Guest Post: Epiphany and Theophany

All readers welcome

Please give a warm welcome to ACFer “Galahad Threepwood” — jb

The Feast of Epiphany on January 6th presents us with one of those many New Testament events rich in concrete historical connections. An intricate web of factual claims surrounds it.

The Star. The arrival of the Wise Men. King Herod consulting with the local scholars. The specificity about the treasures given to the Holy Child. The escape. The subsequent massacre of the Holy Innocents.

Matthew 2:1-12 is the text:

Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the east came to Jerusalem, saying, “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.” When Herod the king heard this, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him; and assembling all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Christ was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea, for so it is written by the prophet:

“‘And you, O Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,

are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;

for from you shall come a ruler

who will shepherd my people Israel.’”

Then Herod summoned the wise men secretly and ascertained from them what time the star had appeared. And he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child, and when you have found him, bring me word, that I too may come and worship him.” After listening to the king, they went on their way. And behold, the star that they had seen when it rose went before them until it came to rest over the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy. And going into the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they fell down and worshiped him. Then, opening their treasures, they offered him gifts, gold and frankincense and myrrh. And being warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed to their own country by another way.

Note that these are in key ways very public events. It would not require extensive research for a reporter or historian to learn about them.

Consider a modern parallel.

Readers of an astronomical cast of mind will recall that a spectacular solar eclipse cut across North America in the spring of 2024. Your correspondent raced whiteknuckle across central Tennessee and southwest Kentucky with his eldest daughter, in order to (barely) get inside Full Totality just south of Paducah. That was shortly after Easter, some three months after Epiphany. Whether or not we consumed beer on the ride would be difficult for the historian to discover. But even the historian of modest means could confirm such details as: that Paducah was indeed inside the Zone of Totality; that the weather on that day in the Ohio Valley was clear and bright; and that driving to Paducah from Nashville that morning would have been supremely aggravating.

Now imagine this. Three huge K-pop stars show up unannounced at the Kentucky governor’s office to inquire about the whereabouts of some unknown working-class kid in Paducah; and, astonishingly, cite this selfsame eclipse as the reason for lavishing him with gifts from the Far East. It seems they took a break from their extravagant sets, snappy matching costumes, superbly-arranged dance routines, and catchy beats and harmonies, in order to give honor to this humble blue-collar family, in a half-forgotten river town with a funny name that might derive from the Chickasaw language.

That kind of thing would make an impression, at least in the environs of the Tennessee-Ohio River confluence in western Kentucky.

Let it be noted, in light of our parallel, that, additional to the publicly-known, in certain ways the events are emphatically private, even secret (like the question of the beer consumed or not consumed by your correspondent.)

Turns out that, according to one subsequent report, the Kentucky governor is an ambitious and duplicitous bastard who manipulated the K-pop stars, and the eclipse enthusiasm, for his own wicked purpose: bringing to a sticky end this blue-collar family, which somehow threatened his political ambitions. But, showing far more cunning than expected, the K-pop dudes turned the tables on him, foiled the plot, and vanished without a trace! Thus the special kid in Paducah returned with his parents back into secure obscurity; leaving the Kentucky governor to stew in his impotent hatred, and visit his terrible vengeance on random working class youngsters in Paducah.

Reads like a gonzo spec script for Justified.

A historical writer who adds that latter explosive reporting on the secret machinations of the villainous governor, to the general, public story of the Paducah K-Pop Eclipse, had better have his sources nailed down tight; because if he’s just making shit up, he’s going to be in a world of hurt and will likely go down in infamy, which will rapidly dissolve into oblivion. Indeed, if the villainous governor is still around, our fabulist reporter will certainly meet his own sticky end.

In short, it’s abundantly clear that any reporter hobbled by such a reckless capacity for embellishment, won’t be a reporter for long and stands no chance of writing something that will become, in Thucydides’ fine phrase, “a possession for all time.”

Soi-disant reporters with demonstrable records of extraordinary fabulism are hardly remembered by anyone 20 years later, much less 2000 years later.

* * * * *

A central feature of Epiphany in Christian doctrine lies in precisely the exotic origin of the Three Wise Men. The older word Magi has more of the savour of the thing. Sorcerers and strangers and shamans. Very impressive but very Gentile gentlemen. We’re in the midst of a gigantic sign from the Almighty that the Christ Child is not merely for the Jewish Nation, but for all nations, tongues and tribes.

St. Matthew’s Gospel, by general consensus (non-Christian as well as within the Church), stands out as the most emphatically Jewish of the four. He lingers on the particular links of Jesus to the Hebrew people and their traditions. For Matthew, alone among the four, to include this striking story of the Savior reaching out beyond the Jews to everyone — well, let’s just call it an admission against interest.

In sum, the narrative of Epiphany fairly crackles with the marks of historical authenticity.

But there’s more. Epiphany sits alongside two other Christian midwinter feasts: Christmas and Theophany. Mark that well.

We’re all familiar with the argument of the skeptics that Christmas presents us with a kind of repurposed pagan midwinter festival. The ancient heathens lacked our precision, but they knew well enough what the solstice was; and when it comes to bone-deep human experience, they probably knew it better. Thus (the argument goes) Christmas amounts to a mere development of the human instinct for seasonal worship.

The idea is to imply (or flat out declare) that the Church is nothing but a formulaic evolution from prior human patterns of religious belief; Christmas nothing more than a spruced-up ancient Winter Solstice ritual. By these euphemisms we’re invited to set aside any reflections on the contrary possibility — that Christianity, far from a natural evolution, instead confronts us with a spectacular revolution in the affairs of men.

But go back to what I said about Christmas, Epiphany and Theophany. They are all celebrated in the depths of winter: that season of gloom and chill now lit up by the Light that shines in the darkness.

Consider that solid evidence exists to suggest that both the feasts of Epiphany and of Theophany predate Christmas in historical liturgical cycles. La Wik tells me that Theophany dates back to St. Clement of Alexandria in the early 3rd century; while Epiphany first appears in the historical record in the mid-4th century, at least two decades before St. John Chrysostom instituted Christmas in the Byzantine Empire.

We all know Christmas, so set that aside. Most of us know Epiphany well enough; Theophany probably rings a bit strange in our ears, though the latter two words in the Greek have very similar meanings: the appearance or manifestation of divinity. Theophany commemorates, not the arrival of the Magi, but Christ's baptism in the Jordan, and it even includes some very interesting connections to texts from Second Temple Judaism, which we need not belabor here.

The two are occasionally confused, and even overlap on church calendars. Over the centuries, they have come to reflect the east-west division of the Ancient Churches. The Eastern Orthodox, while not exactly neglecting Epiphany, nevertheless prominently feature Theophany as a major feast on their calendar; while Epiphany remains a favorite of the Western churches. (Interestingly, in the early 2000s, Pope St. John Paul II, who longed for reconciliation between East and West — that the Church could “breathe with both lungs,” in his beautiful phrase — added Theophany to the Mysteries of the Roman Catholic Rosary.)

Do you see, dear reader, how even these differences strengthen the case for the historical authenticity of these holidays and the events they commemorate? Do you see how they undermine the counter-case that the early Church was merely repackaging heathen rituals? Why pile up recycled copies of pagan Winter Solstice festivals? You’d think one would have been sufficient.

The far more plausible conclusion: pagan midwinter rituals played no part, or only a purely incidental part, in the appearance and elaboration of these Christians feasts. The feasts arose organically, as memorials for ineffable events, first remembered by eyewitnesses, then relayed by reliable, well-sourced reporters, then elaborated across time, taking on aspects of the variations of Christian experience in the Greco-Roman world. Even in her divisions, the Church affirms the authenticity of her history.

Like the Paducah K-pop Eclipse and the patent absurdity of supposing that St. Matthew cooked up Epiphany all on his own, the euphemistic evolutionary lullabies of the skeptics, sung to put undergraduates to sleep, strike the mature rational mind as particularly feeble and preposterous. If you’ll forgive the mixed metaphor, that dog won’t hunt.

The religion of the Cross did not placidly evolve, in predictable patterns, from prior forms. It turned the entire cosmos on its head and introduced a comprehensive reshaping of all human forms. Behold, the scripture says, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? This statement, true now as it was then, requires faith to believe — but only that. Not credulity, nor gullibility. Enjoy the holiday, and may it bring you peace.