January 4, 2008, Feast of the Epiphany

As we worship this morning, the Epiphany is 2000 years in the past, as are all the feasts of Our Lord that we celebrate. In celebrating them, we are remembering. And from a 2000 year perspective, since none of us experienced them when they took place, we not only remember what we've been told by the Tradition, we also imagine and create these experiences anew in our minds, placing ourselves as silent witnesses watching the drama unfold.

 

We envision three Magi (none of us sure exactly what a Magus was) heading toward Bethlehem. We imagine them walking or riding camels, we imagine them traveling at night (how else to follow a star?), we imagine them bearing coffers, rich with ornamentation. They whisper to us of a romantic dimension to life's meaning. They peer into the darkness and see a guiding, ever-moving light where others see only eternal, unchanging constellations. They are from the mysterious East, moving Westward, representing for us the union of "deeper hidden meaing," (what we deem to be the gift of the "East") with our (what we deem to be prosaic and menial) daily routines, which characterizes life in the West. We imagine them crossing desert sands in the moonlight–sands, forever changing shape, shifting with the breezes and winds of time, where nothing is ever as it seems to be. We imagine them, largely, as silent, making a silent journey, a journey as silent as the footfall of a camel on the Arabian desert. We imagine the foresight that went into selecting the prescient gifts of gold (for a king,) frankincense (for a priest,) and myrrh (for a sacrificial death and burial)–the entire life of the One they were visiting summed up in the gifts they brought Him.

 

And as we create our "memories" in our mind's eye, we can almost see ourselves, too, walking with them. We sense the deep darkness of our own time and place; we long for a light of hope, and we pray with all that is within us that the Light that they saw will be really be there for us, too. We are grateful for the silence, not having to engage in any sort of exchange, for after all, what would one say to a "Magus?" And, we wonder what, if anything, of importance we have to say to anyone. And, thus, we are led, silently, deep within, in search of a Truth that surely we possess–something to say, something to express ourselves as perfectly as the gifts they gave expressed them. At which point we realize, that their gifts did not express "them," they expressed the One to Whom they were making the offering. And this reminds us that the Gift we give to God need not express us, at all. The True Gift will be the one we give that fully expresses Him.

 

And where does that leave us? It leaves us exactly where we need to be: at the altar of the Mass of the Epiphany! For it is there, at the altar that we give the Gift that fully expresses Him. We take the bread made Him, and the wine made Him, and we offer Him to the Father. We do what He eternally does. Eternally Christ offers Himself to the Father. The Mass is a partaking in that eternal sacrifice. That is our Gift, and the only gift we have that's fit to give! And as we unite ourselves to that Gift, offering our hearts and our lives along with His, we become more wholly and more deeply a part of the Church–the Body of Christ, that He, our Head, offers to the Father as His Sacrifice. And we, too, are taken up, and made a holy oblation with Him, for we are part of Him. The Eastern liturgy has the priest say, as he lifts the Host at Holy Communion: "Holy Things for Holy People." St. Augustine (I think) admonished his congregation to "receive what you are; become what you receive."

 

 

So, the Epiphany–the word means "Revelation," "Divine Apparition"–has brought us from ancient Bethlehem to Los Angeles, California. Here on the front pew, the back pew, the choir loft, and all sites in-between, we are all being caught up into The Gift of Christ to the Father. We are the gold, the frankincense and the myrrh–the royal family, the priestly people, the ones called to deeper sacrifice for others. We are the Christ, made into Him as we offer Him to the Father and receive Him into ourselves in Holy Communion, and are transformed, ever more closely, into the Body of the Christ.

 

I remember one of my dogma teachers explaining to us why no "graven image" can ever be called God and worshiped–which is not to say we can't have religious art–don't forget that the One who made the commandment about "graven images," also legislated that "cherubim" adorn the ark of the covenant! If God can distinguish between idolatry and religious art, so can we. But no "image" can ever be considered to be God, or worshiped. Why? Our professor said, "Gentlemen, read Genesis 1: 26! There already is an "image of God," and the only valid one in existence–and that is US–Humanity, created "in the image and likeness of God." So, when we trash each other–for whatever motive, even motives we consider "holy"–we trash Him. And when we honor each other, we honor Him. Epiphany reminds us that we are each God's Gift to the earth for our time and place, and the finest Gift we can offer in return is to live our lives as members of His Body, offering ourselves with Christ in the Eucharist, so that our lives can become benedictions of light in the world's darkness, and our presence a guiding voice in the silence of humanity's deserts.

 

This coming year is an open book. Economists (modern soothsayers who try to peer into the future) predict dire circumstances. Politicians warn us of rising tensions, national and international. Moralists tell us that we are selling our souls to profit, and profiting on hate. But none of them knows YOU, or ME. And we have the opportunity to change–not all the world–but OURSELVES. And if we truly change ourselves, then others will change, too. For goodness is just as "catching" as shallowness, maybe more so. When people see other people living with depth and courage and character, they want to be like them.

 

So, let's set our sights long, and aim high, shall we? Let us resolve to treasure each other, even in dire disagreement, and let us resolve to bring "positive conversation" to our political world and our Church community. Let's resolve to be kind. Let's resolve to be profoundly charitable in times when many of us may be stretched, and find ourselves tempted to be stricter, if not stingy. Let us try to lift ourselves and others a little higher with our thoughts, our words and our actions. And let us always strive to be conduits of the Light of that Ancient Star which still guides the wise through life's night time, on a sure course over the ever-shifting sands of time. And may God bless you all.

 

-Father Bill Axe, O.SS.T.