A Prayer at Epiphany

A Prayer at Epiphany

A drama is unfolding before the very eyes of the world. The smallest of the small is telling the greatest story. Where we find ourselves in that story is largely left up to us. If Epiphany says anything it tells the world that everyone is welcome at the foot of the manger, even strange wayfarers whose language, customs and very religion are different than those represented by the One they seek.

God’s about to mess in our business. And, when God sends a star, follow. When darkness has reigned and light is given, open your eyes and move toward it. There, as we lay our gifts before the One we cannot possibly understand or apprehend, we receive the greatest gift of all – life, and that more abundantly.

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Lord of the blind and those who will not see,

replace our black with grey;

our grey with white;

our white with light;

and all that is not what it seems will become what it must be.

 

Lord of the destitute and drawn-out,

lance these boils of sin-soaked pain

in the brine of salted, holy blood;

revive what we never knew was dead;

that the winds might catch your scent – the fragrance of grace.

 

Lord of the convinced and righteous,

remove from us our certainties;

our ambivalence toward ambiguities;

our reticence to swim in the waters of paradox;

that the world gets to see your way in us, not our way with you.

 

Lord of the fractured and forgotten,

seek out the silenced voices encased in amber

where no one hears their desperate choking;

no eye sees inside their deceiving exteriors;

find them and with white hot love, melt their prisons.

 

Lord of the shiny and gleaming,

scratch our taut and brittle surfaces;

add the character of time to our faux beauty;

send us the numbing ache of obscurity;

so that your gentle glow outshines our brash gleam.

 

Lord of all that lives,

plow the musky mutations from our once-breathing gardens;

unbalance our stiletto lives that teeter precariously;

releasing us from our cramped smallness;

that our spirits may once again yawn and stretch into life.

 

Where is God’s guiding star rising in your life?

What gifts to you bring to lay before the Christ?

For what troublesome reality do you seek the light of God in Christ?

 

Picture found here.

 

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Robert Alan Rife

Robert Rife, M.A., minister of worship and music for Yakima Covenant Church (formerly Westminster Presbyterian) in Yakima, Washington, is a self-proclaimed book-nerd-word-herder, multi-instrumentalist (including Highland Bagpipes!), singer-songwriter, studio musician, choral director, poet, and liturgist. He maintains two personal blogs: Innerwoven and Robslitbits. He also blogs at Conversations Journal. Robert describes his vocation as exploring those places where life, liturgy, theology, and the arts intersect with and promote spiritual formation.

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5 thoughts on “A Prayer at Epiphany”

  1. Rob, this is beautiful – thank you. This night moves me, possibly more than any other in the liturgical year, and this poem has brought me to it, plowed open and breathless once again.

    1. Robert Alan Rife

      Seymour, you’re kind to say. The Gospel…being “plowed open”…yeah, it’s like that!

  2. Rob, I love your notice of everyone being welcome at the foot of the manger — and how you coined it as God being up in our business. That’s so you to say it that way!

    I’m also drawn to your description of the star and the light — to follow it when we see it. It’s so applicable to our lives today: Where we see light, follow the trail to it. It’s a guide for us. Kind of like Ignatius’ encouragement that we find the consolation.

  3. Pingback: How to Help Post-Evangelicals Understand Epiphany « CenterQuest

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