Epiphany: Embracing the Befana

In U.S. religious practice, Epiphany is at best a Sunday sermon on the Wise Men. It was on the Epiphany (twelve days after Christ’s birth) that the Wise Men finally arrived with their gifts at the manger. Most sermons explore what this meant for the dissemination of Christianity in the world: Melchiorre, Baldassaree, Gaspare were of different races, hailing from different countries—they were the first non-Jews to know of Christ and take news of his presence into the great beyond. Who were these Magi? Theologians inquire. Were they really astrologers? Was there really a star? Was it a comet? Was it the rare conjunction of Mercury and Venus which happens every 480 years to light up the sky and can indeed be traced to 6 B.C., perhaps the time of the birth of Christ? Certainly there is enough intrigue in the brief Biblical verses devoted to the Wise Men to keep protestant preachers sermonizing year after year, but they are a little wary of pushing the astrology theme or letting the Wise Men upstage the little Christ child, lying there so meekly. Epiphany—as revelation of Christ—is certainly important, but by the time January 6th rolls around who needs more parties, more gifts to buy, more Christmas. Our superstition has it that Christmas decorations must be down and ordinary life restored by New Year’s Day. Epiphany warrants only a nod.

In Italy, however, decorations and holy observances persist through January 6th and, traditionally, the feast of Epiphany was the season’s grand finale, the day when children were showered with gifts—and not by the jolly fat Babbo Natale, or Santa Clause (who is in fact a recent “laughing servant of consumerism” imported from the states) but by the broken shoed, raggedy old-lady, Befana, the precursor of all stocking-stuffers, a witch-fairy scoping the heavens on her broom.

Legend links the Befana to the Wise Men. There are two versions concerning how she met them: one is that she ran into them by chance as they were following the star to find the Christ Child; the other is that the Wise Men stopped by her hut (while she was sweeping, hence the broom) to ask for directions. In either scenario, she was asked by the Wise Men to accompany them, but refused, only to have second thoughts and take off after them. She never found them, nor the Christ child either. That's why, on the anniversary of the Wise Men's visit, she scours the heavens, giving away the gifts she would have given the baby Jesus to all the children in her path (save, it would seem, the American children who are already back in school and doing homework when she passes).

The Befana certainly pre-dates Santa Clause, and is considered one of the earliest “pedagogical figures,” rewarding good children with stockings full of sweets and toys, punishing disobedient children with lumps of coal and onions. Her actual origins are unknown though the name “Befana” comes from the Greek word for epiphany, “Beffania,” and she has certainly been a vivid presence at this most popular of Italian feasts since early in the 13th century. She also does double-duty in serving as a kind of female “father time”—the old year leaves with her as she scatters gifts in her wake.

I have also read that the Befana represents the passing of the pagan era into the Christian:
The pagan goddess has grown old, withered, is passing on…but leaving gifts behind for those of the new Christian faith. Another version of the “witch” harks back to certain rites by Celtics who peopled the Pianura Padana and parts of the Alps. They would fashion wicker puppets of her and set them on fire to celebrate not only the end of the year—but all ends and new beginnings.
I rather prefer the idea of keeping the goddess alive, even if she's a bit withered. She's mindful of new seasons of religious thought, yet waiting in the wings to surprise us with her presence and whimsical gifts.

Even though Italian children, like American, now expect toys from Babbo Natale on Christmas Eve, the Befana has not deserted them. In Spoleto, stores are teeming with burlap stocking-packages of various sizes and value, each stuffed with candies and trinkets, each adorned with some kind of witch doll—stuffed, plastic, ornamental—riding her broom. Twelfth night, the eve of Epiphany, is a wild bazaar of open markets, carnivals, and women dressed up as witches tossing candy into crowds. In Perugia, there’s a carousel and a ferris wheel. The Befana walks on stilts with a huge over-sized plastic head replete with tell-tale hooked nose, reaching into her enormous burlap bag to shower Corso Vanucci with candy. Children squeal when they see her, both delighted and afraid. They go to sleep praying she will not bring them coal (and yet she does—a popular candy of the season is blackened rock candy, looks just like coal). Christmas lights still twinkle from the strings suspended across the streets. While Christmas Eve was holy, truly a reverent vigil, the celebration of Epiphany is about magic, fun, goodies, gifts…and giddiness.