The Epiphany of the
Lord
6 December 2013
Is 60:1-6
Ps 72:1-2, 7-8, 10-13
Eph 3:2-3a, 5-6
Mt 2:1-12
One of the challenges to getting through the Christmas
season is the amount of sickly sweet treacley imagery that clings to the
narrative of Jesus' birth. From cards
with images of a baby who appears to be the size of a six-month old to Mary
dressed in blue and white silk encrusted with pearls, or at least rhinestones,
despite the arduous journey and physical circumstances in which she gave birth,
to the Santa and elf cards that are beneath contempt, the images are oftentimes
painful to behold. Much too often we
hear of the "Magic of Christmas."
Or we hear "Christmas is for Children." And so it goes. Christmas is not a holy day exclusively for
children. Christmas is not magic. It is not a magic and light show. It is not a panacea for sorrow. Too
often the bereaved, the dying, and those who are struggling are told how they
must surrender to the magic of Christmas so that they'll feel better. Friends and neighbors insist that a large
dinner at someone's home will make all their cares go away, or, at the very
least, help begin the chimerical so-called "closure" to their
pain. Alas, Epiphany is not exempt from
the gooiness.
Epiphany derives
from the Greek: epi: forth and pheinein: to show. Thus Epiphany: to show forth. Among the standard dictionary definitions of
epiphany one finds, "a sudden manifestation of the essence or meaning of
something, a comprehension or perception of reality by means of a sudden
intuitive realization." That is a
good description of this feast as described by Matthew, the intuitive realization
of Jesus as Messiah; an intuition symbolized by the star. Now we come to the kings.
A few years ago on
this feast I witnessed a hideous addition to the Mass in a highly progressive
parish. At the offertory three
congregants dressed in maroon and gold robes that appeared to have come from a
high school graduation closet, processed up the aisle along with the bread and
wine, to the strains of "We Three Kings of Orient Are." The robed individuals each carried a large
box lifted high into the air as they goose-stepped up the aisle, one step per
two beats. I never realized how many
verses that song had. Or how long the
aisle was.
The word
"kings" does not appear in Matthew's Gospel. Rather those who bore the gifts are described
as magi. Some translations use wise men. But kings they weren't. The term kings came into use only around the
sixth century. Also note that Matthew
does not give a number; he simply used the plural. There could have been as few as two or many
more than three. Only tradition holds,
because the gifts were described as gold, frankincense, and myrrh, that there
were three magi. Ultimately however,
their kingly or non-kingly status and number is irrelevant and a
distraction.
The importance of
the magi in Matthew's Gospel is that they represent the first Gentiles to
worship Jesus. They were the first Gentiles
to recognize Jesus. The magi were the
first Gentiles to have the epiphany, the sudden realization of the reality that
Jesus was the one for whom the world, not only Israel, but the world, had
waited for so long. Their epiphany was
not exclusive. Later on, this time in
Luke's Gospel, we hear how Simeon and Anna had the epiphany of Jesus when he
was presented in the Temple. There are
many more epiphanies throughout the Gospels. There are many epiphanies scattered throughout
our lives, if we are willing to notice them.
The meaning of
Christmas is apparent in the Gospel. But
that meaning is not in the magi and the gifts.
Christmas is put into its proper context in the sentence,
"When King
Herod heard of this
he was greatly
troubled
and all Jerusalem
with him."
Herod's anxiety and
the duplicity underlying his conversation with the magi gets closer to the
reality of Christmas than do the lyrics of "O Little Town of Bethlehem." In Herod's evil desires we see the first
shadow of the cross.
"Go and search
diligently for the child.
When you have found
him,
bring me word, that
I too my go
and do him
homage."
This, from a crazed
and cruel megalomaniac.
The reading from
Isaiah assured Jerusalem that the glory of the Lord would shine upon her. We hear echoes of the covenant, of God's
promise to His people. In the context of
the prophecy from Isaiah, the reading from Ephesians is consoling because it
assures the Gentiles that they too were, and are, included in the promise. Thus, the importance of the magi. They are important as Gentiles who recognized
that Jesus came for them, as limned in the formula of consecration of the wine:
"This is the
chalice of my Blood,
the Blood of the
new and eternal covenant
which will be
poured out for you
and for many . .
."
Once we wash away
the treacle, once the sloppy sentimentality is set aside, once the word magic
is forever disassociated from Christmas, we can begin to apprehend the true
meaning of Christmas. We can begin to understand
the "Christmas story," a story that did not end when the magi
returned home, wherever that might have been.
One man who was
able to see the narrative of Jesus' birth with realistic and unclouded vision
was not a professional theologian. Rather
he was an economist and diplomat. His
name is familiar to anyone over the age of sixty. Dag Hammarskjold.
Hammarskjold was the second secretary general of the U.N. from 1953 until his
mysterious death in a 1961 plane crash in what was then Northern Rhodesia. He has only one book published under his name. That would have never gotten him tenure in
most universities.
What was published
in English as Markings, was a small,
irregularly kept journal found in his apartment after his death. He began it at age 20. He died at age 58. Entries are not dated. A number of the later entries are written as haiku, a Japanese form of poetry limited
to seventeen syllables. One of those haiku captures, in seventeen scant
syllables, the entire meaning of Christmas. It captures the true epiphany of Jesus, the
true apprehension of Jesus, the most basic understanding of what is called
"The Christ Event." It reads:
"On Christmas
Eve Good Friday
was foretold them
in a trumpet
fanfare."
We cannot separate
the wood of the manger, in which Jesus slept, from the wood of the cross, on
which he died.
Neither event was
magical.
I took the pic of the fountain in front of the Pierce Pavilion from my room window. That explains the subtle crosshatched pattern of screen.
The other pic from Campion is the holly in front of the mansion.
And now it is time to cross multiple time zones. The first photo is one of several I took while leaving dinner with the Jesuit Community at Fu Jen Catholic University just outside Taipei. It was one of those moments that reminded me why one should have a camera at all times. The dog never moved, opened its eyes or even sighed as I took a series of photos (with and without flash). One of my favorites.
The next two photos are from Wen Tien Taiwanese Buddhist Temple in New South Wales, Australia. The tertians stopped there on the way to Gerroa for the initial days of the tertianship. The photos of the frieze made me long for a lens that went to 200 mm rather than 150 (John The had one; talk about lens envy). The other is of a nun striking a gong with what looks like part of a telephone pole. It made an unmistakeable sound.
And finally. It is summer in Australia. The Aussies are suffering through quite a heat wave in parts of the country. Some areas of South Australia north of Port Lincoln (protected in part by its location on the water) are experiencing temps above 115. That is not a typo. The small wind chimes hung in the yard behind the tertian house in Pymble. Stay warm.
+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD
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