The Epiphany is many things: the star, the Magi, the journey, the Child,
the gifts. The star speaks of a God who calls but never coerces, who
guides, but ever so gently; the Magi speak of searching and seeking,
wondering and wandering; they speak, too, of outsiders becoming insiders
and of the surprising breadth of God’s embrace, the wideness of God’s
mercy. The journey they make speaks of faith and hope: the risk of faith
and the power of hope. The Child speaks of a God whose ways are not our
ways - for who would ever expect God to be a helpless child in the arms
of his mother?
And the gifts? I
used to think that the gifts the Magi offered the Christ child spoke
more about them than about him: that they were a statement about their
world, their values, maybe even their needs. For what possible
need could the child have had for such lavish and impractical gifts? But
the early Fathers of the Church found rich symbolism in those gifts.
They saw each of them as an epiphany that revealed something about the
child: the gold revealed his kingship, the frankincense, his priesthood,
the myrrh, the death he would one day die.
That’s another way of
saying that the Magi’s gifts speak of the gift this child is to the
world, the gift he is to each of us – this child who is a king like no
other: a priestly king, a servant king who came to give his life for the
world.
So, yes, the Epiphany is
the star, the Magi, the journey, the child, the gifts. And it is
even more: the Epiphany is also empty hands and full hearts. The
Magi, their hands full of precious things, followed the star. When
they found the child, they emptied their hands only to find their hearts
full, for the child gave these sophisticated seekers a gift that was
greater by far than the gifts they had brought: the child gave them new
horizons and new hope and in doing so, brought them to their knees.
And then there’s the
other lead character in the story: King Herod. He’s the perfect
counterpoint to the Magi. Herod could see in the child only one
thing: a threat to himself and to his world – a threat to all he held
dear: his wealth, his power, his rule. Unlike the Magi, Herod’s
hands and heart were far too closed to receive the gift that was the
child.
And what about us?
If we are to receive the gift of the child, we must open our hearts and
empty our hands as the Magi did: let go of the things we cling to, the
things we crave, the things we find it hard to part with – money or
material things that weigh us down, or less tangible things like our
selfishness, our harsh judgments, our prejudices, our over-reaching
ambitions, our aggressions, our refusals to forgive.
All of which reminds me
of a little reflection on the Epiphany that Archbishop Hunthausen sent
to his friends at Christmas many years ago. It spoke to me then and, a
few months after his death, it still speaks to me.
If, as with Herod,
we fill our lives with
things,
and again with things;
and if we consider ourselves so
important
that we fill every moment of our lives with action --
when will we have the time
to make the long slow journey
across
the burning desert as did the Magi?
Or sit and watch the stars as did
the shepherds?
Or ponder in our hearts the coming of the child as did
Mary?
For each of us there is a desert to travel,
a star to
discover,
and a being within ourselves
to bring to life.
My friends, Christmas
and Epiphany are Magi moments. We empty our hands, generously giving
gifts to family and friends. We do this because at the heart of
Christmas and Epiphany is the One who is himself pure gift, the One who
is the Father’s gift from all eternity, the One who comes to give that
gift to us, comes to give Himself to us.
To receive this Gift we
must empty our hands as the Magi emptied theirs. We must free ourselves
– let go of things that don’t really count, let go of everything that is
contrary to the Child and what he stands for. Only in this way
will we create in our hearts and in our lives a space empty enough and
big enough to receive the Gift beyond all other gifts.
That gift is ours for
the taking, my friends. It comes – He comes – to us in many ways
if only we have eyes to see. And, of course, he comes to us now.
In the Eucharist we celebrate and receive!
Father Michael G. Ryan
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