Just before Christmas, I was asked by Radio New Zealand to provide a 20-second pre-recorded answer to a question that members of the afternoon show ‘The Panel’ were to discuss.  The question was: ‘what did the 3 wise men know?’  My answer (as I recall) was to say that we don’t know how many wise men there were (Matthew’s Gospel doesn’t give a number; it has become popular to say there were 3 on account of the number of gifts), and that all they probably knew was that they were following what may well have been a comet.  What I didn’t say is that it is probably because of what they didn’t know that they were led to a far deeper knowing: the incarnate God, the helpless baby in a manger.  That sounds a bit too philosophical perhaps, so let me put it another way.

A recent report in the NZ Herald talked about how a fog canon was used as a deterrent for would-be thieves in a service station in Auckland.  When the break-in took place, the fog canon produced so much fog that those intent on committing the crime were put off by the fact they couldn’t see anything, and so bid a hasty retreat.  We know quite a lot about fog in the Waikato; one Sunday morning, I sailed right through Kihikihi.  Realising my mistake (because the journey seemed to be taking too long), I did a U-turn (in a safe place) and headed back.  Thankfully I had allowed extra time for my journey that morning, and so arrived in plenty time for the service and the congregation were none the wiser (of course now they know!).  It is often in the things we don’t see at first, that we have an opportunity to set the course right and head in a different direction.  The wise men were students of the stars and planets; they knew that they had to follow the celestial phenomenon, but perhaps it was because of their sheer curiousity that they set out, not knowing what they would find along the way? 

The word ‘Epiphany’ literally means in Greek “light over”.  Often people will speak about times when they have had a personal ‘epiphany’ or revelation; a deeper understanding or perspective on an issue that they had not seen previously.  Perhaps you can think of such a time in your own lives?  I have spoken and written often about my love of the night sky.  I love spotting the International Space Station, and always have that ‘wow’ moment when I see it.  And yes, I follow its course, as it speeds across the sky at a speed of almost 28,000km per hour!  Its visible time is limited to a matter of minutes, and as I move from the back garden to the front, I marvel at the fact that there are 6 fellow humans up there! 

For me, personally, the past few years have meant a shift in Hemisphere and a new understanding and experience of Christmas-tide.  Gone are the cold and short days of winter, and now I experience long days of light and warmth.  Christmas and Epiphany feel very different indeed.  So too with the wise men, who journeyed from one context to another and encountered something utterly transformative.  As they journeyed, they would have encountered new sights, sounds, smells, and stories of place and purpose.  No matter whether we have lived all our lives in one place or not, we always have the most to learn from the people and places we are most unlike.  This sense of unknowing was beautifully captured by Thomas Merton, who lived in the first half of the 20^th century.   Drawing upon a 14^th century work of spirituality, written anonymously and called ‘The Cloud of Unknowing’, Merton developed the technique of centering prayer.  The contemporary Franciscan writer Richard Rohr says this about it: ‘the author believes that the spiritual journey demands full self-awareness and honesty, a perpetual shadow-boxing with our own weaknesses and imperfections.  While physical withdrawal from the world is not essential, letting go of attachments to people, expectations and things is.  This requires contemplative practice, a true spiritual discipline.  Rather than teaching passivity, the path into the cloud of unknowing requires active intent, willingness, and practice – knowing enough to not to need to know more, which ironically becomes a kind of endless, deeper knowing’ (Daily Meditation, July 23^rd 2015).

In his Lambeth Lecture delivered in October, the Bishop of London Richard Chartres spoke about how Church must be ‘vision-led not problem-led.’  Although a huge and cosmopolitan city like London is thousands of kilometres away from our context, there is some epiphanic wisdom in this idea.  Put simply, it encourages positive thinking and cheerfulness in all that we do.  What would it be like if every conversation over morning tea, every vestry meeting, every Synod, every General Synod, every interaction we have with one another was overwhelmed in joyful confidence in the Gospel?  Yes, there are challenges, but we are all guided by the same light that drew the wise men to the Christ child over 2000 years ago.  A ‘can-do’ attitude is far more Gospel focused than a ‘yes, but’ attitude.  It is our hope and prayer as Bishops that this year, 2016, will be a year of joyful discipleship, facing challenges and hardships with the hope and determination that upheld the first apostles.

Finally, a word about the photograph that accompanies this reflection.  It was taken by my mother just a few days ago in the village of Brancepeth, near Durham in the NE of England.  We have had a long family tradition of attending a New Year’s Day lunch in Brancepeth castle near Durham.  Typically the castle is absolutely freezing; it is not Downton Abbey!  However, the warmth of the welcome and hospitality is typically overwhelming, and the large roaring fire provides some relief from the cold.  The lunch raises money for local charities, and is a wonderful opportunity to catch-up with people you only see once a year.  Nearby is the beautiful Brancepeth church which was originally built 1000 years ago, and was severely damaged by fire in 1998.  A period of rebuilding and restoration brought new life into this place of ancient worship.  This photograph is of their nativity scene.  What I find so wonderful about it is the perspective of the cluster of knitted nativity figures (knittivity!) and the face of Mary in particular as she looks upwards to the proportionally enormous baby in the manger.  This is surely a reminder of the epiphany of Christ’s birth that is at the heart of our pilgrimage today.  Emmanuel, God is with us.  Alleluia! Amen.