I push back a green leaf to pluck a black-fruited jewel. Another---this one the size of a giant's thumb! Five. Ten. Fifteen. Row after row. Yesterday, the berries were small, red, and unripe. Today they have transformed into plump Natchez blackberries, enough to eat by the handful and still have enough for our family and friends to each adorn a bowl of vanilla bean ice cream.

By coming to his cousin John to be baptized, Jesus introduces a humility that reverses how things were thought to have been done. John says, “You should be baptizing me!” But righteousness is fulfilled by his agreeing to fully enter his role as baptizer of the Messiah.

Reflection, scripture, and works of art for the first Sunday of Epiphany. Christ comes into our lives as light itself, without fanfare: quietly, unexpectedly, in weakness, right into our disarray. Light has come into our humanity, showing us a new way to be human.

A 2023 weekly Epiphany series with reflection, scripture, art, and prayer.

An Advent poem.

How peace fits you!

How its ribbon of white

Garnishes your throat.

An Advent poem about light.

The phrase “staying on the hurt line” is from a classmate's mom in a class I took at the beginning of summer: Art in a Time of Crisis. What does it mean to remain on the hurt line? Is it somewhere between joy and pain? Is it a bittersweet truth that life is both hard and beautiful? Yes, yes, and so much more.

Whether her form is good or not, an artist can do nothing less than dive in. Sitting on the side of the pool is not an option.

I always feel a major shift at this time of year: an invitation to notice, to wake up, to gather the good into a bouquet and give it away. Let's get back to small.

Practicing spiritual disciplines like prayer, solitude, and unplugging can easily feel like needing to reach a super-high level of holiness or faith, to get it right, or to find that one perfect practice.