For me, as I’m sure for many of you, these are the days of the year that are the most difficult. The celebrations and gatherings of friends and family for the holidays are over, the house is quiet, my clothes are tight, the days are short and cold and dark, and the streets and sidewalks are icy or thick with dirty slush—and it so often feels like my soul is soaking in that same dirty, slushy muck. Are any of you feeling these post-holiday blues with me?

Several years ago, I discovered the writings of theologian and pastor Howard Thurman. In 1953 Thurman became, at the Boston University chapel, the first black dean of a majority-white university. Thurman, who died in 1981, was during his lifetime named one of the most influential religious leaders in the US by Life Magazine. His theology of radical nonviolence shaped a generation of leaders including Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Thurman was always writing in his sermons, essays, and poems about light, and joy, and hope, and community, and justice. Reading him has convinced me that I get the post-holiday blues because I have made Christmas too small, too short.

Here are some of Thurman’s words: There must be always remaining in every person’s life some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which is breathlessly beautiful…throwing all the rest of life into new and creative relatedness, something that gathers up in itself all the freshness of experience, from drab and commonplace areas of living, and places, and one bright light, a penetrating beauty and meaning…The commonplace now is shot through with new glory. Old burdens become lighter. Deep and ancient wounds lose much of their old, old hurting…Despite all the coarseness of life, despite all of the harsh discords of life, life is saved…The use we make of [Christmas] may enrich us beyond the dreams of avarice or render us poorer, indeed.

Christmas—the twelve days of the our liturgical Christmas season—will of course officially end with our celebration of Epiphany today. “Epiphany” means “showing forth.” We say we had an “epiphany moment” when we have a sudden, dramatic insight, a startling revelation. The showing forth we celebrate today is that of the infant Messiah—the startling revelation of God Almighty become an infant in a manger. Starting with next week’s lectionary Gospel readings we will hear of the startling revelations the adult Jesus brings to the world—startling healings, startling actions like sharing meals with outcasts and healing on the Sabbath, startling statements like “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” In his birth and his teaching and his work in the world, everything about Jesus brings about the startling revelation that God is most present, not with the powerful and the rich and the mighty, but with the weak, the poor, the outcast, the stranger. If this isn’t an epiphany—a dramatic insight—for us every time we hear it, then I think, as Jesus said so often, we don’t have ears to hear.

Christmas is over, but, as Howard Thurman says, “The use we make of [Christmas] may enrich us beyond the dreams of avarice or render us poorer, indeed.” And so, as I said, maybe my post-holiday blues come from not making enough use of Christmas—not making enough use of what I read and sang and prayed at Christmas. Thurman has something to teach us about that, as well. It’s found in his poem, “The Work of Christmas.”

When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
     To find the lost,
     To heal the broken,
     To feed the hungry,
     To release the prisoner,
     To rebuild the nations,
     To bring peace among brothers,
     To make music in the heart.

My prayer for you this week, this Epiphany season, and this year, is that you will take up the work of Christmas, the work of Jesus, and find it to be sacred and life-giving work that brings God’s light and joy to you, and to the world.

Blessings & peace,
Fr. Keith+