Call to Worship for Transfiguration

(inspired by Matthew 17:1-8, Mark 9:2-9,
Luke 9:28-36, 2 Peter 1:16-18)

Beyond our busyness,
Above the cold winter floor
there is a glory rising born of heaven
and reaching out to each one of us

a light that shines through the clouds
an invitation seeking all of who we are
that transfigures the world

that transforms darkness into hope
that brings life from a cross
where old life ends and new life is born

In glory Jesus meets us here
raising us from depths of valley to the height of the mountain
carrying the weight of our humanity
to the heights of heavens glory.

Let us worship from the mountain and hear again
“This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”


~ written by Rev. Rob Smith, found at re:worship

Gathering Prayer for 2nd Sunday after Epiphany Year C

We come in these endless days, Precious God,
people in need of the constancy of your love:
may we drink deeply from your fountain of life;
may we continue to be guided by your Light.
We gather in these weary days, Water-changing God,
people looking for signs of hope and wonder:
may we drink deeply from your fountain of grace;
may our weariness be wrapped in your Hope.
We worship in these overwhelming days, Gifting God,
people who try to point others to Jesus:
may we drink deeply from your fountain of joy;
may our life be strengthened by your Life.

-- Thom Shuman, from his blog Lectionary Liturgies, January 12, 2025

Scripture reference: John 2:1-11

Nothing But A Child

Once upon a time in a far-off land
Wise men saw a sign and set out across the sand
Songs of praise to sing, they traveled day and night
And precious gifts to bring, guided by the light

They chased a brand-new star, ever towards the west
Across the mountains far, but when they came to rest
They scarce believed their eyes, they’d come so many miles
And this miracle they prized was nothing but a child

Refrain:
And nothing but a child could wash those tears away
Or guide a weary world into the light of day
And nothing but a child could help erase those miles
So once again we all can be children for a while

Now all around the world, in every little town
Every day is heard a precious little sound
And every mother kind and every father proud
Looks down in awe to find another chance allowed [Refrain]

Outro:
Nothing but a little baby
Nothing but a child

-- Steve Earle (1955- ), American singer-songwriter, from the album Copperhead Road (1988)

Kathy Mattea's cover of this song:

Epiphany House Blessing (from the Book of Occasional Services)

 

This service can be used to chalk the doors of your house at home and welcome in the ligbt of Christ for the still-new year. If the Celebrant is not a priest, the Blessing of the Chalk section can be omitted and you can move straight to the actual chalking of the door. At the final blessing, substitute “us” for “you,” and make the sign of cross over yourselves rather than outwardly.

Celebrant   Peace be to this house, and to all who dwell in it.

Antiphon
The Lord has shown forth his glory: Come let us adore him.

Magnificat
My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; *
     for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed: *
     the Almighty has done great things for me,
     and holy is his Name.
He has mercy on those who fear him *
     in every generation.
He has shown the strength of his arm, *
     he has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, *
     and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things, *
     and the rich he has sent away empty.
He has come to the help of his servant Israel, *
     for he has remembered his promise of mercy,
The promise he made to our fathers, *
     to Abraham and his children for ever.
Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: *
     as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen. 

Antiphon
The Lord has shown forth his glory: Come let us adore him.

Celebrant     The Lord be with you.
People          And also with you.
Celebrant     Let us pray.

Collect
O God, by the leading of a star you manifested your only Son to the peoples of the earth: Lead us, who know you now by faith, to your presence, where we may see your glory face to face; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Blessing of the Chalk
V: Our help is in the name of the Lord
R: The maker of heaven and earth.
V: The Lord shall watch over your going out and your coming in:
R: From this time forth for evermore.
V. The Lord be with you.
R: And also with you.
V: Let us pray.

Celebrant
Loving God, bless this chalk which you have created,  that it may be helpful to your people; and grant that through the invocation of your most Holy Name all who use it in faith to write upon the doors of their homes the names of your saints, Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar, may receive health of body and protection of soul for all who dwell in or visit their home; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The lintel of the door is then chalked as follows:

20 + C + M + B + 25

Celebrant
The three Wise Men, Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar followed the star of God's Son who became human two thousand and eighteen years ago. May Christ bless our home and remain with us throughout the new year. Amen.

The Celebrant then says this prayer
Visit, O blessed Lord, this home with the gladness of your presence. Bless all who live here with the gift of your love; and grant that they may manifest your love to each other and to all whose lives they touch. May they grow in grace and in the knowledge and love of you; guide, comfort, and strengthen them; and preserve them in peace, O Jesus Christ, now and for ever. Amen.

The Celebrant then says this blessing
May God the Father, who by Baptism adopts us as his children, grant you grace. Amen.
May God the Son, who sanctified a home at Nazareth, fill you with love. Amen.
May God the Holy Spirit, who has made the Church one family, keep you in peace. Amen.

And the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, be upon you and remain with you forever. Amen.

The Peace may then be exchanged.

-- from the Book of Occasional Services, 2003, pp. 47-50, with additional material from https://www.azdiocese.org/dfc/newsdetail_2/3163149

O Star-Flinging God: An Epiphany Prayer

O Star-flinging God,
whose light dances across eternity,
dazzle us into your presence
this new year.
Open our hearts to the mystery of your love.

Awaken us to your presence,
knit to the ordinary.
Reveal to us what is possible, but not yet present.
Heal us, that we might be healers.

Reconcile us to you and to ourselves,
that our living might be reconciling.

Stop us often, we pray
with news that is good
with hope that holds
with truth that transforms with a Word
tailored to this trail we're on.

May the word of your grace guide our steps
like the sun by day
and the north star by night,
as we travel into the gift of a new year. Amen.

— written by Glenn Mitchell, and posted on MINemergent’s Daily Communique.

Go in peace; love and care for one another in the name of Christ;
and may the Spirit of God which filled John and Jesus,
fill your hearts, souls and minds;
may the power of God which upheld them,
strengthen you for each day;
and may the love of God which directed their every action
be your guiding light and your shining star,
both now and forevermore. 

 Amen.

--the Rev. Richard J. Fairchild, found here.

Prayers of the People for Epiphany Season (Anglican Church of Canada)

God of light and life, our prayers rise before you this day in hope and faith.
    We pray for your church, for our diocese, bishops, clergy and all people... (petitions may be added)

Flame of abundant love, be our Joy in proclaiming your Good News to the world.
    We pray for all who are coming to faith, all who wonder about faith, and all who are struggling with faith... (petitions may be added)

Light of all creation, guide us to lead, teach and nurture your disciples
    We pray for those in need of food, shelter, clothing, and of God's healing touch, especially those for whom our prayers are especially desired ... (petitions may be added)

Comforter of the suffering, warm our hands to loving service.
    We pray for the world, especially where there is trouble and suffering, far away or nearby... (petitions may be added)

Ember of steadfast care, fuel our passion to challenge injustice and violence and to pursue peace and reconciliation.
    We pray for the land on which we stand, the peoples, creatures, plant life and waters around us... (petitions may be added)

Star blaze of glory, lead us to care for this fragile earth, our island home, and to heal the circle of creation.
    God of radiant light, your love illumines our hopes before we know them, And our needs before we ask. Kindle your flame within us, that in our prayers and service, we may know your transforming presence at work in the world around us. All this we ask through Jesus Christ, our Lord.

-- from the Anglican Church of Canada, 2013

The Epiphany

O strangest thing that God doth now begin,
               In being which, he hath no godheads grace:
              O strangest Roome, this subject takes his place,
In want of room, for none was in his Inne.

O strangest color to be viewed in,
              For humane darknesse vailed hath his face.
              O strangest middle of respective space,
Where as a starre more than the sunne could win.

O strangest star that must reveale this sight
that by disorder from the rest gives light.

O strangest eyes that saw him by this starre,
Who when bystanders saw not, saw so farre.

And since such wonders were in seeing him
No wonder if my wondring thought grow dim.

--William Alabaster (1567-1640), English poet, playwright, convert to Catholicism and then back to Anglicanism, and priest

Wise Women Also Came

Wise women also came.

The fire burned in their wombs long before 

they saw 

the flaming star in the sky.

They walked in shadows, trusting the path 

would open under the light of the moon.

Wise women also came, 

seeking no directions, 

no permission from any king.

They came by their own authority, 

their own desire, 

their own longing.

They came in quiet, spreading no rumours, 

sparking no fears to lead to innocents' slaughter,
to their sister Rachel's inconsolable lamentations.

Wise women also came, 

and they brought useful gifts:
water for labour's washing, 

fire for warm illumination, 

a blanket for swaddling.

Wise women also came, 

at least three of them,
holdingMary in the labour,
crying out with her in the birth pangs,
breathing ancient blessings into her ear.

Wise women also came, 

and they went, 

as wise women always do, 

home a different way.

--Jan Richardson (1947- ) American Methodist artist, poet, and teacher, from Night Visions: Searching for Shadows of Advent and Christmas

Scripture Reference Matthew 2:1-12

Shining-Forth

We know now
   the night sky as ancient record-
   the ages and eons required
for the light of each star to fall on our eyes.
If we look up.
                        We may even
look upon what has flared out and died
when life was new and God’s song of creation
echoed still through galaxies, the final blast of light
trailing behind, Schroedinger’s star,
   dead and alive at once,
perhaps memory only, but like all memories
   still serving as guide in the now.

Lured by a star, did they
stop as dawn drew a blue
diaphanous veil between earth and heaven?
                                                                      Or did they
continue westward, shifting their allegiance to the sun?

But here they are now, turning up
   dusty, grimy from the road, uneasy.
They shake sand from their beards as if ruefully disagreeing.

The door is low—bowing they enter,
then bowing again, offering
gold, frankincense, myrrh
power, worship, anointing.
All that meets their eyes
   could be dismissed as humble. Yet
as the infant gaze blinks and falls upon them,
and in eyes as wide and wise as centuries
the star’s birth flares anew,
                        alpha and omega.

After cradling him gently in callused, weathered hands,
   one by one that fire descended and swelled within each heart.
As if awakened from a dream,
they stumbled through the low-slung door
   to draw all nations to awe and praise.
The road is now elsewhere.
They go home now by another way.

--Leslie Barnes Scoopmire, Epiphany 2023,

first published at Episcopal Journal and Cafe's Speaking to the Soul, January 5, 2023

Scripture reference Matthew 2:1-12

Nativity Poem

Imagine striking a match that night in the cave:
Imagine crockery, try to make use of its glaze
To feel cold cracks in the floor, the blankness of hunger.
Imagine the desert – but the desert is everywhere.

Imagine striking a match in that midnight cave,
The fire, the farm beasts in outline, the farm tools and stuff;
And imagine, as you towel your face in the enveloping folds,
Mary, Joseph, and the Infant in swaddling clothes.

Imagine the kings, the caravans’ stilted procession
As they make for the cave, or, rather, three beams closing in
And in on the star, the creaking of loads, the clink of a cowbell;
(No thronging of Heaven as yet, no peal of the bell

That will ring in the end for the infant once he has earned it).
Imagine the Lord, for the first time, from darkness, and stranded
Immensely in distance, recognizing Himself in the Son
Of Man: His homelessness plain to him now in a homeless one.

--Joseph Brodsky (1940-1996), Russian-American poet and essayist; translated from Russian by Seamus Heaney.

The Wise Men

Step softly, under snow or rain,
To find the place where men can pray;
The way is all so very plain
That we may lose the way.

Oh, we have learnt to peer and pore
On tortured puzzles from our youth,
We know all labyrinthine lore,
We are the three wise men of yore,
And we know all things but the truth.

We have gone round and round the hill
And lost the wood among the trees,
And learnt long names for every ill,
And served the mad gods, naming still
The furies the Eumenides.

The gods of violence took the veil
Of vision and philosophy,
The Serpent that brought all men bale,
He bites his own accursed tail,
And calls himself Eternity.

Go humbly…it has hailed and snowed…
With voices low and lanterns lit;
So very simple is the road,
That we may stray from it.

The world grows terrible and white,
And blinding white the breaking day;
We walk bewildered in the light,
For something is too large for sight,
And something much too plain to say.

The Child that was ere worlds begun
(…We need but walk a little way,
We need but see a latch undone…)
The Child that played with moon and sun
Is playing with a little hay.

The house from which the heavens are fed,
The old strange house that is our own,
Where trick of words are never said,
And Mercy is as plain as bread,
And Honour is as hard as stone.

Go humbly, humble are the skies,
And low and large and fierce the Star;
So very near the Manger lies
That we may travel far.

Hark! Laughter like a lion wakes
To roar to the resounding plain.
And the whole heaven shouts and shakes,
For God Himself is born again,
And we are little children walking
Through the snow and rain.

--G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936), English journalist, essayist, apologist, and poet

Scripture reference: Matthew 2:1-12

Epiphany Poem

The red king
Came to a great water. He said,
Here the journey ends.
No keel or skipper on this shore.

The yellow king
Halted under a hill. He said,
Turn the camels round.
Beyond, ice summits only.

The black king
Knocked on a city gate. He said,
All roads stop here.
These are gravestones, no inn.

The three kings
Met under a dry star.
There, at midnight,
The star began its singing.

The three kings
Suffered salt, snow, skulls.
They suffered the silence
Before the first word.


--George Mackay Brown (1921-1996) Scots poet from the Orkney islands and convert to Catholicism.

Scripture reference: Matthew 2:1-12 (Feast of the Epiphany)

Blessing of the Magi

There is no reversing
this road.
The path that bore you here
goes in one direction only,
every step drawing you
down a way
by which you will not
return.

You thought arrival
was everything,
that your entire journey
ended with kneeling
in the place
you had spent all
to find.

When you laid down
your gift,
release came with such ease,
your treasure tumbling
from your hands
in awe and
benediction.

Now the knowledge
of your leaving
comes like a stone laid
over your heart,
the Family.liar path closed
and not even the solace
of a star
to guide your way.

You will set out in fear.
You will set out in dream.

But you will set out

by that other road
that lies in shadow
and dark.

We cannot show you
what route will
take you home;
that way is yours
and will be found
in the walking.

But we tell you,
you will wonder
at how the light you thought
you had left behind
goes with you,
spilling from
your empty hands,
shimmering beneath
your homeward feet,
illuminating the road
with every step
you take.


-- Jan Richardson (1967- ) American Methodist artist, poet, and theologian, from Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons

The Journey of the Magi

“A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.”
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.
All this was a long time ago, I remember,

And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

-- T. S. Eliot (1888-1965), American-born Modernist English poet, essayist, editor and critic

Renascence

All I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked another way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I'd started from;
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood.

Over these things I could not see;
These were the things that bounded me;
And I could touch them with my hand,
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
And all at once things seemed so small
My breath came short, and scarce at all.

But, sure, the sky is big, I said;
Miles and miles above my head;
So here upon my back I'll lie
And look my fill into the sky.
And so I looked, and, after all,
The sky was not so very tall.
The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,
And—sure enough!—I see the top!
The sky, I thought, is not so grand;
I 'most could touch it with my hand!
And reaching up my hand to try,
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.

I screamed, and—lo!—Infinity
Came down and settled over me;
Forced back my scream into my chest,
Bent back my arm upon my breast,
And, pressing of the Undefined
The definition on my mind,
Held up before my eyes a glass
Through which my shrinking sight did pass
Until it seemed I must behold
Immensity made manifold;
Whispered to me a word whose sound
Deafened the air for worlds around,
And brought unmuffled to my ears
The gossiping of friendly spheres,
The creaking of the tented sky,
The ticking of Eternity.

I saw and heard, and knew at last
The How and Why of all things, past,
And present, and forevermore.
The Universe, cleft to the core,
Lay open to my probing sense
That, sick'ning, I would fain pluck thence
But could not,—nay! But needs must suck
At the great wound, and could not pluck
My lips away till I had drawn
All venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn!
For my omniscience paid I toll
In infinite remorse of soul.

All sin was of my sinning, all
Atoning mine, and mine the gall
Of all regret. Mine was the weight
Of every brooded wrong, the hate
That stood behind each envious thrust,
Mine every greed, mine every lust.

And all the while for every grief,
Each suffering, I craved relief
With individual desire,—
Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire
About a thousand people crawl;
Perished with each,—then mourned for all!

A man was starving in Capri;
He moved his eyes and looked at me;
I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
And knew his hunger as my own.
I saw at sea a great fog bank
Between two ships that struck and sank;
A thousand screams the heavens smote;
And every scream tore through my throat.

No hurt I did not feel, no death
That was not mine; mine each last breath
That, crying, met an answering cry
From the compassion that was I.
All suffering mine, and mine its rod;
Mine, pity like the pity of God.

Ah, awful weight! Infinity
Pressed down upon the finite Me!
My anguished spirit, like a bird,
Beating against my lips I heard;
Yet lay the weight so close about
There was no room for it without.
And so beneath the weight lay I
And suffered death, but could not die.

Long had I lain thus, craving death,
When quietly the earth beneath
Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
At last had grown the crushing weight,
Into the earth I sank till I
Full six feet under ground did lie,
And sank no more,—there is no weight
Can follow here, however great.
From off my breast I felt it roll,
And as it went my tortured soul
Burst forth and fled in such a gust
That all about me swirled the dust.

Deep in the earth I rested now;
Cool is its hand upon the brow
And soft its breast beneath the head
Of one who is so gladly dead.
And all at once, and over all
The pitying rain began to fall;
I lay and heard each pattering hoof
Upon my lowly, thatched roof,
And seemed to love the sound far more
Than ever I had done before.
For rain it hath a friendly sound
To one who's six feet underground;
And scarce the friendly voice or face:
A grave is such a quiet place.

The rain, I said, is kind to come
And speak to me in my new home.
I would I were alive again
To kiss the fingers of the rain,
To drink into my eyes the shine
Of every slanting silver line,
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
For soon the shower will be done,
And then the broad face of the sun
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
Until the world with answering mirth
Shakes joyously, and each round drop
Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.

How can I bear it; buried here,
While overhead the sky grows clear
And blue again after the storm?
O, multi-colored, multiform,
Beloved beauty over me,
That I shall never, never see
Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,
That I shall never more behold!
Sleeping your myriad magics through,
Close-sepulchred away from you!
O God, I cried, give me new birth,
And put me back upon the earth!
Upset each cloud's gigantic gourd
And let the heavy rain, down-poured
In one big torrent, set me free,
Washing my grave away from me!

I ceased; and through the breathless hush
That answered me, the far-off rush
Of herald wings came whispering
Like music down the vibrant string
Of my ascending prayer, and—crash!
Before the wild wind's whistling lash
The startled storm-clouds reared on high
And plunged in terror down the sky,
And the big rain in one black wave
Fell from the sky and struck my grave.

I know not how such things can be;
I only know there came to me
A fragrance such as never clings
To aught save happy living things;
A sound as of some joyous elf
Singing sweet songs to please himself,
And, through and over everything,
A sense of glad awakening.
The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,
Whispering to me I could hear;
I felt the rain's cool finger-tips
Brushed tenderly across my lips,
Laid gently on my sealed sight,
And all at once the heavy night
Fell from my eyes and I could see,—
A drenched and dripping apple-tree,
A last long line of silver rain,
A sky grown clear and blue again.
And as I looked a quickening gust
Of wind blew up to me and thrus
Into my face a miracle
Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,—
I know not how such things can be!—
I breathed my soul back into me.

Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I
And hailed the earth with such a cry
As is not heard save from a man
Who has been dead, and lives again.
About the trees my arms I wound;

Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;
I raised my quivering arms on high;
I laughed and laughed into the sky,
Till at my throat a strangling sob
Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb
Sent instant tears into my eyes;
O God, I cried, no dark disguise
Can e'er hereafter hide from me
Thy radiant identity!

Thou canst not move across the grass
But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,
Nor speak, however silently,
But my hushed voice will answer Thee.
I know the path that tells Thy way
Through the cool eve of every day;
God, I can push the grass apart
And lay my finger on Thy heart!

The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky,—
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat—the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.

--Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950), Pulitzer-prize winning American lyric poet

Offertory Sentences for Epiphany Season

Gracious God,
accept the offering of your Church,
the hearts of your people
joined in praise and thanksgiving,
in the name of Jesus Christ the Lord.
Amen.


Lord, accept your people’s gifts,
not gold, frankincense or myrrh,
but hearts and voices raised in praise
of Jesus Christ, our light and our salvation.
Amen.



Baptism of Christ

Open the heavens, Holy Spirit,
for us to see Jesus interceding for us;
may we be willing to share his baptism,
ready to share his cup
and strengthened to serve him for ever.
Amen.


Presentation of Christ in the Temple

Father, in Christ there has sprung up a light for the righteous;
accept the offering of your Church
and grant that Christ may shine in us
to the praise and glory of your name.
Amen.

-- from the Church of England

Proper Prefaces for Epiphany

And now we give you thanks
because, in the incarnation of the Word,
a new light has dawned upon the world,
that all the nations may be brought out of darkness
to see the radiance of your glory.


And now we give you thanks
for, by the leading of a star,
you have revealed your only Son to the world,
that in following him
we are led from darkness into his marvellous light.


And now we give you thanks
because, in the wonder of the incarnation,
your eternal Word has brought to the eyes of faith
a new and radiant vision of your glory.
In him we see our God made visible
and so are caught up in love of the God we cannot see.


And now we give you thanks
because, in the mystery of the Word made flesh,
you have caused a new light to shine in our hearts
to give the knowledge of your glory
in the face of Jesus Christ our Lord.


And now we give you thanks
because you have revealed your eternal plan of salvation,
and have shown your Son Jesus Christ
to be the light to the nations.


--from the Church of England

Wise Women Also Came

Wise women also came.
The fire burned
in their wombs
long before they saw
the flaming star
in the sky.
They walked in shadows,
trusting the path
would open
under the light of the moon.

Wise women also came,
seeking no directions,
no permission
from any king.
They came
by their own authority,
their own desire,
their own longing.
They came in quiet,
spreading no rumors,
sparking no fears
to lead
to innocents’ slaughter,
to their sister Rachel’s
inconsolable lamentations.

Wise women also came,
and they brought
useful gifts:
water for labor’s washing,
fire for warm illumination,
a blanket for swaddling.

Wise women also came,
at least three of them,
holding Mary in the labor,
crying out with her
in the birth pangs,
breathing ancient blessings
into her ear.

Wise women also came,
and they went,
as wise women always do,
home a different way.

--Jan Richardson, Methodist artist, theologian, writer, and poet

Image ©Jan Richardon, janrichardson.com 

Sabbath Poem I (1986)-- A Timbered Choir

Slowly, slowly, they return

To the small woodland let alone:
Great trees, outspreading and upright,
Apostles of the living light.

Patient as stars, they build in air
Tier after tier a timbered choir,
Stout beams upholding weightless grace
Of song, a blessing on this place.

They stand in waiting all around,
Uprisings of their native ground,
Downcomings of the distant light;
They are the advent they await.

Receiving sun and giving shade,
Their life’s a benefaction made,
And is a benediction said
Over the living and the dead.

In fall their bright and leaves, released,
Fly down the wind, and we are pleased
To walk on radiance, amazed.
O light come down to earth, be praised!

-- Wendell Berry, American  poet, farmer, and essayist, from A Timbered Choir: the Sabbath Poems 1979-1997