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 it still speaks to me.
Maybe it will to you:
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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