In the Catholic Church, the season of Christmas extends through the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, which we will celebrate this coming Sunday. The Baptism, in turn, is connected with the Epiphany, which most Catholics celebrated last Sunday.
We might mistakenly think that Epiphany just happens to be the time to commemorate the long trek of the Magi to Bethlehem: a touch of exoticism, perhaps even multiculturalism. Certainly we have multiple reminders in this week’s liturgy that the Epiphany marks the revelation of the mystery of the inclusion of the Gentiles. But Church tradition sees in it something more profound, a truth indicated by the very name Epiphany, or “shining forth.”
Imagine that someone deposited a million dollars in your checking account. You would suddenly become a millionaire, but if this benefactor didn’t tell you he was doing this, you wouldn’t know. At some point or other, a lawyer or banker would share with you this good news. Suddenly, you would have the opportunity to live like a millionaire, which you couldn’t really do if you didn’t know you had the money.
At the Incarnation, the Divine Logos, by becoming man, by consenting to our mortal state, really and truly redeemed us. But we could not participate in this regeneration if Christ’s divine nature had not
been revealed to us. We could naturally believe that God is everywhere, we could trust God and hope in God, but in the Epiphany we have something greater than this: we see directly what God is doing, for He appears in our human form.
Much of what He does is what any person does: He’s born, learns to walk and talk under the guidance of His parents, learns a trade, makes friends, eats and sleeps, reads, works, recreates. But now we see God doing all these things, and in turn, all of these human activities become means of sanctification and union with God.
This shining forth extends into the liturgy. We can now observe all aspects of the liturgy and see God at work, using architecture, iconography, song, poetry, vesture, ritualized movements and gestures, bells, incense, wood, marble, silk, wax, oil, water, wine, and bread.
These have all been imbued with spiritual depth because of the Incarnation. But it is the mystery of the Epiphany that unlocks these depths, that invites us to use our senses to mount heavenward upon material scaffolding.
The third traditional mystery of the Epiphany is the changing of water in wine at Cana. Within the water all along was the potency to be wine, but until our Lord responded to Mary’s plea, we couldn’t see it. Now all of the formerly pallid and mundane circumstances of the world can suddenly leap to life, like an old black and white film colorized.
Anyone could have followed the star to Bethlehem. In other words, this appearance and shining forth was not yet like the Second Coming, like lightning flashing across the sky. It was possible to miss the signs.
The Magi, it is often said, were probably astronomers, those tasked with mapping the heavens and predicting the movements of the planets, sun, and moon, and of noting disturbances like comets. These signs were understood to be communications from the gods.
So the Magi were already watching, seeking a sign and communication. And when they received it, they responded by reverent worship and pilgrimage.
How much time do we spend watching for God and listening for His instructions? It is possible that my own distractions have caused me to miss the star, or perhaps my own attachments have kept me from setting off to see where it leads.
That you are reading this suggests you are trying to be attentive. May God send forth His light and truth into our hearts today, that our awareness of His love and salvation may change our lives.