YOUR EPIPHANY BOUGH:
 where was its stem?
by Thomas Kuster  
 Every year, the church publicly celebrates the Epiphany to the Wise Men. But each of us can privately celebrate our own personal epiphany, as we thank God for the people who shared the gospel with us.
 The flashing red and blue lights startled me as the squad car pulled up just ahead of where I had parked on a busy Chicago street. The officer emerged and walked toward me. As I stood with camera in hand, I spoke first: "Am I illegally parked?" 
 She answered with a more basic question: "What are you doing in this part of town?"
 I explained that I was taking pictures of the school building across the street. In that civil but authoritative tone of a seasoned law officer, she told me: on this street, within two minutes, someone like me would be lying on the ground and my camera would be gone. "Go ahead and take your pictures," she said, "but I'm going to stay here until you're done." And there she stood, with her hand on her side arm.
 Embarrassed by my naiveté,I thanked her, snapped one more quick shot aimed at nothing in particular, hustled to my car, and drove off. What were we doing in that part of town? We were tracking my personal epiphany.
 
  Searching the past
Three others were with me: my father, A.V. Kuster; his wife, Veta; and my wife, Judy. Dad had been born in this part of Chicago 87 years ago, and hadn't been back to visit since he left to attend the seminary in the early '30s. Since then he had been a pastor for many years in Canada, Iowa, Indiana, and Wisconsin. We were on a three-day trip last August, to explore the places of his youth.
 Embarrassing brushes with the law aside, it was a marvelous trip. We got to see the locations where his great-grandparents and grandparents settled (no landmarks from that generation are left today). We saw the home where his family lived when he was brought home from the hospital, and another house in which he grew up, with his bedroom window overlooking the street where they played ball. We found the third home where the family moved to be nearer their church, and the church in which, after a confirmation class, his pastor had first suggested he become a pastor (he replied with a quick and emphatic "No!"). 
 We took pictures of the sidewalk in front of the pastor's house where later he had walked back and forth many times one evening trying to work out a way of asking the pastor what he should do to begin studying for the ministry. And we saw the spot on the pavement in front of my Dad's house where the pastor engaged Dad's father in a tense discussion, finally convincing him to give his blessing to these new vocational plans of his son, who was watching the entire exchange from the window. 
 It was a rich experience for us all. In particular, it bolstered my appreciation of the way God's grace found its way to me. It was an exploration of my own epiphany.
 
  Tracing our roots
The word "epiphany" refers to a revelation, a presentation of the divine to a new audience. The Church celebrates the Epiphany season in the weeks after Christmas, starting by remembering the star that revealed to the Wise Men that the Savior had been born. Their visit to the Christ Child established a strong Epiphany theme -- that this Child is the Savior not only of the Jews but also of Gentiles. 
 Another Bible text often heard at Epiphany is Jesus' parable of the mustard seed, where he compared his kingdom to this tiny seed, which becomes a huge tree. The growth and spread of that kingdom-tree throughout the ages is the story of a series of epiphanies. As God's Word and sacraments were presented to one new audience after another, the Holy Spirit worked an epiphany in one heart after another, and finally came to you and me. My father and mother brought God's Word to me -- who brought it to them?
 The Bible describes the earliest of these spreading boughs of epiphanies. Of others we read in history. The most recent branches we have to trace by ourselves, as we did in Chicago.
 In Acts we read of an early offshoot, when the apostle Paul was called to leave Asia Minor and preach in Troas. That was an important moment: it was the first stretch of the gospel from Asia to Europe. The mustard tree was growing.
 In AD 718 a young man named Boniface decided his calling was to leave his native England and preach the gospel in Germany. Through his work the Word spread into central Europe, where the Reformation would begin. The limbs of the mustard tree were spreading. 
 We in the Evangelical Lutheran Synod find another epiphany twig in Harold Bluetooth, the first Christian king in Denmark. His conversion opened the door to the gospel in Scandanavia. Through him a branch of the mustard tree spread to the north.
 In Chicago I learned a new appreciation for my Grandmother Kuster. She knew the difference between the teaching of the non-denominational church conveniently located a block from home and the Lutheran church over a mile away. Both pastors were recruiting my Dad. She knew the difference and guided him, despite the inconvenience, to the Lutheran church.
 The graves, too, provide testimony of that epiphany bough. Grandma Kuster was a Langosch. As I grew up, I knew only a few of them, all as old people. We found their graves in Chicago -- in a Lutheran cemetery. Grandma's mother (nee Taube) had all her children instructed and confirmed in the Lutheran church. That's why Grandma knew the difference. This mustard tree branch was very personal to me.
 
  Passing it on
In church again this year, we celebrate publicly together the Epiphany to the Wise Men. Other epiphany events, the more personal ones, we thank God for privately. Each generation provides an epiphany to the next, passing the news of how our Savior rescued us from sin and death, restored us to God, and assured us of a blessed life now and in eternity. It's a worthy act of praise to explore your own personal epiphany branch, and that of your family. Look back! Talk to those who remember. Who brought God's Word to you? And who brought it to them? And then look ahead. Who in the future will look back, and find you to be, by God's grace, the offshoot that grew into their epiphany bough? 
 Tom Kuster is a professor at Bethany Lutheran College (ELS), Mankato, Minnesota.
 Article reprinted from Forward/Northwestern Lutheran January 1999.