Thoughts on Theophany

It's time to get real, and abandon the third person point of view.

Theophany, the Baptism of Christ, is one of the 12 major feasts in Orthodoxy. In the Episcopal Church, I recall, the Baptism is celebrated on the Sunday after Christmas (or perhaps after Epiphany… which like Theophany is on January 6, but which focuses on the arrival of the Magi.) I'm curious where the interpretations of what should be celebrated on the 6th diverged, though they do agree on the sense of a new understanding of God shining out into the world beyond the boundaries of Israel and the chosen people. In any case, I went to Church twice on the day of the Eve of the Theophany. I don't recall the details of the explanation of why we celebrate the blessing of the water also on the morning of the eve, and on the morning of the day, but we do. All told, I spent about 5 hours in Church on Tuesday and 4 hours driving back and forth (mostly with my friend X, which adds time to the journey but makes it more enjoyable) so I have broken a new record for worship.

As the communicants were receiving in the morning, I prayed that God would help me to feel His love, and suddenly my eyes were stung with tears. I do not know exactly what happened, but it seemed like a sign, affirming my longing for God's love.

I hadn't been sure that I, a lowly catechumen, would be able to partake of the holy water, which parishioners were told they can take home in containers that they bring, but Father made it clear before the service ended, that the blessing Christ bestowed on the universe through his baptism is for everyone. And even, in the Soviet days, people used to sneak a bit of holy water into the food and drink of the unbelievers. (And we know how Russia has returned to the faith now! So this stuff works!--my comment, not his).  So during the time of the final veneration of the icon and the cross, Father blesses--splashes!-- us in our faces and it is funny and joyful. People brought all kinds of jars and water bottles. I got to fill my jar with the holy water. And, exhausted and needed to get some work done, did not return to church on the actual day of the feast. Oh, whoever would have thought I wished I lived in Murderburg.