Epiphany
The Winter's Transition

The winter yields its heavy, quiet cold,
A shifting season whispers through the trees.
We trace the ancient stories we were told,
And wait to catch the Spirit's sudden breeze.

The Location of the Divine

It is not in the thunder or the fire,
But in the muddy roads where we must tread.
The tearing of the veil is our desire,
To find the living Word in daily bread.

A Call to Surrender

So pour the oil of gladness on the crown,
Let Hermon’s dew descend upon the dry.
We lay our heavy, human structures down,
To see the kingdom open in the sky,
And step into the grace that calls us out.