Epiphanies Running Wild

"There is a piano at the top of the Alps." - Zhigniew Herbert It is hard to miss the Missionaries of Charity house on the streets of Phonm Penh, especially if you are on your way to eat, to find a market or a museum. But the blue and white metal doors are there, as well as a sign announcing the presence of an orphanage of the order that Mother Teresa discovered, that Love founded. I have to be in Cambodia to await a Thai visa. I decided to see if I could volunteer at the Missionaries of Charity, and knocked on the door during the afternoon hours for visiting. No one came out to open the door, but on the second floor, a row of toddlers appeared, waving and shouting. Then, a young woman exited the door. She did not speak English but conveyed that she was leaving and motioned that I could go inside. Maybe it was due to a late Saturday, a window when the Sisters were out, staff was off, and only one other volunteer was there; but no one was there to give me a "volunteer form", give me an interview, check my qualifications or even a background check. Instead, at the top of the stairs on this Epiphany Day, there is, like in the Kingdom of God, a two-year old Volunteer Director, who somehow knows how to unlatch the iron gate protecting the children from falling, and takes my hand, leads me to a desk, and points to a jar of water and cup, requesting a drink. The room is filled with about 20 children. They are running, they are crying, they are laughing, they are running into each other, falling down, pooping, jumping, sniffling, screaming, grabbing my hands for attention, the girl with no hands throwing clothes at me and laughing when they hit me in the face, the 3 year old who stole my glasses and threatened to throw them off the balcony into Phnom Penh traffic. For an hour, I stayed at the orphanage, sitting on the floor, speaking in English, trying to remember songs to sings, any kind of game. But the children, mostly toddlers, didn't need that. They simply wanted attention and wanted to give that attention back. It was loud, it was noisy, it was bizzare, it was frightening, and it was hard to leave. Christmas marks the time that Christ is born, that God announces, in a baby, that God and human beings are forever united. The manger seen is one of joy, peace, and a quiet sense of the gift of hope that has begun a story that will never end. And then comes January 6th, Epiphany. Epiphany marks the day that Christ was christened, given a name. And, maybe too, Epiphany marks the time when Christ, in his humanity of a baby with a few days here on earth, marked his presence with a sniffle, a cry, a first word, or later, an attempt to stand up for the first time, and a falling down. All an announcement that Christ is fully with us, fully being a gift to two human parents in Joseph and Mary, who wake up at night to feed the baby, make sure he has had all his shots, protect him from the Herods whose power and evil seeks to destroy what is most innocent and vulnerable. And here in Cambodia, Epiphany happens again. It's at the top of the stairs. Calling, crying, sniffling kind of love that wants to hold hands with our vulnerability, asks us for a drink, to be held, for a biscuit. Hope ain't leaving.