Richard Bollman, S.J.

EPIPHANY 2010

Scripture Comment: Isaiah 60:1-6; Ephesians 3:2-6; Matthew 2:1-12

This story of the Magi that we hear

is the only Christmas story in the Gospel of Matthew.

In his theological view of Jesus’ origins,

he emphasizes that the birth of Jesus occurs

according to the sacred traditions of Israel’s expectations:

he comes from a family in Bethlehem, the House of David.

And Matthew tells how the ruling power of Israel

resisted Jesus from the start.

So Matthew declares that the gentiles come first to do homage to the Christ,

and at the end of the Gospel Jesus gives the mission to the apostles

to go throughout the world and make disciples of all the nations:

which is to say, go out now and call the gentiles

to recognize the full story of Christ.

The first reading from Isaiah

provides a poetic vision of this great and universal attraction

of all nations toward the revelation of God through Israel.

And Paul’s letter to the Ephesians tells his audience

that as a matter of fact this vision is being accomplished already,

in the new world of faith that has emerged after Christ’s resurrection.

This is the Christmas story, then, on the second Sunday of the Season.

HOMILY. "An Epiphany Reflection"

These seekers, Magi we call them, they come from our part of the world,

our way of life, our land of the gentiles, the pagans.

Surely we take part with them, we know how they live.

They respect knowledge, live with access to nature and natural science.

They have an inclination to travel, the means to make their way.

They live with options, some freedom to look around and choose.

But they live where Christ is not fully known.

Notice that: whatever religion might offer them,

there is this missing encounter, Christ yet to be found.

Allow for this even in yourself: this is okay,

an element of belong to a secular world very fully and entirely.

So you are just on the brink of meeting Christ, only on the brink:

meeting Christ as if for the first time.

How do we encounter such a moment, venture closer, to where life changes?

It comes hidden in everyday life.

It might be a glimmer of what first feels like a new job,

but it’s more a different way of involvement,

where you feel called to create something or to teach or to rebuild.

Look back: you probably know such a moment.

We speak of it this way, following a star,

whether your see yourself as a public defense lawyer or a nurse

or a soccer coach in the league where your children play.

You may be stirred by the plight of some neighbors who are illegals,

that kind of story comes up and you can’t shake it.

I think of this as a shift in the horizon of who you are called to be.

Because when you get active, when you start doing something,

you see that the real issue is not so much the task

as the soul of yourself within it.

It’s a journey, there are steps along the way,

but within yourself there is this spirit of risk and wonder.

I just met a young man who came with his fiancee to prepare for marriage:

he’s settled in to Cincinnati as a pediatrician in residence.

What led to that, I wondered. I don’t know, he said,

except I just wanted to do this, work with children, from long back.

Neither parent are remotely connected to medicine or science,

but he is, and he is following the steps.

So you hear such a story and wonder: "is this the inner core of faith,

is this for him now a new knowledge of Christ,

something to notice not only about what you want to do

but who you are called to be?" And how do you trust it now!

The star. It rises up beyond religion, beyond the tasks.

The star might be a friendship, some person you start to love

and who loves you back, where you find a kind of peace in your heart,

and a settled feeling of your feet on the ground.

Mutuality. It’s so precious, in some ways so rare.

I’m a slow one on this topic, growing up as I did unmarried,

and I’ve had to learn step by step that friendships matter a great deal,

that they have a sacred revelation to make in my life,

something well beyond infatuation or falling in love, even,

but rather an opening to the simple goodness of human beings,

their uniqueness, the way some paths feel destined to meet.

This takes me to the hidden Christ in the world of human relationship.

This is the incarnation: more than a religious idea.

Seeing one’s friendships as sacred, as revelation,

it changes my perception of myself,

So you find light to follow. Like with the magi,life is now different.

And finally, sometimes the star shows up in the midst of a dark time,

there is suffering or loss, you just have to get used to is, painful as it is.

But also there comes very deep inside you

just the stirring of a hope for the light, something new, some life again.

Not the light itself, but a kind of hope for it.

You might take a long time to see that light clearly.

We have a tendency to look too hard for the Light of God

because we think if only we had it, we’d get our life back in order,

and then you find that our efforts to see and to change are not worth much.

I know my own efforts keep me in the dark.

The whole purpose of the light

is not to get you back to being in charge of things,

but the light comes as we notice the desire of God to solve things.

When you see that kind of light, how God is powerfully engaged

in all the darkness you encounter,

well that’s like arriving,

like finding the house where Jesus lives.

However we get there,

what we find is what St. Paul calls the "unsearchable riches," of Christ,

that child of light, the person of Jesus.

Always new, never fully grasped.

This child now born, this person revealed, that is the heart of what we seek.

In all the people and friendships and opportunities along the way,

we are meeting the holy and merciful God revealed in the human.

Unsearchable riches. Trusting even in the dark.

"This is who you are, (we might say), Christ of my heart.

You are the wisdom and vision, the direction and the love.

All along it is You. And it is for me."

To take it personally. This is the epiphany.

So we lay down our gifts, our very selves. We belong.