Dear Friends,

Yesterday, the church launched a new liturgical season with the Feast of the Epiphany, a word that means “manifestation, revelation or appearance.” It has its roots in Matthew’s story of the Magi, who follow a star to Jesus’ doorstep, revealing his identity as the holy child of God. And from there, the season centers on the stories of Jesus that make this identity clearer and clearer.

Around the world, this feast day is characterized by celebration and liturgy, with bonfires, gift giving, hymn singing and parties, and of course a procession of costumed magi bearing gifts for Jesus. Here at St. John’s, we have created our own traditions, and they have become a favorite among our parishioners and neighbors, young and old. There is nothing more delightful than watching the child in all of us come to life as we add greens to the burgeoning bonfire, don costumes, and sing along with Jim as he concludes our worship service with James Taylor’s “Home by another Way.”

As I reflect upon this, I am aware of the sadness I felt in having to cancel this year’s Epiphany celebration yet one more year due to the current spike in COVID cases, which have risen to unprecedented levels. As with many of the things we have had to let go of during this protracted period of pandemic, I’m challenged by my need to control, predict, plan, and anticipate. I long to be “back on track” with some level of predictability and reliability, and able once again, to let myself look forward to something without hedging my bets!

And because of this, I’m grateful that the season of Epiphany, the season of light and revelation, doesn’t begin and end with three Magi and a star. This Sunday, we fast forward to the story of Jesus’ baptism as a grown man, yielding to a ritual performed by his cousin John in the muddy Jordan. Along with all sorts and conditions of people in pain and in trouble, in conflict and denial, he receives the assurance they, too, will need as they struggle to accept their true identity as children of God, “You are my beloved, and with you I am well pleased.”

What strikes me the most about Jesus’ baptism is this sense of “yielding”, of giving himself up to the river and what it offers, giving in to the path that lies ahead of him. It is not a passive action that he undertakes here or the gesture of a man resigned to his fate; Jesus does not take part in--or call us to-- blind acceptance. The yielding that Jesus engages in requires a different kind of strength, a different set of muscles than those involved in straining and striving and struggling to move forward. This yielding calls forth a courage born of recognizing the path to which we are called, and ceasing to fight against it: to give ourselves to its flow, to let it work on us, as the river does with the stone.

As we move into this new year and this new liturgical season in the midst of the changes and chances of ongoing pandemic, what muscles are you using? In the midst of working and reaching and pushing, is there a place where God might be inviting you to yield, to give in, to give yourself up, so that the grace of God may wash over you? If so, who might you ask to meet you there; who could help you say, “Let it be”?

In Christ,

Amelie+