Today is Epiphany, the Christian feast day that marks the Magi’s visit to the infant Jesus. It’s one of my favorite days, for several reasons.
I’m a traditionalist, and my celebration of Christmas follows several rules. It does not begin until after Thanksgiving and it continues until Jan. 6.
The period from Christmas Day through Jan. 6 is, traditionally, the twelve days of Christmas. I have so few rituals in my life, this is one worth following. Also, this way I store away most of my decorations in a timely manner.
On Epiphany, I take down the cards, the Santa Claus figurines and the ornaments. My husband, Paul, and I decorate the eight-foot fig tree in our living room every year, instead of a more traditional tree.
In 2019, we thought we’d keep the lights on the tree for a while longer, to brighten up the winter. Little did we know that we’d need those lights more than ever in 2020.
Needless to say, we left the lights on until the spring equinox in 2021 as well.
I also leave the wreath up until the end of January. Mostly because I want to get my money’s worth from it.
I recently learned from Wikipedia that "those who fail to remember to remove their Christmas decorations on Epiphany Eve must leave them untouched until Candlemas, the second opportunity to remove them; failure to observe this custom is considered inauspicious.”
Hmm. Candlemas is Feb. 2, Groundhog Day here in the New World. I suppose I could wait a few days to take the wreath down then, just to be on the safe side.
I also like Epiphany because of the story of the three wise men. As a child, listening to Matthew’s Gospel as I sat dressed in my Christmas finery in the white wooden pews of St. Patrick’s Church, I marveled at the idea that the Magi were guided by a star, and that they brought with them the fantastic gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. I had no idea what frankincense and myrrh were, but I knew they must be something special.
One of my favorite carols was “We Three Kings.” I loved to sing along, “Star of wonder, star of light, star with royal beauty bright.” It’s a wonder I didn’t grow up to be an astronomer.
I was also intrigued that one of the Magi was named Gaspar. This happened to be the name of a major producer of Portuguese sausage—chouriço and linguiça—in my home region, southeastern Massachusetts. Since my ancestry is mostly Portuguese, I thought this meant that Gaspar the wise man was Portuguese, and how cool was that?
Later, I realized that the name of another of the Magi, Balthazar, could also be a Portuguese surname. Perhaps these names dated from the 800-year span when North African Muslims—the Moors—ruled over Portugal, I theorized. I would learn still later that the origins of the wise men’s names are nebulous, which was disappointing, yet not a game changer for me.
After all, there is that somber final line in Matthew: “And having been warned in a dream not to go back to Herod, they returned to their country by another route.” I took such comfort in this line. They were truly wise men, to avoid Herod. I could leave the church to the resounding chorus of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” knowing my Magi were safe for another year.
I wish I could celebrate Epiphany, but it usually falls on a workday, after Christmas break, which is a busy week for me. But I enjoyed reading about the French celebration of “La Fête des Rois” in M.L. Longworth’s novel, “The Mystery of the Lost Cézanne.”
This is the fifth in Longworth’s series featuring Chief Magistrate Antoine Verlaque and law professor Marine Bonnet, set in Aix-en-Provence. This one starts with Verlaque headed for Michaud’s bakery on January 6th, looking for a brioche for breakfast. But the line is out the door—everyone wants to buy their “galette des rois,” or king’s cake, for the festivities.
While he waits, Verlaque gets a call from the police commissioner, who asks him to pick up a cake and a crown, and invites Verlaque to his home to celebrate with his family. The judge, a curmudgeon, grumbles as he learns there is also to be a party at headquarters in the afternoon.
I would have gladly traded places with him, and tried for my chance to find a bean in my slice of galette. Then I’d get to wear the crown!
My final reason for my affection for Epiphany has nothing to do with wise men, chouriço or cake. I appreciate epiphanies, or as Merriam-Webster puts it: “A moment in which you suddenly see or understand something in a new or very clear way.”
Confined to the hospital for 10 days last year, unable to eat or drink (as I recounted in a previous column), I suddenly realized that this would be my life for the foreseeable future. I had nowhere to go, nothing to do but heal.
My epiphany brought me relief and helped me move forward. I like to think of Epiphany that way too. The hustle and bustle of Christmas is over. It’s time to start thinking about something else—like starting seeds.
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