The occasional, often ill-considered thoughts of a Roman Catholic permanent deacon who is ever grateful to God for his existence. Despite the strangeness we encounter in this life, all the suffering we witness and endure, being is good, so good I am sometimes unable to contain my joy. Deo gratias!


Although I am an ordained deacon of the Catholic Church, the opinions expressed in this blog are my personal opinions. In offering these personal opinions I am not acting as a representative of the Church or any Church organization.

Wednesday, January 8, 2020

Homily: The Epiphany (5 Jan 2020)

I have embedded a video of this homily below. The text of the homily follows the video.


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Readings: Is 60:1-6; Ps 72; Eph 3:2-3a, 5-6; Mt 2:1-12

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As a child I was fascinated by the Magi. Who were these wise men, or these three kings as we often called them? To me they were romantic, mysterious figures -- dressed in their finery, perched high on their camels, and bearing those intriguing gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. I knew what gold was, and I assumed frankincense was like the incense we used at High Mass. But myrrh? It was and remains an unknown. I don’t think they sell it at Publix.

It wasn't until I was in eighth grade, when Sister Francis Jane had us read T. S. Eliot's poem, "Journey of the Magi," that I came to a clearer understanding of these three men and their mission. Eliot’s opening lines dispelled my earlier romantic notions of the Magi’s journey from their distant homelands to greet this unknown King.
A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a Journey, and such a long journey;
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
Why did they do it? And why did they alone recognize the signs that compelled them to make this first Christian pilgrimage? 

Again, who were these three men? One thing we know for certain: they were Gentiles, not Jews. Were they kings? Probably not. Were they astrologers? Also, probably not, at least not in today's superstitious sense. More likely, the Magi were sages of their people, men committed to the propagation of wisdom, committed to finding the truth. And it’s this search for truth that brought them to a stable in a cave in the little village of Bethlehem.

The Hebrew Scriptures, what we call the Old Testament, were not unknown among the people of the ancient Middle East. As true wise men, they might well have been familiar with these Scriptures, perhaps even with Micah's prophecy of Bethlehem as the birthplace of a great King from the House of David. Had they also read Isaiah?

“Nations shall walk by your light, and kings by your shining radiance… the wealth of nations shall be brought to you…bearing gold and frankincense, and proclaiming the praises of the Lord” [Is 60:3,5-6].

Perhaps they had, and armed with God's Word, they went to meet the Word of God Himself. Spurred on by a heavenly sign, they encountered the One Who will proclaim the Kingdom of Heaven. Led by the Holy Spirit, they found Him to Whom the Spirit always leads.

These wise men came to Bethlehem in search of the truth, but at the end of their journey, they had a revelation. They discovered that the Truth is not a something, but a Someone.

"I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life" [Jn 14:6], Jesus tells us. When we follow His Way, we are led to Him, the Truth; and the reward is eternal Life. 

But along that Way we encounter the Cross. The Magi brought gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh – symbols of royalty, priesthood, and suffering. Yes, the Cross is there, even in the stable at Bethlehem.

In their encounter with this Truth, the Magi learn that Jesus is not just another earthly king. He instead wants to become King of their hearts – and enthroning Him in their hearts requires a conversion – a change in the very core of their being. Later in his poem Eliot describes this shock of recognition: 

…were we led all that way for Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
They realized they must die to their earlier lives, lives that don’t include Jesus…for this Jesus is not a king for the Jews alone, but as St. Paul tells us in today's second reading:
"…it has now been revealed…that the Gentiles are coheirs, members of the same body, and copartners in the promise in Christ Jesus through the Gospel" [Ep 3:5-6].
The Magi sensed this promise – a promise that brings life, yet demands we die to ourselves and to the world. The Magi discovered they had to face something called death at the very moment in which they witnessed a birth. But in doing so, they were among the first proclaimers of the Good News. Today, here in this church, on this altar, we do the same.

From this manifestation of Jesus to the Magi, to the world, we’re led to the celebration of the Eucharist, the living memorial of the sacrifice, the Death and Resurrection, of our Savior. We make a leap in time from the simple, precious days of Jesus' birth to that awesome moment when He offers Himself on the Cross for the salvation of the world.

"…and the Word became flesh" [Jn 1:14], John reminds us. Jesus became man, and this meant He would die. Our re-birth through Baptism requires that we must die with Him by our sharing of the Eucharist, in which Christ is truly present once again on the Cross at Calvary. This is why Jesus was born. He came into the world to witness to the truth that God the Father wants each of us to be saved through the willing sacrifice of His Son, a sacrifice in which we are privileged to share at every Mass. 

In his Gospel, St. Matthew doesn't tell us what happened to the Magi afterwards, but as we read the final words of Eliot's poem, we're allowed to speculate on the outcome:
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
And so, we’re left with a choice. We can be like the pagans and continue to clutch the little gods we create for ourselves. Or we can be like Herod, reject God’s presence, and fight a losing battle that leads to death, not life. Or perhaps, like the Magi, we can accept the universal call of Christ. We can turn to the Truth and carry His message of salvation to the world.

This, brothers and sisters, is what Epiphany is: a manifestation, a showing. And as Catholic Christians, we are called to manifest Christ's presence in the world by our faith and how we live our lives. We’re called to evangelize, to epiphanize…I’m not sure if that’s a real word, but it should be.

Like Matthew’s world of the Gentiles, our world, too, is "in darkness…a land overshadowed by death” [Mt. 4:16]. Only Christ’s Presence can bring God’s saving light into this world, and that’s where you and I come in. We must, then, be the God-bearers, those who, like Jesus, must act always in love, carrying Him and His healing Presence to those who know Him not.

Let that be our prayer today: that God will lead us, as He led the Magi, to those who need His glorious Presence in their darkened lives. 

Listen now to the words of today’s Solemn Blessing which Father will extend to you all at the end of Mass:

"…since in all confidence you follow Christ, who today appeared in the world as a light shining in darkness, may God make you, too, a light for your brothers and sisters.”


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