Epiphany. We know the story fairly well, thanks not only to Matthew's gospel, but to Christmas carols and pageants and Christmas cards and all the countless manger scenes we've seen. From a far-off country, Three Kings have come, following a star, bearing gifts to the newborn king. In legend, they've been given the names of Melchior, Caspar and Balthazar. They ride camels and they are mysteriously wise and noble. To the babe, they bring gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. And they are craftier than the Roman King Herod, for they refuse to reveal to him the whereabouts of the newborn Savior.

We call this day, the Day of the Epiphany, a name that means "manifestation." It is the twelfth day of Christmas, if you've been counting, the day on which the divine nature of the newborn Christ is made abundantly evident or manifest to the Three Wise Men and hence, to the whole world. Among Orthodox Christians, the Day of the Epiphany is older even than the commem-oration of Christmas, one of the three most important days of the Christian year, along with Easter and Pentecost.

"We three kings of Orient; are bearing gifts we traverse afar. . . ." Who were these three we call Kings or Magi? Were they shamans, teachers, healers, from among the ancient Medes? Were they Zoroastrian priests and astronomers from Iran? Were they perhaps Iraqi astrologers clued into the story of Isaiah's ancient prophecy by Jews living in exile in Babylon?

Scholars have been debating their identity for centuries, and will long continue to do so, no doubt. Just who they really were remains something of a mystery, as does the exact nature of the star they followed, whose light came to rest on that little stable in Bethlehem. Across the ages, scholars, astrologists, astronomers, scientists and poets have all sought to name its source. Was it the comet of 5 BC, whose brightness was noted for 70 days? Or perhaps a planetary conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter, or Jupiter and Venus in 2 BC, shining together brighter than any other single star? Or was it a supernova, a new star, exploding in the sky with brightness and energy for weeks or months? What was the extraordinary light, burning so brightly in the dark desert night, this great source of light, energy and power?

Whatever it was, the Magi must have believed it to be what the ancient Zoroastrians called a "fravashi," a counterpart or angel, appearing at every significant, momentous birth. This astral herald signified to them an incredible action, a new manifestation of God in the universe, the energy of the star equaling the energy of the event itself. And they were called forth, they were pulled forward by this nearly magnetic energy to seek it for themselves. No wonder some later worship books from the Celtic church call the Feast of the Epiphany simply "Star."

What does this beautiful, mysterious, compelling story offer us, at Epiphany 2003? A time perhaps well described in those famous opening lines of Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way. . . ."

At Epiphany 2003, a time full of possibility, and yet a fearsome time, we might ask ourselves to think about the ways in which the true nature of Christ is real in our lives and in our world. We might challenge ourselves this morning just for this moment, perhaps, to venture the same measure of courage and faith as did those three traveling Magi so long ago.

Do we trust as deeply as they do in God's promise? How do we slough off apathy and get up on our camels and venture forth? How do we follow the light when darkness lurks at every turn? How, like them, do we find the courage to resist cynicism and live with hope? How can we, in the words of American author Ralph Waldo Emerson, "hitch our wagon to a star"?

The Magi show us how and it's something humans in every age need to know. That's why Matthew put it in his version of the Good News and why we read it and sing it again and again each year. "Star of wonder, star of light, guide us to thy perfect light."

Theologians say that God has, in fact, created us humans to be star-followers. The contemporary Presbyterian process theologian Jay McDaniel describes the star's light as the Lure of God: "an inwardly felt attractant. . a felt hope. At any given moment in our lives, the Lure is that inwardly-felt possibility-for-shalom which, if actualized, yields the fullness of life relative to the situation at hand."

The inwardly felt possibility-for-shalom, the Lure of God, the Star. This is the magnetic power of God, the attraction towards truth, that connects with something deep within us and pulls us out of ourselves and our comfort zone, the all-too-human tendency to turn inward, to circle the wagons and shut out all that is different, complex, uncomfortable, foreign and not fully known.

Instead, God keeps pulling us up and out, plopping us down on the backs of impossible camels and sending us out into the frontiers of community and love. To places we'd never thought we'd see. To people we never much wanted to encounter. To ideas and possibilities that seemed too fantastic to merit much attention. God keeps calling us back to a world of shalom, a creation at peace, a life of joy.

This what our own John Wesley called "prevenient grace." It is the energy of a God who loves us so very much as to never let us turn away from the gift of new life and grace made possible through the birth of the Christ Child.

The German Catholic theologian Karl Rahner put the invitation of Epiphany this way: "Throw down your defenses! The star is shining! Whether or not you make it the lodestar of your journey, it stands in your sky, and even your defiance and your weakness do not extinguish it. Why shouldn't we believe and go on the journey? Why shouldn't we look to the star in the firmament of our hearts? Why not follow the light?"

In the Epiphany, we begin to come full circle. As God has been journeying towards us in the incarnation, so now we respond and journey forth ourselves, moving towards God and God's offer of new life for us. God moves towards us. We move towards God. The time and place of the encounter, the intersection of those two movements, is "epiphany."

You know, modern astronomers say that every atom inside our body was once part of a star. Perhaps, then, this is a story of like calling to like, of deep calling to deep, of something deep within us responding as God reaches out to us.

New life is born in us. New eyes for seeing. New hearts for believing and loving. New attitudes for a New Year, and the determination to live a faithful, beautiful, generous life, in which and through which God's light brightly shines.

As you prepare to come forward now to receive the sacrament of new life, think back over the New Year's resolutions you've thought about or made in this last week. There are probably a couple about losing weight, exercising more, spending more quality time with family and friends, spending less money, and savoring life in every moment. This morning, add one about hitching your wagon to God's star, and ask for the courage to go where it might take you. Add one about letting that light shine in this world in a way that will make a real difference for you and for others. And add to your 2003 "To Do" list a daily prayer to let God's light guide your every thought and action.

I close with an old, old prayer of the sixth century Irish monk, Columba:

Be thou a bright flame before me,
Be thou a guiding star above me,
Be thou a smooth path below me,
Be thou a kindly shepherd behind me,
Today-tonight-and forever. Amen.

© Patricia E. Farris, 2003. Permission is given for brief quotation with attribution. All other rights reserved.