Homily for Sunday, 5 January 2020– The Epiphany of the Lord

Readings of the day: Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72:1-2, 7-8, 10-11, 12-13; Ephesians 3:2-3a, 5-6; Matthew 2:1-12

This homily was given at St. James and Our Lady of the Valley Churches, Vernon, BC, Canada.

This solemnity of the Epiphany of the Lord, that is, the “making known” of Jesus to the world brings us each year the Gospel account, unique to Matthew’s Gospel, of the visit to Jesus’ birthplace in Bethlehem of the wise men or magi. The story of the magi is familiar to us: Guided by a star, the magi journey from their home country to the east of Israel to Bethlehem. They bring gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

But what does this visit of the wise men to the scene of Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem mean for us today? I am especially drawn to a homily by Pope Francis of a couple of years ago in which the pope points to three key actions of the magi that make these wise men from the East relatable to us; an example to us in our lives of faith in a special way. First, the wise men follow a star to the Nativity scene in Bethlehem; second, they set out from their home country; and, third, they bring gifts.

When the magi arrive in Jerusalem, they know already that a life-changing event, the birth of a child, has taken place. The magi ask: “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we have observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” Is this not already a bit unusual that the magi would ask about a child “born king of the Jews” in the first place? For the most part, scholars consider Matthew’s description of the wise men as “from the East” to mean that they were neither Jewish nor Roman, but possibly Zoroastrians, a people who considered changes in the movements of the stars as signs of the divine.

The spirituality; the religion of these wise men centered on looking toward the heavens. But another strange detail, at least according to astronomers who study what the sky might have looked like at specific points in history, is that the star the wise men saw around the time of Jesus’ birth probably was not too bright a star, nothing far out of the ordinary. The magi may have had to have quite the discerning eye to detect as subtle a change in the night sky, this “star at its rising” that would guide them to Bethlehem, a village as near-ordinary as the star they saw; Bethlehem, the ordinary village God chose in which to enter our world as one like us.

The magi saw and followed this star. Yet how many of us have ever done exactly what these “wise men from the East” did; how many of us have ever simply looked up at the sky? During the day, our sun gives us just enough light and warmth to provide life on this planet. But even the sun is fairly ordinary insofar as stars go. As one who is not specialized in what to look for when I look at the night sky—I may be able to find a few major constellations—I doubt I would have the discerning eye that the wise men of Jesus’ time must have had. Sure, from my Boy Scout days I would be able to find Polaris, the North Star at the end of the Little Dipper, Ursa Minor, to point myself straight north. Lately the planet Venus has been near the brightest it ever appears to us, so it is especially easy to spot. We speak of full moons, blue moons, blood moons, and hunter’s moons, meteor showers at their most intense in August and November... If I am especially fascinated or looking for a specific star in the sky, I have an application on my phone called SkyTracker Lite.

But, in the days of the magi, there was no app for that. The wise men simply looked up. When have we looked up and, even if we have had no idea what to look for that might be out of the ordinary, simply been in awe? Have any of us ever peered into those almost fourteen billion light years of space and simply thought, “Wow! What kind of being—whom we call God—could create such magnificence”?

We, like the magi of Jesus’ time, look up and, if looking up gives us a sense of awe, then this awe sets us on a journey. Have we ever looked up and been in awe at the expanse of the universe and then, with eyes of faith, deepened our wonder at how the creator of all that expanse could, or would want to, be born into our world as one like us, and would want to show himself first to “wise men from the East” who simply began by following a star; by doing what they were used to doing, looking up to the heavens for signs of the divine; being in awe even at a subtle change in that sky?

From that first feeling of awe at looking up and seeing a star, the wise men set out from their home country. Why? Were these wise men not  perhaps wealthy, or at least comfortable with their way of life in their own country? What would cause them to set out for a land unknown to them? How were they able to encounter Herod in Jerusalem and then, on their return home, to heed the warning “in a dream not to return to Herod”? For Herod, in our Gospel, represents the exact opposite of the wise men. Herod greets the news of this child born in Bethlehem with fear that leads him to act with great evil. Herod, wealthy and comfortable, was unwilling to set out from his comfort zone, whereas the wise men were. And the wise men, upon arriving at the place of the Lord’s birth, “were overwhelmed with joy” at what must still have been to them a challenge to their comfort; to their old way of life.

Still, for the wise men to go beyond their comfort was their only way to utmost joy. The magi show us that the measure by which we are willing to set out from our comfort, from “this is the way we have always done it,” from our wealth if we have it, is the measure by which we will experience joy. It is the measure by which, in place of worldly comfort, wealth, and the way of life we know, our God is born among and within us. Our God lives among and within us in a way that, as I imagine it was for the wise men and certainly for the likes of Herod, was unnerving. But there can be no greater joy for us than this: God taking our human form and dwelling among us; God, beginning as a baby in Bethlehem, breaking down our comfort zones to take the place of greatest importance in our hearts, minds, and actions.

Yet if we are able to get so far as to look up and allow ourselves to be overtaken by awe, and then to let that awe impel us to set forth beyond our comfort, our wealth, our best-laid plans, or our existing way of life, still then, like the wise men, we are called to bring gifts.

The magi of Matthew’s Gospel brought three gifts to the newborn Jesus: Gold fit for a king; frankincense fit for God; and myrrh for the one who would die and rise to save us. What gifts will we bring to honour our king; to honour our Lord and God; to honour the one who has died and risen and will return at the end of time to save us; to bring us eternal life?

Might we begin by offering the gift of our worship, our presence in celebration here and now? We worship and we celebrate as the gifts God has already offered us, gifts of simple bread and wine, are changed and change us into the gift of Christ to our world. This urges us, then, to go forth from this celebration bearing intentional gifts of love and kindness especially toward the most abandoned, the most disadvantaged and vulnerable of our brothers and sisters: People not yet born; people of an advanced age; people who have few or no loved ones to care for them; people who are sick in mind, body, or spirit; people who are dying; people who flee violence, poverty, and persecution in their homelands for the safety of our country, and so on.

The gifts of love and kindness we bear especially to people who cannot repay us show to the world that we are, like the “wise men from the East” of Jesus’ time, a people who looks up and out at God’s world, God’s universe, with awe; that this awe impels us to set forth from our comfort, our best-laid plans, our wealth, into the unknown and the challenging.

We bring gifts freely because we have been given a gift, God’s own Son. This gift we have received and hand on, freely and without charge, is the gift that alone will overwhelm our world with joy because ours is the gift—the Epiphany, the “making known” of God’s dwelling among and within us—that we celebrate here and that will lead us to eternal life.

Homily for Sunday, 1 September 2019

Readings of the day: Sirach 3:17-18; Psalm 68:4-5, 6-7, 10-11; Hebrews 12:18-19, 22-24a; Luke 14:1, 7-14

22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time

This homily was given at Our Lady of Sorrows Parish, Vancouver, BC, Canada.

What is humility? Is it possible to be confident yet still humble? In 1980, Mac Davis began his song with the sassy lyrics, “O Lord, it’s hard to be humble.” But none of us (including, I dare say, Mac Davis, despite the second tongue-in-cheek line of his song) have the luxury of being “perfect in every way.” So what exactly is humility?

Our readings today from the Book of Sirach and Luke’s Gospel prize the virtue of humility. What other virtues go together with humility, or could help us to understand what humility is and to practice it? Sirach plays on the apparent paradox between humility and greatness; being “lofty and renowned” yet humble. Even the Lord himself, Sirach says, is mighty, “but by the humble he is glorified.”

Do we often think of God as humble, or glorified especially when we are humble? Sirach goes on to connect humility with intelligence, attentiveness, and wisdom. How are humility, intelligence, attentiveness, and wisdom interconnected? Imagine this: Have we ever consulted an expert on something we knew little about? Have we ever taken time to ask an expert or a teacher questions, and then listen and dialogue for the sheer joy of broadening or deepening our knowledge? How many of us have listened to somebody in a difficult situation in life, or cared for somebody vulnerable or in need in any one of a variety of ways?

I have limited experience with monastic religious orders, but the sixth-century Rule of St. Benedict, on which the Rules of many religious orders, in and outside of monasteries, have been based, begins with a very important verb: “Listen.” St. Benedict considered attentive listening, inclination “of the heart,” to be critical to the community life among the monks under his guidance; their rhythm of work and prayer for which Benedictines are known. The abbot of the Benedictine Monastery of Christ in the Desert in New Mexico reflects on the reading we hear from Sirach today about how wisdom is connected to attentive listening. “Wisdom is not an intellectual activity,” the abbot says. “No, it is the gift of knowing how to live well in every situation while maintaining our deepest values.” And to discern what is most true, what is right, what “our deepest values” should be “in every situation”; to encounter God “in every situation” means to know “how to keep still and keep silence.” The abbot of the Monastery of Christ in the Desert suggests that, “as a practical spiritual exercise, today we might try to be still and silent and just listen to others and see what that listening does to us interiorly.”

How many of us have experienced that, the more attentively we listen or care for another person, interiorly we absorb the needs or concerns of the other person. Our needs, in the moment, often become secondary to those of the other person. It is in these situations when I have been the most at peace in ministry as a priest, when ministry is least about me and most about the other and about encountering God in the other person. These experiences of encounter with God in and through another person are made possible by attentive listening. These experiences also require humility: Ministry; listening attentively is not about me first but about another person, and ultimately about God first.

Humility, then, is the key to “our deepest values”; the key to relationship with our God who is mighty, “but by the humble he is glorified.” So humility has nothing to do with a lack of self-confidence or downplaying our natural talents. Our talents, after all, are from God. But, paradoxically, the more naturally talented or intelligent we are, the wiser we will be the more we can be still and listen, when caring for another person; when we are at prayer, especially for the needs of others. So wisdom, far from “an intellectual activity,” is a virtue, the twin virtue of humility, which is at its greatest when we listen for and attentively seek the Lord’s presence in others, because, again paradoxically, the mightier God is, the humbler God is. And the same is true of God as of us. For God, not God’s greatest might for might’s sake but our best interest, our salvation, is God’s greatest glory.

Jesus’ parable we hear today gives us another image of what humility is about. For Sirach, wisdom and humility are about the encounter with God through attentive listening and care for others. For Jesus, humility is to leave the position of greatest social status to another. The images of humility that Sirach and Jesus, through Luke’s Gospel, offer us today are complementary. Who among us has heard it said that human beings are both sacred and social? Sirach focuses more on the sacred dimension of human nature; Jesus in Luke’s Gospel today focuses more on our social dimension, but these two dimensions of our human nature go together.

Jesus was probably no stranger to being invited to dine with the social elites of his time. Today’s Gospel reading finds Jesus invited “to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the Sabbath.” Presuming that, at this meal with the leading Pharisee, Jesus was a respected guest (since our Gospel reading does not say otherwise), can we not easily imagine Jesus’ host offering Jesus himself the place of honour at table? How would Jesus act in this situation? Would he not have acted as he teaches in his parable, taking “the lowest place” and waiting for his host to invite him up to a place of higher status?

In any case. Jesus turns social convention on its head with his parable we hear today through Luke. Take “the lowest place” at table and wait to be invited “up higher,” Jesus says. “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or sisters or your relatives or rich neighbours,” but first “invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind,” those who cannot repay your act of kindness and humility.

In truth, this would neither be the first nor the last time Jesus would take the place of least status. The meal we hear about today would be the last time in Luke’s Gospel when Jesus would dine in a Pharisee’s home; the last time he would maybe have been offered the place of highest status at table. But Jesus was born into this world in the humblest place, a manger in Bethlehem. And he would again take the humblest, indeed the most humiliating place, on a cross, where he would die for us. This act of utmost humility is our only way to salvation. And, as a sign of this promise to us of salvation, the exalted place with God that awaits us to the extent we humble ourselves, Jesus would be raised from the dead, but he had to die on a cross first.

He had to, many times during his life, turn our social conventions of status and prestige on their head. “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.” It will forever be hard for us “to be humble”; humility is a difficult virtue to define, much less to practice. Yet Jesus proposes what the wisdom of people like Sirach did for centuries before him, and what holy people inspired by Jesus have proposed since: Humility, intentionally placing others and ultimately God first, especially those who are the most in need, the most vulnerable, or the least reputed socially; listening attentively to the needs of others, is key to living up to our God-given human nature, both sacred and social.

We have already been created in God’s image and likeness. There can be no place of greater status than this; no greater prestige our world can offer. The measure to which we are humble, inspiring others by our words and actions to know how much dignity they have before God as creatures in God’s image and likeness, is the measure to which we will be exalted. We will know everlasting communion with our God, who is mighty and glorious beyond our comprehension precisely because he is humble. Indeed, our God is the source of the humility by which we will be saved.