This article was written by The Rev. Sarah Kinney Gaventa, an Episcopal priest serving as the Dean of Students at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary.
We live in a densely populated neighborhood, so candidates for local elections (and their representatives) love to come by and introduce themselves. During one of these encounters, the young man looked quizzically above my door frame, mildly alarmed, and asked what the chalk symbols meant. Much to my surprise, the chalk markings from last year’s Epiphany were still visible above the door. I explained to him the Christian tradition of chalking the doors on Epiphany. The markings he saw were 20+C+M+B+22—the numbers representing the year, and the letters representing both the legendary names of the wise men who bring Jesus gifts and the Latin, Christus mansionem benedicat, “May Christ bless this house.” He did not seem any less puzzled at the end of the conversation. I suppose there is something slightly absurd about placing one’s hope in a few carefully placed pieces of dust.
Of course, the hope is not actually in the dust. Epiphany is not just the celebration of one day—when three wandering Zoroastrian priests evaded Herod in order to visit a toddler Jesus. Epiphany is a season in which we celebrate all the ways Christians understand God’s power breaking into the world through Jesus. Jesus’ miracles—the water into wine, the healings, the resurrections—point to a God who is actively involved in our world, breaking into hopeless situations, and transforming them into something holy.
The world can feel flattened some days. The numinous can feel snuffed out when the world around us worships power over service, wealth over integrity, image over substance. Rather than looking for signs of God’s inbreaking, those in power use words about God as blunt objects to reinforce their power. Three years of Covid life, political instability, and increasingly violent rhetoric and policies targeting vulnerable populations can make it hard to approach the world with wonder. Deep skepticism is a much more logical worldview.
In David Peters’ upcoming book, Post Traumatic Jesus, he describes one symptom of trauma as foreshortened thinking—the inability to imagine a positive future. I caught my breath when I read the sentence—I had come to think of my own cynicism as a logical reaction to the world surrounding me. What if my attitude was my brain’s way of processing the pressures of the last three years rather than an accurate assessment of the world surrounding me? My spiritual director encouraged me to look for good news in the world. The challenge is that good news isn’t particularly newsworthy! One must seek it out.
When I started looking for good news, I began to see it everywhere. I was struck by the sheer number of people who voted in mid-terms, rejecting the extremism and violent rhetoric that has marked so much of our discourse. I’m inspired by friends who are choosing sobriety, giving themselves a new start. My son has just started middle school and I’m blown away at the quality and energy of his teachers after what must have been an incredibly difficult season. I am moved by my students organizing to lend support to those testifying for the rights of trans adults and children at the Texas Capitol. I found hope in some news stories about scientists working to mitigate climate change. I’m moved by Rabbi Neil Blumofe and Pastor Daryl Horton, both friends of Austin Seminary where I work, who do such good work in interfaith friendship. My own co-worker, Usama Malik, spends his Friday lunch hour bringing prayer services to Muslim inmates at Travis County Jail. I’m surrounded by people, many of whom are people of faith, who go out of their way to make our world better.
This Epiphany, when I mark 20+C+M+B+23 above my doorframe, all these signs of God’s continual inbreaking to the world will be guiding my hand and helping me start the new year with hope.
