A homily for The Epiphany of the Lord, Jan. 3, 2021
Is 60:1-6, Eph 3:2-3a, 5-6, Mt 2:1-12
Think back to the first time you met Jesus. Do you remember? Was the experience what you expected?
Now, recall the first time you really met Jesus. Was the experience a lot different?
As a cradle Catholic with a dozen years of schooling by Sisters of Saint Francis of Glen Riddle and Brothers of the Christian Schools of the New York Province, I was immersed in Jesus-ness from the time I first clipped on a little maroon tie. Jesus and Church were inseparable, indistinguishable, one and the same. Ditto Jesus and School.
In church and at school, symbols of the Lord were everywhere, and we said little prayers continually. We sorta kinda felt Christ’s presence, but I can’t say how truly spiritual or personal it actually was.
At home, Jesus was the little six-inch doll on the cross that had the secret compartment with the candles and the bottle that said “Holy Water” but always was bone-dry. He never looked happy or comfortable up there, hanging on the wall in my parents’ bedroom, not the way he smiled in the oval painting in my grandparents’ house.
And even in that portrait, with his trimmed beard and flowing brown hair, he seemed so far away, so distant, so disconnected from us. Yes, he’s in Heaven, and we’re down here, and Sister St. Pius says he always hears us when we pray, but how can he? He’s so far away. And he’s kind of like a statue.
In second grade we learned that Jesus comes to us in a special, physical way through the Eucharist, but I remember being more concerned about how far out I had to stick my tongue and how much of a Pez dispenser I had to make my jaws to get the mechanics of receiving Holy Communion correct. Yes, I had met Jesus, but not really met him as yet.
In third or fourth grade, we had to write and illustrate our thoughts on what we would do for Jesus if we could go back in time to Good Friday in Jerusalem and meet the Prince of Peace on the path to Golgotha. I somehow must have realized that Jesus had a destiny and a mission to fulfill, because I imagined driving my pickup truck alongside Jesus and telling him to hop in after he tossed his cross into the back. Yes, I would have chauffeured the Lamb to his slaughter. And in my imagined scenario, Jesus thanked me.
That was my first epiphany, despite the years of manger scenes and gold, frankincense and myrrh up to that point.
At that point, Jesus started to become really, really real. He had a connection to me. He was up in Heaven but he also was riding shotgun in my life. His sacrifice challenged me. His gift awed me. His gift upon gift upon gift flabbergasted me, and reminded me that I often come up short in the gratitude department.
From then on, the Eucharist and the other sacraments, and the Scriptures and other texts enriched this relationship and fed my spiritual growth.
You probably have a similar turning point in your relationship with Jesus, the point at which your relationship started to mature from a rote recitation of things we know to be true to a faith in those truths built on ponderings and prayer.
And it’s also probably accurate to say that all of our relationships with Jesus have continued to mature as we continue to learn what he wants from us, what he needs from us.
Because what he wants and needs from us is for us to have epiphanies every day.
Jesus wants us to see him in the sky and in the clouds, and hear him in the whisper of a breeze or the roar of a crashing ocean wave. Jesus wants us to experience him in all of Creation, and he then needs us to care for him by caring for Creation.
Jesus wants us to see him as the cuddly, sweet, innocent baby in the manger, and then see him as the woman with flea bites and matted hair whose appearance scares us at first but then spurs us to find out how we can help.
Jesus wants us to look for him, not merely stumble upon him. The magi weren’t the only people who had a star to follow.
