As legend has it… the Christmas break of my eldest brother was now in the rearview mirror. A great time was had by all including a packed-house-party at our childhood home with all the other home from college peers. And now the dark dreary slump of winter blues was quickly kicking in. Spring break seemed far beyond the other side of the horizon.
In this moment of deep desperation an idea began to germinate…an Epiphany began to come into view. What if there was a reason, an occasion, even excuse for a blowout party? And then, in the hopeless monotony of the moment, lightning struck. “Groundhog’s Day!” “Wait! What? Groundhog’s Day?” “Let’s give the most famous prognosticator a party!”
More consistent than the rodent’s predictions, some 40 plus years later, and in every zip code my brother has lived, there is a packed-house-party celebrating Groundhog’s Day. Folks from near and far, multiple generations, first timers and those who have been attending for decades gather after much anticipation for this life-giving annual celebration – a bright light in the dark of winter!
There is nothing quite like having an Epiphany moment. Particularly when they happen in the midst of darkness or despair. When all that surrounds you feels hopeless the Light begins to emerge from the cracks and crevices.
“Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.” – Leonard Cohen
And, the Good News is there is an accumulative effect to Epiphany moments. The more we embrace a posture of hopeful openness, the more we become predisposed to not just waiting but actually actively seeking the manifestation of the Light.
How the Light Comes
“I cannot tell you how the light comes.
What I know is that it is more ancient than imagining.
That it travels across an astounding expanse to reach us.
That it loves searching out what is hidden, what is lost, what is forgotten or in peril or in pain.
That it has a fondness for the body, for finding its way toward flesh, for tracing the edges of form,
for shining forth through the eye, the hand, the heart.
I cannot tell you how the light comes, but that it does.
That it will.
That it works its way into the deepest dark that enfolds you, though it may seem long ages in coming
or arrive in a shape you did not foresee.
And so may we this day turn ourselves toward it.
May we lift our faces to let it find us.
May we bend our bodies to follow the arc it makes.
May we open and open more and open still to the blessed light that comes.” -Jan Richardson
BP