Epiphany
“Like, subscribe, and look into this guy called Jesus,” says the right-wing YouTuber on his Livestream as he storms the U.S. Capitol. Between chants of “USA...USA...USA,” he boasts to friends about the hour he spent inside the building before realizing he had no cell service, and therefore no Livestream, forcing him to return to the door rather than remain in the inner chambers. For hours I watch as he jokes with friends, free of mortal danger, celebrating the history they are making; the history of white supremacy and privilege they are revealing, with every second they remain untouched and unchallenged, while they stage a coup, Livestreamed, televised, for all to see. As I write this, the number of views of his Livestream are at 318k and climbing.
“Where is Jesus in all this?” I ask my friend, a nod to the comments the YouTuber made, but also a nod to my genuine grappling with the theology of Epiphany, celebrated today, January 6th. I don’t remember it as particularly important in my childhood church training, but after two and half years of working with MANNA, a ministry for the unhoused and unstably housed at St. Paul’s Cathedral in Boston, I found myself wondering about its significance, not only to the wider Cathedral community, but to the community I found myself drawn to through MANNA. Epiphany, I had learned, is the revelation of God made manifest on earth through the humanity of Jesus Christ.
During my time with MANNA, I have found that this epiphany occurs every day that we gather, in all the difficulties of our gathering, courageously trying to find a way to be with one another, to abide in one another, in our differences, in our challenges, in our humanity, in love.
But in the chaos of the Livestream I find myself unmoored, lost, looking for the God I know is with us, always, even now. Struggling to find God in the Livestream, in the oppressive and disturbing parade of white privilege, power, and domination, I think of my community and what they have taught me, graciously, about how to find God in the midst of chaos. Even in the acute chaos that they endure daily – unseen, unstreamed, and unrecognized by many – they teach me that God is manifest in our humanity. And where is our humanity? Our humanity, I have learned, is in our compassion, our capacity for grace, love, and growth.
As the complications of Covid-19 have brought the disparities in our social society into stark relief, as go-to places for warming up, using bathrooms, charging phones, or simply just catching a break – like libraries, cafes, restaurants, shelters, and train stations – have closed completely or have had to re-negotiate their capacities, we have seen an increase of folks on the streets and at our door. In response to the growing needs of our community, we, too, have had to grow.
We have grown in our programming to accommodate the increasing needs for food, clothing, sanctuary, and accompaniment; we have grown as a staff, bringing on more and more committed volunteers as the months go on; we have grown with our wider community, in our connection to the other congregations at the Cathedral and our parish partners, as well as to other services, businesses, agencies, and outreach teams working in Boston; but most importantly, we have grown in love, courage, and wisdom through the teachings of our unhoused siblings.
As more and more people join our community, we see how the community expands to accommodate the strangers among us, inviting them into friendship, sharing information about services and supplies, meals, resources, and stories of their experiences of life, the world, and of God. We learn to listen to the realities of life for people of color, women, LGBTQ+ folks, those struggling with addiction, violence, domestic abuse, and homelessness. We learn where to get a good meal on a Friday, that we need more respite sites and drop-in centers, that we need public restrooms and showers. We learn that if we wish to truly transform the inequities of our society, we must first listen, then act. Compassion does not lie in our fantasies or assumptions about the lives of others, compassion comes from the difficult, vulnerable act of actually being together, in all our brokenness, chaos, and beauty, in all that makes us human. Through this Epiphany, my first, I understand that in order for us to restore our humanity we must stop loving power, domination, and violence, and instead we must begin to love one another.
This Epiphany – I remember all the little epiphanies that preceded it, all the times I’ve seen God this year, amidst the chaos, manifest on earth. I’ve seen God in a Black transwoman sporting a magenta wig, strutting down Tremont Street, belting Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman” at 7:30 in the morning on a Sunday. I’ve seen God in the hands of a man holding up a stranger as he overdoses. In his voice, as he tells the stranger, stay with me. In the still-fluttering eyes of the man he is holding up. In the young pregnant woman who, sick, vomits blood, afraid to return to the hospital she fled the night before. I’ve seen God get housing and give the tent he no longer uses to a friend in need. I’ve seen God sharing snacks with sparrows, pigeons, and squirrels. I’ve seen God swimming in Brewer Fountain and sunbathing on the grassy hills of the Common. I’ve seen God at Writers’ Group on Tuesday morning, writing sometimes, I feel like I’m scared again and I’m hiding from myself and life is a wreck and everything is chaos. I’ve seen God banging on a tambourine, kicking my butt at checkers, and sleeping on the train as I make my way home. Today, I see God holding us up, saying stay with me, stay with me, don’t give up.
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Christie Towers is a poet and educator at the University of Massachusetts, Boston, where she is currently earning her MFA. She is on the pastoral care team for MANNA, a ministry for the unhoused community of downtown Boston at the Cathedral Church of St. Paul. She has published poems in various journals, online and in print, most recently in Meridian, LETTERS Journal, and Cathexis Northwest. Her work has been featured in Ted Kooser’s project, American Life in Poetry. She is currently working on a collection of poems about the visions of Hildegard von Bingen.