A Homily for the Epiphany of the Lord
Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6 Ephesians 3:2-3a, 5-6 Matthew 2:1-12
We are creatures of habit. So are dogs. My two chihuahuas are always eager for bedtime, always reluctant to rise from sleep, and always insist that their meals be served on schedule. But the two of them do differ.
Coco likes to give affection. I must pull her away from my face to limit her licks. Lilly, on the other hand, prefers to receive it. She will sit on my lap for as long as I can stay still, and she never tires of being petted. If I skimp on that, she nudges me with her snout.
Both dogs often stare at me with large, luminous brown eyes. Lilly, especially as I pet her. Or should I say that they gaze?
I often sense that God looks at me through their placid, loving eyes. Perhaps that is because they are typically with me when I am praying.
This is equally true of other creatures. We can see God in their eyes if we look. But few other creatures give themselves so readily to us as our dogs. They seem content just to look upon us.
For me, my dogs are icons of God’s love because I know, at least in my head, that God looks at me in the same way. God is content to gaze upon us in peaceful love and acceptance.
In our woundedness, we do not look each other in the eyes for long. We are too skittish for that. It makes us too vulnerable. If only we were as simple as dogs or as wise as God, then we could gaze in peaceful love and acceptance.
We celebrate the Epiphany of the Lord, his “shining forth.” The Magi followed the star, but I wonder which was brighter, more intense: the star or the eyes of the Baby Jesus?
If you have met a baby’s eyes, you know that they, like innocent animals, look at us with such serenity, such acceptance. It is easy to sense something of heaven in their gaze. They say that eyes are portals to the soul. If we could look into adults’ eyes the way that we do with pets and wee ones, what might we see?
Unless the Magi had, say, embraced celibacy in dedication to the pursuit of wisdom, they had surely seen the eyes of a child before. They had felt something of God in the gaze of a babe. So, why is this such a “shining forth,” an epiphany of God?
But that is the point of the story. To look deeply into innocent eyes is to long for God. It is not, strictly speaking, to possess God. But today we remember that God chose to become one of us, chose to gaze upon us through the purity of a babe’s eyes. Like a lover, Christ claims us with his eyes.
When the adult Jesus began his ministry, what made the difference between passing interest and committed faith? What miracle or snatch of preaching tipped the balance, convinced seeking hearts that they had indeed found God among us? What made disciples? Maybe it was not wisdom or wonder that did the work. Maybe it was the eyes.
