Epiphany refers to the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles represented by the magi. In the gospel we are presented with a contrast between three figures: Jesus, Herod the Great, and the magi who journey into the night in search of not merely a sign from God, but rather the Christ Child himself, the “newborn king of the Jews” (Mt 2:2).
We often set off on an unceasing quest to distance ourselves from every anxiety, and thus begin to live in such a way as to constantly seek change for “the better.” There is a self-inflicted stress in such a life; a nervous movement toward some savored goal.
I’m sure you’re familiar with homesickness. Perhaps you, like me, feel a little homesick right now. Perhaps you, like me, feel as if you’re never really home, no matter where you go, no matter where you live.
After a long pause, John told me about a terrible fire-fight he’d experienced in the war. He didn’t describe any of the details. There was no talk of blood or bombs or bullets or shredded bodies. What he did say, is the Lord had saved him. And he didn’t know why.
As I celebrate Thanksgiving, I notice there’s something missing. My heart longs for a different kind of celebration in a different kind of place. And until I am there, there will always be something missing.