Gifts, Epiphany

 

Gold 

What happened to the gold the magi brought? 

(The story doesn’t tell how much there was 

or if it made the journey into Egypt 

sewn into the lining of a coat.) 

Perhaps it paid the passage 

for the little family 

running for its life. 

What if the Roman prefect 

lined the road with checkpoints, 

or closed it with a wall? 

Would the gold have let a border agent look the other way, 

or paid a coyote to open a hidden passage into hope? 

What happened to the gold the magi brought? 

For now we only know the child is safe. 

For now. 

Frankincense 

We spoon our fragrant resin (from Somalia, maybe) 

onto glowing charcoal in the thurible – 

and swing, and sweetness drifts 

across and through the room. 

Borne on the fragrance, 

something in us rises 

to meet Something in the space around, above us, 

some Beauty that heals, 

some Truth that sustains, 

some Spirit that breathes on the reed of our lives, 

our llves that, for that breathless breathing moment, 

sing, sing holy. 

This is the gift they brought to that young child, 

this is the frankincense that Child became. 

Myrrh 

Myrrh for incense, for anointing, 

for toothaches, for wounds, 

for dying. 

This ambiguous epiphany, 

this bursting onto our little stage 

of cosmic raising up and throwing down, 

of cosmic throwing down and raising up. 

This unnerving gift, brought to a toddler – 

not the gold of a monarch’s wealth and power, 

nor the incense of a sacerdotal prayer, 

but ointment for his body 

to be one day untangled from a cross, 

wrapped and embalmed 

and buried in a new-hewn tomb. 

Twelve days in, already myrrh appears.