This feast of Epiphany invites me to rise towards the dawn and the clarity of God.
I am a seeker of God. Seeker of this nascent clarity. Not that of the magicians who lie dormant within me or who make me believe in my lucky star. Not the one lost in the stars. But the one that takes me to daycare.
Mary and Joseph left, far from home. In the precariousness of an animal manger, they give birth to their Firstborn. And it is among them that very poor shepherds will meet the Prince of Peace, the one who comes to save everything.
Guided by a star, seekers of meaning like us, Magi, come to this tiny corner of Palestine. Foreign by their languages, their customs, their religions and their conceptions of the world, they first passed through Jerusalem, undoubtedly attracted by the power and prestige of the great. Then, they let themselves be guided by a very small star. Barely bigger than all the others. Accessible only to hearts that listen to their tenderness. To those who are not afraid of their fragilities, of what is modest and weak. To those who only see clearly with the heart.
Because it is at night that we see the stars. Not elsewhere. It is in the dark night of our lives that the Christ of the manger is born: without brightness, without brilliance, without power. It is also in the night that, thirty years later, he will rise again, the Firstborn from the dead. Leaving his tomb empty.
Where our pious dreams and all our illusions fall at once. Where we have the impression that he is nothing anymore. In the night.
Yes, wise men, strangers to the Jewish faith, went that far. They sought the Most High; they find the very low: at the lowest point of our globe. These strangers prostrate themselves before a baby, in an animal manger: it is the Son of God. What could be stranger! It is the same one of which Pilate will say, thirty years later: “Here is the man. »
As believers, we actually believe that Christ, this Jesus of the manger, will become the perfectly accomplished man in the eyes of God.
These searchers for meaning, these poor shepherds, we ourselves walk to Christ. With all our areas of disbelief, of doubts. With our nights and our poverty. Modest, prisoners in a cell, sick on a hospital bed, elderly alone or bedridden, healthy. Yes, we can all, with these Magi and these shepherds, approach the Child-God, in the manger. To be enlightened by faith.
Seekers of God, let us deepen our desire by letting ourselves be guided by the stars of the life of God, this Child, wonderful advisor.
The Magi offer gold, incense and myrrh. To better invite us to put God first. To adore Christ when we found him.
By laying down the weapons of our inner violence and our desire for power before this Child. To put his divinity at the heart of our modest lives. To honor and contemplate the mysterious presence of God in our loved ones. To meet the Prince of Peace where he is already present, in the nursery of our hearts, sometimes dark.
The most beautiful incense we can offer Him is by giving the best of ourselves to our loved ones, by serving them, by accompanying them in the transition from their obscure stories to their starry lives. Through our goodness, they will be able to resuscitate their luminous faces.
And then, the Magi leave by another path. We too, leave this nursery differently, by another path. Not that of glory or power. But transfigured because freed from the interior slavery that hinders us, other than with our all-too-human habits. In joy!
Saint Paul will go beyond known borders to associate nations with the same heritage.
Like him, let us walk in search of the true Jerusalem, the person of Christ. Through a personal relationship with him. By offering him, no longer gold, myrrh or incense, but our person, to serve his kingdom of justice and peace.
At the start of the year, let’s take the path of the wise men who allow themselves to be surprised and confused by what they did not expect. Let us leave our inner prisons and he will enter. Let us go out, not filled with ourselves, but filled with God.
As early as the 14th century, in France, the galette des rois was divided into as many portions as there were guests, plus a portion called “part of the Good Lord”. It was reserved for the first stranger who knocked on the door. As for the bean, symbol of fertility, it carries within itself the germ of our quest for God.
May this king cake, which we will perhaps share, invite us to welcome in a different way what is strange in others or in ourselves! Through a freer, brighter and more transfigured look at our world.
Let us seek clarity from below. Beautiful year to live the present in the presence of Christ!
