Christmas IV - Epiphany

Christmas IV – The Solemnity of the Epiphany of the Lord

Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72; Ephesians 3:2-3a, 5-6; Matthew 2:1-12

Like the magi, are we not all seekers?

We go by various names.

Nones [None, claims no religious affiliation]. NiNOs [Nones in name only].

Spiritual but not Religious [SBNR]. Dones [Done with institutional church].

Some still believe in God.

Some still pray daily.

Some are actively searching.

And some have simply drifted away.

 

Others of us? We claim…

Catholic. Faithful. Believer. Traditionalist. Christian.

They’re comfortable, familiar terms.

 

Whatever name we claim,

people are searching for meaning in a world that seems to be coming apart.

Some are reaching toward a perceived, idealized secure past.

Some acting, without permission from any church authority, on an envisioned future.

Other are reverting to verbal ideological violence on podcasts.

Some are hunkering down and waiting for the storm to pass.

 

But all of us, have a hunger within us.

What Saint Augustine calls a restlessness.

We do know something is missing in our lives, but what is it?

Comfortable old spiritual haunts leave us…Empty. Unsatisfied. Unfulfilled.

 

A young friend of mine is a seeker. His experience challenges me. His questions more so. He prays. He doesn’t like the ‘churchy’ term though. But he prays. He does not gather for the Eucharist. He is frustrated with the institution that is mired in a clericalism and deference that has served as cloak against accountability which allowed the sexual scandal and its aftermath. Absent,

ecclesial leadership and integrity, and drowning in the lone moral issue of abortion. He knows there is more to us. He yearns for more from us.

 

Our spiritual conversations are like none I have had with anyone previously. They often leave me in silence and feeling impotent before him. We are from different generations. Different family, church, and life experiences. Trying to connect over the generations is not easy.

 

I love the Catholic Church. She is my life and breath. It pains and saddens me that my friend and others do not have the same experience. And I don’t know how to pass it on. I know I can’t.

I can offer logical reasons, but logic addresses the intellect; not the spirit filled heart.

I could offer pat theological answers. They sour in my mouth before I say them.

I know they do not suffice.

 

I do know he has a deep love for the Church.

Though he stays on the fringes of the community,

he challenges us to be better. More honest. Inclusive. Faithful to the Gospel.

We have agreed to walk together.

 

We need new language. New paradigms. New images to express our Catholic Christian Faith.

To express an ancient restlessness and search within us.

We need to move forward with the vision of a people offered to us at the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council. Visions like Isaiah: “Jerusalem! Raise your eyes and look about; they all gather and come to you, your sons from afar, and your daughters in the arms of their nurses”.

 

At this spiritual juncture, nothing seems to fit together anymore.

Like exotic magi, we don’t seem to fit in anywhere.

I don’t seem to fit anywhere.

 

This was my first Christmas since I entered an unplanned retirement a few months ago.

For forty-one Christmases, I was in a church, standing at an altar, from sunset through the night and into the morning.

 

“O come, all ye faithful…”

Processions.

Lights.

“For unto you is born a Saviour, who is both Christ the Lord…”

“Gloria in excelsis Deo…”

Incense.

“The Body of Christ.”

“Hark! The herald angels sing…”

 

For the first time in my life, I had no parish, no community, no family.

 

I presided over a Vigil Mass. But Holy Mother and Child, was not my parish. I was a guest.

I drove to an Orthodox Monastery for Great Compline. But this too was not home.

I went to my apartment awaiting to attend the Night Mass of Christmas.

Decided to stay home. Nowhere felt at home. I was alone.

And I never got to a parish for the Day Mass of Christmas either.

I realized, I didn’t fit in anywhere this year.

 

Seekers don’t feel we fit in anywhere in the Church.

 

The Gospel gives no description of the Magi.

We don’t even know how many there were.

So, we’ve filled in the blanks.

We’ve made them to reflect us. People who don’t fit in.

We’ve exotically dressed them.

Given them striking foreign names.

Balthasar. Melchior. Gaspar.

They are African, Asian, European.

Did they have tattoos?

 

They ask uncomfortable questions.

“Where is the newborn king of the Jews?”

Nones. Spiritual but not Religious. Dones. My friend. Ask uncomfortable questions.

Where is my place at the table?

Where is justice?

Where is hope?

 

Though they put on a good face,

the question of the magi caused Herod and Jerusalem to be greatly troubled;

as do the questions and experiences of seekers.

You don’t ask a king where you can find the presence of the next king.

Smacks of regime change.

You don’t ask questions that challenge the tradition.

Smacks of Disrespect. Unbelief.

 

Seeking is an awkward experience.

Not fitting in is also.

It is uncomfortable.

 

You may have found my self-revelations unsettling.

We priests are supposed to be leading.

To know the route.

If we don’t, who does?

Though ordained, I cannot divorce myself from the human experience.

The experience of searching.

It is a fool of a priest who does.

 

It takes great faith, trust, to be a seeker. It takes courage to walk away from familiar groundings, secure shores, beliefs, rituals and a community in search of…what? Who?

For others they simply, quietly drift away.

And what’s worse, no one misses them or inquiries about them.

 

I struggle with this God of ours. 

Hopefully you also do.

When nothing is stable like the movement of sands in the desert,

we want security, confidence? At least a map. A working GPS.

But all we have is each other.

All we can do is keep walking.

Walking together.

At times stopping and asking questions.

 

And like those disciples going home to Emmaus.

Disillusioned. Angry. Fearful. Disappointed.

Someone will catch up with us.

With you and me.

And ask his own questions.

And intently listen to our answers.

This Jesus engaging us.

In the exchange. A presence.

A presence that will offer hope in the uncertainties of our lives.