Led by Light

I like the way the threshold of the new year falls midway on the arc between Christmas and Epiphany. With the bustle of Christmas preparations accomplished, there’s a set-apart nature to these days before the world takes up its usual pace again.

There’s a tapestry that echoes this sense of transition and bridges this turning of the year. It’s an image of divinity born into the world, which is honored by those with the wisdom to see. It reminds me that the divine indwelling we’ve just celebrated at Christmas is what carries us forward into the unfolding of the new year.

Adoration of the Magi is a William Morris tapestry that took years to complete. It depicts the light that leads us to the heart of our lives, and the hush of the encounter we find there. The model for the tapestry was painted by British artist Edward Burne-Jones. A friend pointed out that he was part of the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, a movement of artists reaching back toward a medieval aesthetic they experienced as closer to the Source.

The tapestry took almost four years to weave. It was commissioned by the Rector of Exeter College in Oxford, England, who did not live to see its completion. The piece was to hang among stained glass windows, and thus incorporated vibrant color in order to hold its own in that setting. It was completed and installed in 1890.

In the center, an angel uses two hands to hold aloft a source of light. On one side, Mary is seated holding the baby with Joseph standing behind. On the other side, the magi approach the holy family with their gifts.

The light high in the center is what sent me searching out the source of an image I encountered briefly last year. The skillful and beautiful rendition of light held me riveted. Christmas is all about light, and I was glad to find a reproduction of the tapestry to display for the holidays.

This piece of art, like most everything we create, blooms from a long series of artistic expressions offered over millennia. The color and scale of the masterfully woven original tapestry was informed by the work of architects and stained-glass artists. The light conveyed on the tapestry is a study of the painting by Edward Burne-Jones rendered into tactile form. His original work on canvas is elevated by a long history of artistic explorations of light and form, and it visually conveys the story that unfolds in the written words of scripture. That story in turn is translated from the ancient language of a time and place far away, by writers who make it accessible to their own culture. In every iteration, artists keep meaning and beauty alive in a new form, shining its light into their own time.

There’s more to learn about this tapestry, particularly about the symbolism of the various plants in the background. Each would have had its own associations and metaphorical meaning. The work is perceived by the mind along with the heart, with a presence that resonates in the body as well.

When we connect with art it kindles new experiences and new realities. Creation happens anew. We carry the light into an ever-new context, even as the light leads our way.

Susan Christerson Brown

Following a Guiding Star

We’re approaching Epiphany on January 6—the twelfth day of Christmas, or “old Christmas” to some. I hear the word epiphany used mostly in the context of literature, probably because real-life epiphanies are rare. It means a flash of insight, a sudden revelation about the true nature of things. Something happens that triggers a new way of seeing things, a new level of understanding. A perspective that was previously unattainable suddenly becomes the new reality.

Photograph from the Hubble Telescope

 

Epiphany as a holiday, or holy day, recalls the story of the Magi from the East who, in seeing a new star at its rising, discerned that a very special child was born. The child’s star was such a powerful sign it moved them to set out on a long journey, following the star as it led them to see for themselves the hope that had come into the world. When the star stopped over the place where the child was, they were filled with joy. They entered the house and saw him with his mother, Mary, then knelt before him. Their appearance honored his singular fate as they offered him precious gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

Who couldn’t use an epiphany? We stand in need of a higher mind, a broader perspective. Or at least an idea we haven’t thought of before. Both individually and collectively, we live with conflict that seems irresolvable. One worthwhile goal can undermine another. Resources are limited but needs go on and on. The realities of life don’t fit together in a way that makes sense. How can a king be born in a stable? How can one who dies on a cross be a savior?

Carl Jung taught that learning to live in the dualities that life deals us is how we grow. We’re pressed to develop a broader view that somehow encompasses both. But there’s nothing comfortable about it. When we can acknowledge the individual value of those things that exist in tension, rather than rejecting one or the other out of hand, there are no simple answers. But in living with that complexity, rather than forcing an artificial simplicity, we become better, deeper, more thoughtful, more compassionate people.

As we move toward Epiphany, and into the new year, what kind of guiding star are we following? What is the vision that calls us to lift our gaze upward, above the daily routines, to cross the desert and move toward hope? What do we need to see for ourselves that will give life meaning? These questions aren’t easy, either. But in asking them perhaps we invite the possibility of Epiphany.