The Feast of the Epiphany (Is 60:1-6; Ps 72:1-7,10-14; Eph 3:1-12; Mt 2:1-12)

In his novel on Helena who is considered to be the discoverer of the true cross where Jesus was hung, Evelyn Waugh imagines Helena’s reflection on the wise men or magi who were most likely ancient Persian astrologers. He writes, “‘Like me,’ she [Helena] said to them [the magi], “you were late in coming. The shepherds were here long before; even the cattle. They had joined the chorus of angels before you were on your way...How laboriously you came, taking sights and calculating, where the shepherds had run barefoot!...Yet you came, and were not turned away. You too found room before the manger...You are my especial patrons and patrons of all late comers…” (The Time of the Spirit, eds. By George Every, Richard Harries, & Kallistos Ware, p. 85)

What is quite inspiring in this reflection of Helena is this imaginative interpretation that the magi were late! They were following the star, calculating its specific location. They even made a poor decision to go to King Herod even though it was a logical move. Where else would they find the king of the Jews if not in the royal palace?

I would like to share with you T. S. Eliot’s poem on the feast of the Epiphany. It’s called “The Journey of the Magi.” T. S. Eliot’s poem helps us imagine why they were late and what they were thinking on their way to Jesus. It doesn’t sugarcoat and romanticize the magi’s journey to Baby Jesus. Let’s listen to the poem. (It is provided in your bulletin on page 12.)

The Journey Of The Magi
(T. S. Eliot, Collected Poems, 1909-1962, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1991)

‘A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

The first two stanzas tell us about their struggles on the journey. Nothing really seems to help their journey to Jesus easier. It’s ‘the very dead of winter.’ The camels they are riding are stubborn and tired, and the camel men don’t help but complain. No shelters were available for them as nothing was vacant for Joseph, Mary, and Baby Jesus. Even when they found a pub to get some wine or beer to warm their bodies, it’s out of business. The only satisfaction they can have is the place where Baby Jesus is.

What’s strikingly shocking about this poem happens in the third stanza. We might be puzzled why the magi are talking about death. The magus reflects on his journey in retrospect. He asks himself, “Were we led all that way for Birth or Death?” For him and his other friends, this particular Birth of Jesus was hard and bitter agony. Why? It was like death, like their own death. So to answer this question of the magus, “Were we led all that way for Birth or Death?”, they were led all the way for both Birth AND Death even though death is something they wouldn’t be able to see at that moment of their visit to Baby Jesus after all.

Perhaps this is why they presented myrrh to prepare Blessed Mother for Jesus’s death on the cross. That they brought myrrh as a gift is a strange one. We get the gold part. Gold represents wealth and power, but it is used to make royal insignia. Giving gold to Jesus can suggest that Jesus himself is the king and the kingdom of God incarnate. The second gift, frankincense seems to make sense as well. It is for worship. We as Christians believe Jesus is God who is to be worshiped and glorified. But this myrrh is quite puzzling. It is the sort of stuff to mummify the dead. If we imagine giving a newborn child this myrrh as a gift which is only useful for the dead or for the embalming of mummies, it is quite offensive. Well, the magi did.

As I frequently mentioned in my Christmas sermons, this birth of Jesus, the incarnation always leads to his crucifixion. And this crucifixion is only meaningful because of the resurrection. What the magi in T. S. Eliot’s poem see is not only the birth of Jesus but also his death and resurrection. But then, there’s one more striking thing we hear from the magi. Even after such a troubling journey to Jesus, the magi say, “I would do it again…” even though they feel like this Birth of Jesus was like Death, like their own death. They confess, “I would be glad of another death.”

Going through all the ups and downs to get to Baby Jesus, seeing his death as well as their own death in his birth, they are given a new perspective on everything! In their encounter with Jesus’s birth and death, they face their own death and newborn life in him. Looking at life from the perspective of death, which means being conscious and mindful of our finite nature, we are able to see things clearly, such as what matters most and what is to be prioritized, yet we are always hopeful because of Christ’s resurrection. This journey of the magi to Jesus in Bethlehem is our own journey to baptism in which we die and rise with Christ.

On this feast of the Epiphany, we are gathered as the Church, as One Body of Christ to celebrate Theodore’s baptism. Often, I wonder if this infant baptism makes an infant truly a Christian, a follower of Jesus. Well, there’s no clear response to that. A habit doesn’t make the monk. A collar doesn’t make the priest. It is the fruit that matters. But sacramentally speaking, there’s something that the Holy Spirit does in this infant baptism as well as adult baptism. This sacrament of baptism paves the way in our hearts, the way to Jesus in Bethlehem where we see his Birth, Death, and Resurrection. That way made through baptism can never ever disappear. It lasts eternally. We as baptized have this way to Jesus. And our life is a constant journey to Baby Jesus with Blessed Mother, to the cross, and to the empty tomb.

On this journey, you’re not alone, which, for example, is why the baptized are sacramentally tied to their godparents and to the Church as their companion. On this journey, we like the magi might hear the voices singing in our ears, saying all this is meaningless and foolish. On this journey, we like the magi might feel lonely, alone, or abandoned, finding nowhere to rest for a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. But once we find the place where we meet Jesus, there will be joy. And we will say just like the magi, “I would do it again. I should be glad of another death.” Because there’s nothing greater than the love of Jesus Christ.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.