Epiphany’s provocation to abandon innocence
Ken Sehested
Invocation. “Ring out, wild bells.” —poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892), music and performance by Alana Levandoski
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e·piph·a·ny /əˈpifənē/
Most generically: manifestation, appearance, disclosure, revelation, sudden insight, dawn’s arise
We, of the majority caste, are largely innocents. By innocent I mean clueless about the way history has privileged some and impoverished others. If we are to move toward a future beyond the fatal consequence of our transgressions, we must lose our innocence. We have hard work to do, patient work, risky work, but worthy, inspiring, hopeful work.
Take a hand.
Make your vow.
Gird your loins.
Declare an allegiance beyond the tip of your nose.
Step over your contented threshold and out of your comfort zone.
Prepare for turbulence, maybe threat; or merely the ordinary onset of fatigue.
Make alliances across racial and class and cultural boundaries and history’s margins.
Cultivate the kind of imagination needed to resist cultural conformity and nationalist fervor.
Nurture a faith rooted deeply enough to withstand inevitable seasons of drought and tempest.
Fear not the mourner’s bench nor the penitential booth,
neither of which are for your debility nor your shame, but for your rejuvenation.
Set your eyes on a horizon beyond every available dictate.
Never forget that history belongs to the interceding intercessors.
And through it all, continually refresh your vision in the company of fellow travelers on the Way,
from whom you may catch courage, who carry you when your vision clouds,
sorrows threaten, energy lags, or despair nips at your feet; others with whom you can
sharpen clarity of when, where, and how to apply the weight of your convictions.
These are our disciplines, and sometimes they are arduous. But they are not imposed by a divine taskmaster. They are imparted by means of joy’s overflow, galvanized by ecstatic vision capable of tracing the drama of Creation’s promise to Resurrection’s assurance, recollecting the Prophet’s assertion that wolf and lamb will lie shorn of threat, Jesus’ promise that the meek will inherit the earth, and the Revelator’s conclusion that, one day, death will be no more.
For this purpose, by means of this resolve, buoyed by beatific vision and sustained by mercy’s stream and grace’s provision, move forward, and “let nothing you dismay.”*
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Benediction (marking Hanukkah’s closure). “Not by might, & not by power, / But by spirit alone (“ruach!”) / Shall we all live in peace. / The children sing, / the children dream, / And their tears will fall, / But we’ll hear them call, / And another song will rise.” —Debbie Friedman, “Not By Might” [cf. Zechariah 4:6]
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*line from “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”
