Celebrating the Epiphany

Yes, it's tomorrow. The proper date of the Epiphany, or Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles to give it its Sunday name, is the 6th, but as our friend and celebrant today pointed out, there's always the question of whether or not people will turn out on a weekday - and especially one that's frequently associated with the return to work after the holiday. So our church, in common with other Episcopal churches, celebrated the coming of the Magi today.

That in itself gave yours truly a bit of bother. There I was sitting idly last evening, far too late to do anything about it, when I remembered. The figures of the three Magi - and their surviving camel*- were still sitting on the nave altar, a third of the way down the church from the altar under which the Holy Family figures were reposing in their bed of straw. And the problem? Well, for one of the two worthy women of the church (that's me, if you don't recognise the description), it meant that we'd failed. The figure of Mary kneeling on the straw by a tiny baby in a manger in a stable full of beasts had to go - she should be in a house just now, and the baby big enough to sit on her lap. The straw should be replaced by a carpet (well - a bit of hessian) and the cow and the donkey had to go, as did the shepherds. The Magi should be standing or kneeling at the entrance, and the camel needed to be tethered under the pillars outside. And we'd failed.

I got to church early, armed with only a good intention or two. A helpful Lay Leader had moved the Magi up to the altar and put the shepherds where they'd been - back, as we agreed, in their fields having a chat about it all. (You can see the effect all this was having.) I found the hessian and spread it over the straw - no time to pick it all up and sweep up the ensuing mess; I found the seated Mary and toddler and removed their earlier counterparts along with the beasts of the stable. Whew. Just time to get back to my pew and find the first hymn...

As you can see, the church looked serenely beautiful despite all this. You can just make out the scene under the altar, the advent wreath candles are satisfactorily wax-dripping and burned down. What you can't sense is the deep feeling of catharsis enjoyed by everyone present because of Himself's Camel Music - the organ version of an arrangement of We Three Kings of Orient Are, which he plays every year to great effect so that people burst into applause as the music ends. (You can hear the Magi in the distance, growing closer, bursting into your near space, jingling off into the darkness again ...)

The rest of the day? Well, we had coffee. we ate a bacon sarnie for lunch, we got out before it was dark. There's no snow here other than what's left on the hills, and the ice had melted. We went to Ardyne, walked along the shore and back, looking at the line of light in the western sky that turned, just as we turned to walk back, into a blaze of red that grew more intense, more dramatic, every time we tuned round. The tide was as high as I've seen it, but calm in a windless afternoon, and the sea gradually was also stained red. That's what the collage is all about - magical.

Dinner was our standby emergency rations, purchased in case the weather had been too bad to travel to Ewan's for Christmas dinner. So we celebrated the Orthodox Christmas Eve by having turkey rolled round sausage meat and cranberry stuffing, with roast potatoes, sweet potatoes, parsnips and carrots, followed by the very last of the mince pies and brandy butter. And we finished the pudding wine too. Great - not as good as Ewan's fab dinner, but jolly fine. 

And yes, four hours later I still feel a tad ... full. And there's Pilates class in the morning and I may not get into my leggings. But sufficient unto the day and all that ...