Today is January 6, a date etched in our national memory now as much as 9-11. Many don’t know January 6 is also Epiphany—a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something
Our grandson Jackson is 3 1/2. He lives across the Deschutes River from us in Bend. Day to day, his ask is to tell him the story of it. “Grampa tell about when you were born.” “Well, Great Gramma and Grampa were taking down the chimney to build a new room on the house, when…” “Gramma, tell about when Daddy was born!” “Just before Christmas, Gramma was great with child…” “What does great mean?” “Tell about 2021.” “Well it began on Epiphany in the temple of democracy…” “Gramma, are we the Epitphany family?”
Life with a little boy makes us new. Led by his mother, Laura, we’ve learned to go around the dinner table, each sharing our day. Jackson is often in charge. Grandma, Jackson and I were having Rocky Road ice cream at our kitchen table recently, when the boy had to poop. He fetched his little porta-pot from around the corner, brought it to the table, sat it on the floor between us, pulled down his pants and, while pooping, looked up and said, “So how was your day?” Because this is January 6, we need to check in with each other. How is your day going? How was 2021 for you? As a nation we still struggle to tell the story of it and get it right. Because of what happened at the Capitol last Epiphany, we, all of us, have become the Epiphany Family. In Judeo-Christian tradition, Epiphany marks the event of Magi arriving at the Nativity, bearing gifts. Herod the Terrible had summoned the Magi and asked them to follow the star and report back. But they knew Herod would go to whatever lengths necessary to strangle the poor and preserve his violent reign (even genocide). So the wise ones, witnessing the conspiracy in their dreams, decided to go home a different way. At the beginning of another liturgical year, we hope and pray our nation will heed the warnings of the nightmare of 1-6-2021 and find alternatives to the paths of suppression, hate and ecological ruin we now seem to travel. Several years ago, at Epiphany, I composed Song for the Wise Ones, to mark the season and bring some hope as we face the next chapter of our human journey together. Click below to listen.
There are all kinds of ways to mark the season. The first snows blanket Central Oregon with a quiet purity. Hoards of Cedar Waxwings have arrived, summoned by Solstice and longer days. The Junipers tinkle with bright whistles as they munch blue berries. At years end a jury brought just convictions in Georgia. Lynching isn’t due the homage of American patriots. As the aroma of fresh baked Christmas muffins fades from our kitchen, more of Tr__p’s minions are called to witness the lies and racism of the former Emperor and we await new roadmaps to goodness and justice. As we put away our nativities 800,000+ Covid deaths grieve us as Omicron lurches forth. Over on Albany Street, the roar of an approaching garbage truck falls on the ear of Jackson Hartzell Pitney (JHP worships garbage trucks)! The 3-year-old sprints out the door to the curb to pay homage, in only a pajama-top and purple boots! We do worry about circumcision by frost bite, but somebody has to do it, right? So much is going down. Jackson is at our place today because a Waldorf preschool classmate tested positive. But hey! We needed more time anyway to complete the business plan for the new brand, Naked Refuse LLC.
Just before Thanksgiving we broke ground for our next Net Zero home. Last year, we were sure we’d move in before Christmas 2021! No surprise. Daughters Erin and Amy helped us pick out colors for walls and roof long ago. What you hear of skyrocketing costs and supply chain shenanigans is true. The plumber was to complete work before Christmas so we could pour a slab before winter. Then he got Covid and the snows came! Bottom line: Our net zero home in McMinnville was to be our “forever house.” We never planned to move. Then a woman we know was great with child in Bend. To share neighborhood with at least 1 of our children, we sold the McMinnville Net Zero for way too much and we’re building this one for way too much. Real estate is not real. Privilege is. But just so you know: Our journey from there to here was nothing like Mary and Joseph’s…taxation doesn’t keep us in poverty and we don’t require a frigin’ room at the inn, OK? But we are forever searching for new paths and new ways to use our gold, frankincense and myrrh to pay homage to what we can’t own. You have to be privileged to build Godly homes here. We must change that. Our house will be a ginormous 1,045 sq. ft. We splurged and added 30 sq. ft. Pretty much identical to the Mac home: 11 inch walls, making enough solar energy to power our home and the E-car. Most of the time, we’ll be sharing surplus electrons with all of you, while irrigating fruit trees and berries with grey water from laundry and showers.
We invited our builders, realtor, family and local minister to lead a blessing with Juan, the excavator driver joining in. We shared our hopes and gratitude for the Paiute, their forebears and 1,000’s of years of wise stewardship. We raised glasses of sparkling cider. Then, Jackson, the original boy of all-things-excavator, got to drive the machine with Juan. Juan put Jackson’s young hands on the controls as they uprooted the Juniper tree, to clear the way for progress. Jackson got to print his little paws in the cement of footings and we poured stem walls before COVID shut us down. Looking back, that was one of the weeks of COP26, the most recent world climate gathering in Glasgow to determine who will have a future. It’s soooo tough. We can’t pass Build Back Better and the Biden crew has already opened more land for gas and oil drilling than Tr—-p did in his first year. Comprehensive federal legislation is dead in the water. More civil disobedience will be the Magi way in 2022—the only way to keep it in the ground. Whose hands are on the controls?
Beside encounters with Jackson, much of what I learned in 2021 was on Zoom. On Zoom I’m working with others to put solar on 100 churches and a major community solar array on the Warm Springs Reservation to power 200 tribal homes. On zoom we learned we could open a money market account in Hope Credit Union and it will help families of color in Mississippi & Alabama buy homes for the first time. Last week on zoom I got to talk with a man from Kenya who’s planting avocado trees to mitigate climate chaos. He wants to know more about solar. Last Spring I was on Zoom, preparing to testify before the Ways and Means committee of the Oregon State Senate. I was stoked to plead for more spending on solar for people of color. I was so pumped, that, when they called my name, I launched forcefully into my speech. Then came the dreaded message of Zoom: “Mr. Pitney, you are muted.” What I know from 2021 is that, if silence has been our chosen way, then the call of Epiphany is to un-mute!
I close with a word of hope. Just before Christmas, the State of Oregon passed the Climate Protection Plan, pieces of which we’ve been fighting for at the legislature for 8 years! It requires major polluters to reduce GHG emissions 50% by 2035 and 90% by 2050 transitioning to world where all of life might be more welcome. Monday-Thursday at lunch time, we pick up Jackson from preschool. Once a week, it has become our tradition to visit a local plot of food trucks in downtown Bend called The Lot, where Gramma and Jackson share a burger and he shares a load of fries with me. The other day, as we were leaving the Lot, with burgers and fries in our tummies and ketchup on our breath, I bid farewell to the food trucks, saying aloud, “Have a good day, trucks. Be respectful!” A young voice from the back seat continued, “Be good. Be loving. Be kind. Be gentle!” The little guy seems to get it. We must change direction. Have a good Epiphany season and, whatever else you choose to do in 2022, don’t forget to un-mute!
Recent Comments