, and so we take an hour on a Sunday to bundle the time into meaningful notes, and sing a melody of penitence, absolution, eucharistic feeding, and by the end of the hour we see epiphanies meant only for you and me.

We go to church for an hour each Sunday and kneel alongside the people of God, the bride of Christ. For in that humility, epiphanies are born, and we see again. We see the path laid out for us, at least for the next day and week, as we step into the woods of time, marking another year.