It may not be a familiar word to you, but it has a rich history and a beautiful meaning. It is made up of two Greek words — epi, meaning upon, and phaino, meaning to shine. When epi is prefixed to a verb, it intensifies the action. Epiphaino thus means to shine with special brilliance, to appear manifestly. Such as: “the glorious appearing of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ” (Titus 2:13).

  Early on in church history (about 360 A.D.) Epiphany became a feast day that celebrated the Incarnation of our Lord — God manifesting himself in human form — or the birth of Jesus. The date was January 6, not December 25, and Epiphany, not Christmas. It would be another 200 years before the Roman Catholic Church created Christmas and set Christ’s birth as December 25.

  To this day the Orthodox churches — the oldest of Christian denominations — still observe January 6 as the birthday of Jesus. I experienced this a few years ago. After celebrating Christmas at home on December 25, I was in Moscow in time to celebrate it again on January 6, except for the Orthodox it was the beginning of Epiphany, which goes on to celebrate “the twelve days”, leading up to the visit of the Magi on January 18 — at which time Christ was “manifest” to Gentiles. To the Orthodox, Epiphany even includes the miracle at Cana, for there Jesus first “manifested” his power as Messiah, and especially the baptism of Jesus, where all three persons of the Trinity were “manifest” or “appeared” in human history.

  This is why the Orthodox make so much more of Jesus’ baptism than the rest of us — they see an epiphany of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. God spoke from heaven, declaring Jesus to be his Son; the Holy Spirit descended upon Jesus in the form of a dove; and Jesus was baptized. They point out that this is the only time in Scripture that all the Trinity is publicly “manifest” together in human history. Epiphany!

  While the Eastern church (Orthodox) and the Western church (Roman Catholic and liturgical Protestant churches) both celebrate Epiphany, they differ on some specifics. But the idea is the same: God has manifest himself — revealed his likeness — in human form. This is especially evident in the birth of Jesus, the visit of the Magi — when the Christ is manifest to Gentiles or all non-Jews — and the baptism of Jesus, where all the Trinity bears public witness that God has appeared in the flesh.

  So as to give “Christmas” — Epiphany is both more ancient and more biblical — deeper meaning I am calling this God’s portrait of himself. The birth of Jesus — into a sub-culture environment of poverty and violence — begins the portrait. It continues to be drawn through the early life of our Lord — his baptism, temptation, teaching, miracles —and on to the Cross where he prays for those who crucified him. And at last the resurrection itself where light overcomes darkness and life overcomes death. This is God’s portrait of himself. This is what God is like.

  We are all awed by the paintings of Rembrandt, but it is something special to see his masterpiece, titled “A Portrait of Himself.” The master of the brush, the great Rembrandt, creates his own likeness upon the canvass, his own portrait. Epiphany!

  This is what the One whom no person has seen nor can see, who dwells in unapproachable light, and who alone has immortality has done — given us a portrait of himself. Wow!

Notes

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Here at the Vintage last night we had the Annual Holiday Gala. This year it was called “Home for the Holidays,” which is where most of us will be. This is now home. We enjoyed gourmet hors d oeuvres and champagne with live sounds of the season, harp and piano. We were encouraged to bring up to four guests for each apartment. We selected three people who might not otherwise be invited to the Vintage, one a working girl, a stranger to us. We had a great time, all five of us at one table. I told stories that pointed to the reason for the Season Ouida had a ball, and she was still calling for more raw shrimp when it was time to go. She joined in when we were doing some poetry, telling the story of Maud Muller, and quoting those melancholy lines, “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, It might have been.” But at breakfast this morning she brought me back to reality with, “Who was that in bed with us last night?”