Tag Archives: magi

My novel in progress, The Music of the Mountain, is set in the month of January 2023. It is a dark and stormy month, a time of short days and long nights. And yet January is a month of epiphanies, of new beginnings, of seeing what we didn’t see before. An epiphany is a sudden thought, a conclusion, an answer. January unveils these day by day, week by week.

But most of all, being the first month of the new year, time itself commands attention. What have we done or left undone in the past year? What do we regret? What would we do differently if we had the year to do over again? We make resolutions to be better.

It is unfashionable to admit fault, to judge oneself, to admit we are not all we should be. We are told that judgment is judged to be unkind, and above all, we must be kind to ourselves, looking for excuses, reasons why we didn’t love enough, circumstances that would send the judge and jury home for good.

Falling short of the mark hurts.

And so during Mass this morning I was glad to be reminded of my failings in the General Confession and the Absolution following. It is a crucial, cross-bearing reality, that we are human beings subject to moral law who will face God’s judgment one day, like it or not. I for one need reminding in this world of no fault, grievance, and victimhood.

And so we acknowledged and bewailed our manifold sins and wickedness we have committed by thought, word, and deed, provoking God’s wrath and indignation. We repent and are sorry. The burden is intolerable… we call on God for forgiveness.

It is good to be reminded of reality. It is good to repent on a regular basis after holding oneself up to the bright light of Heaven. In this way, we choose the best path to take in the new year. In this way we see ourselves as we are, not as we imagine, and allow God to carve away the darkness and bathe us in his light.

Today is the twelfth day of Christmas; tomorrow is the Feast of the Epiphany of the Lord. Epiphany, of course, is when the Magi or Wise Men arrive in Bethlehem, bringing gifts to the Christ Child. Epiphany, then, is the good news sung to the rest of the world, not just the shepherds and the holy family. We are included in this epiphany of light; we travel to the creche and kneel and worship too. We bring our gifts – ourselves. We too have followed the star in the heavens, wondering where it will lead. Could something so grand and cosmic as a star in the night sky shine upon the meager manger in Bethlehem? And yet angels appeared to the shepherds, the great choir singing to the lowly herders.

Christmas tells how the little becomes large, how flesh houses spirit. God becomes tiny and humble; kings follow a star and kneel before him.

To find answers to the human condition, the whys and the wherefores, look to the manger bed and see who kneels before the Christ Child. If kings and shepherds kneel, we can too. If they see, we can see too.

January is the month of the Holy Name of Jesus, so that we give the baby in the manger a holy glory by intoning his name, breathing the name, calling his name.

January is the month of life granted through this Holy Child, but it is also the month of death decreed with the slaughter of our own innocents through abortion. For half a century this month proclaims our grief, prays our petitions as we walk for life all across this nation.

The star is bright in the night sky as we embark on this year in time. We divide our time into months and days and hours, stepping through the squares on our calendars, trying to pay attention to each precious, passing minute. It is too much for our ashen earthiness, and so we take an hour on a Sunday to bundle the time into meaningful notes, and sing a melody of penitence, absolution, eucharistic feeding, and by the end of the hour we see epiphanies meant only for you and me.

We go to church for an hour each Sunday and kneel alongside the people of God, the bride of Christ. For in that humility, epiphanies are born, and we see again. We see the path laid out for us, at least for the next day and week, as we step into the woods of time, marking another year.