I see my reflection in the polished gold of my gift,
like a priest staring down into a chalice.
I shine from the side of the scrolled box,
and looking at myself is like looking at the sky,
at the part of me that lives above,
always close to the goodness of God,
always trying to choose, with me,
good thoughts, good words, good deeds.
I am, like all of us, a reflection,
a small encapsulation of my most full self,
sent here, like all of us, to journey, to love, to delight.
Above, I abide like a steward, keeping my eternal house.
Why bring a gift, why follow a star? What is it that I hope for?
To turn, always, away from hate,
from falsehood, deceit, chaos and decay.
I am not alone. My heavenly self walks through stars,
does what is good, thinks well, speaks a generous word.
We will come together at my death,
myself and my reflection in this gift.
We will be judged together on a bridge.
Let it be wide, and easy to cross.
Let my death be full of song.
I have brought my gift to a holy one.
I kneel with it. The echo of my face is lifted
into his holy mother’s arms.
She knows that I’ve sometimes been complicit
in the world’s harms. Still, like the maiden on the bridge,
she will lead me to the House of Song.
Illumination
It would happen to me every Sunday, if I looked. I would see my face reflected in the chalice as I hover over it, praying and memorializing the Last Supper. Myself, distorted in polished silver.
But would I see my whole self? I’ve been reading about Zoroastrianism, the religion of the Three Magi who follow the star to the manger in Bethlehem. Zoroastrians believe in “vertical dualism.” They believe that the cosmos is divided into two camps. The good camp, full of truth, order, kindness, and decency, is presided over by Ahura Mazda. The evil camp, full of falsehood, chaos, cruelty, and self-service, is presided over by Angra Mainyu. Human beings can choose which camp to belong to, and we do so by our daily actions, following Ahura Mazda by engaging in good thoughts, good words, and good deeds, or following Angra Mainyu by engaging in lies, slander, and cruel and self-serving acts. The great cosmic battle is fought every day through individual choices.
Zoroastrians conceive of the self as two separate but always connected entities, at least during our sojourn through this life. When we are born, we separate into the fravashi and the urvan. The fravashi remains in the heavens, while the urvan is sent into the mortal plane. Doug Metzger writes that this process is “like a space station dispatching a scouting craft to earth, reuniting with that craft some time later, and sharing information about what was discovered down on the planet.” This is not a punishment, or a fall. Creation is good and full of delights. The urvan get to sample these delights, and their sojourn here will be joyful as long as they remain aligned to Ahura Mazda and engage in good thoughts, good words, and good deeds.
The magi follow their star, and as they walk over the hills and through the valleys, as they cross the rivers and mountain ranges, they are engaging in good works. They are not spiritual wanderers looking for something to latch onto. They live and act within their own story world, and their actions reflect their beliefs, not ours. If the star is leading them to the baby Jesus, it is because they can understand his birth from within their own context.
For them, he is a saoshyant, a divine herald of the day of judgment. Born of virgin mothers, saoshyants appear at different moments of history and stand beside Ahura Mazda in the battle against Angra Mainyu. The great cosmic battle ends when the saoshyant sacrifices a bull, ending the last judgment and ushering in the time of peace and beauty that will follow. For the magi, Jesus ends judgment, ends the strife and terror of our moral struggles. He is one of many saoshyants, but that doesn’t diminish his holiness or make the journey to visit him less important.
I have found much solace in this religious understanding, and it does no harm to my own deep Christian belief. Life can be very hard. St. Paul wrote that when we try to do good, evil lies close at hand. Our good thoughts, good words, and good deeds often go unnoticed or unappreciated. Or they are manipulated, and used for evil ends. Or they seem small and unimportant when the world is writhing in pain. I must be reminded that the smallest act of kindness, the rising of compassion within my mind, even when I’m angry, the saying of a word of comfort at a bleak moment, has cosmic value, is its own small defeat of evil.
It gives me solace to think of the self as multiple and good. For awhile now I’ve followed Walter Brueggeman in thinking of the self as a covenant of many personas. We all have playful selves, wounded selves, competitive selves, creative selves, hopeful selves, lamenting selves. We are multifaceted. A covenanted self, to borrow Brueggeman’s phrase, is a balancing act between these many facets. We act differently in different situations. We allow different selves to lead in different contexts. I have a sexual self and a church self, a counseling self and partying self. I live by a covenant in which the sexual self does not show up at church, the partying self does not show up when I’m at a death bed. Every facet of my personality needs an outlet, needs a moment to be in charge. I tend to my soul by going to a party or being intimate with my spouse, and by praying and celebrating at the altar, walking hospital hallways and giving last rites. All of it matters. There is no essential self or “authentic” self. There is only covenant.
Yet there is also, often, a feeling of homesickness. As if there are facets of who I am that simply are not present in this world. The Zoroastrian categories of fravashi and urvan help me to make sense of that homesickness. My heart is restless until I rest in God. There is great solace in allowing the thought that part of me already is at rest within the presence of the divine.
At the end of life, Zoroastrians believe that the fravashi and the urvan are reunited at the foot of the Chinvat Bridge, the bridge that leads into the afterlife. They begin to cross the bridge. If they have cultivated good thoughts, good words, and good deeds, the bridge will be wide and they will be met by a beautiful maiden who will lead them into the House of Song, where divinity waits to embrace them. My poem ends with Mary taking the role of the maiden. The magi who narrates my poem knows that he has, sometimes, failed, despite his best efforts. Yet as his gift is lifted into Mary’s arms, he finds his reassurance. He sees his face reflected in the gold of his gift. His fravashi and urvan anticipate their reunion. Such solace is worthy of any voyage, no matter how arduous.
KPB Stevens 