Chinese New Year
The Lesson of the Rooster in the Year of the Snake

Readings: Numbers 6:22-27; Psalm 90; James 4:13-15; Matthew 6:31-34

Picture: cc @mikepick

Sisters and brothers, once upon a time, there was a rooster who took himself very seriously. And there was a reason why this was so. You see, the rooster was blessed with a very powerful voice. A voice that he made sure to exercise everyday by crowing loudly at the break of dawn. And, having noticed how his crowing tended to coincide with the sunrise, the rooster thought that the sun actually rose only because of him. This made him very proud of himself. Even arrogant. Imagine. If not for him, the whole world would remain in darkness. So, he liked nothing better than to show off his crowing in front of others. He also took great care of his voice by regularly drinking ginseng tea mixed with honey and lemon. He even gathered some of the hens in his coop, and trained them very hard everyday, so that they could sing backup. To enhance the sound of his own voice.

But, as time went on, the rooster began to feel the pressure. If the whole world relied on him to make the sun to rise, then he couldn’t let everyone down. He had to be sure never to forget to crow early every morning. Even if he happened to have stayed out late the previous night. This sense of the heavy responsibility placed on his shoulders often made him anxious. It gave him many sleepless nights. All of which made the rooster rather miserable. Day after day, he usually found himself feeling either arrogant or anxious, or both. But hardly ever happy. And all because he thought that he was the one who made the sun to rise. All because he took himself far too seriously.

Then, one day, the unthinkable happened. The rooster got a sore throat. He lost his voice. Perhaps it was the durians he had eaten the day before. We cannot say for sure. Whatever the reason, he was unable to crow. But, as we might expect, the sun rose all the same. This made the rooster fall into a deep depression. He gave up crowing, and even left his home in the chicken coop. What’s the point of crowing, he thought, if it doesn’t actually cause the sun to rise?

The rooster’s sadness continued for a long time. Until one fateful afternoon, when he happened to hear a nightingale singing in a tree. It was such a beautiful sound that the rooster was moved to speak to the singer. He wanted to find out if its song actually made the sun to rise. Or the moon to shine. Or the stars to sparkle. But the nightingale shook its head and said, No. My singing does nothing of the sort. Then why do you bother? The rooster asked. To which the nightingale laughed and replied, Why not? It makes me happy! I sing not to cause the sun to rise, but to celebrate its rising. Not to cause the moon to shine, but to celebrate its shining. Not to cause the stars to sparkle, but to celebrate their sparkling! Hearing this reply, the rooster’s life was changed. He returned to the chicken coop and went back to doing many of the things he used to do. He resumed crowing. He also began to, once again, train and sing with his choir of chickens. But something was different. This time round, the rooster found himself being far less arrogant and anxious. At times, he even felt truly happy. All because, having realised that he didn’t cause the sun to rise, he was able to stop taking himself quite as seriously as he did before.

Now, you might wonder why, sisters and brothers, on this first day of the year of the snake, I have chosen to tell you a story about a rooster. The answer is simple. The lesson learned by the rooster is rather similar to the lesson that our Mass readings are trying to teach us today. Notice, for example, how the second reading warns us against presumption and arrogance. We are to be careful about taking our brief and fragile lives for granted. About planning too far ahead. For we never know what will happen tomorrow; we are no more than a mist that is here for a little while and then disappears. And notice too, how Jesus tells us, in the gospel, not to be anxious. Not to worry about what we are to eat, nor about what we are to drink. Not to worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will take care of itself. Each day has enough troubles of its own.

Of course, if you are like me, you’ll find these warnings against arrogance and anxiety difficult to understand, let alone to put into practice. They are difficult to accept so long as we share the rooster’s mistaken assumption that we can actually cause the sun of our own survival and success to rise, solely by our own efforts. For, however capable and talented we are, however farsighted and well-prepared we may be, our efforts can only take us so far. Many things remain beyond our control. People can suddenly fall critically ill and die. Wars may break out. Natural disasters may occur. Stock markets can crash without warning. And these things will happen no matter how many sleepless nights we may choose to spend. Or however many white papers we may draw up and debate.

All this does not mean, of course, that we should not work hard. Or that we should not plan at all. Or that our efforts are unimportant. They are very important. As people say, those who fail to plan, plan to fail. Precautions have to be made. Responsibilities have to be borne. Work has to be done. But it makes all the difference in the world when we allow ourselves to accept that all these efforts of ours cannot actually ensure our survival and success. That our lives are not actually totally in our own hands.

It is only when we allow ourselves to humbly accept this truth, that we learn the importance of doing what Moses is learning to do in the first reading today. We learn to seek God’s help in all circumstances. We learn to entrust our wellbeing to the care and compassion of God at all times. We learn to keep praying that the almighty One–who could so easily sweep us away like grass which springs up in the morning and by evening withers and fades–will continue to bless us and keep us. Will ever uncover his face to us and bring us His peace.

And when we are able to entrust our lives into the hands of God in this way. When we are able to accept the truth that, however hard we may work, or however far ahead we may plan, we cannot actually cause the sun to rise. Perhaps we will also learn to take ourselves far less seriously. And, in so doing, learn to live the gift of life the way it is meant to be lived. As a joyous celebration, and not just a heavy burden. We may even experience, if only from time to time, what it feels like to be truly happy.

Sisters and brothers, as we usher in another new year, how might we let go of our arrogance and our anxiety? How might we learn to take ourselves a little less seriously?

Sisters and brothers, on this first day of the year of the snake, how is God teaching us the lesson of the rooster today?

4th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)
Putting One’s Foot in One’s Mouth

Readings: Jeremiah 1:4-5,17-19; Psalm 70:1-6,15,17; 1 Corinthians 12:31-13:13; Luke 4:21-30

Picture: cc AshleyNYCPics

Sisters and brothers, are you familiar with the English idiom to put one’s foot in one’s mouth? As you know, this phrase doesn’t mean to actually try to find out what your own toes taste like. No. To put your foot in your mouth is to say the wrong thing. Something that goes against the grain. That embarrasses or shocks people. That offends or even scandalises others. Something that may even make you, the speaker, very unpopular. Which is why, in general, politicians try their best to avoid putting their foot in their mouth. Otherwise they may lose the support of their constituents, and be voted out of office. But, whether we are politicians or not, none of us likes to be caught putting our foot in our mouth. We know how painful and embarrassing it can be.

And yet, isn’t it true that, sometimes, it’s very important to be able to put one’s foot in one’s mouth? For example, in the story The Emperor’s New Clothes, a pair of swindlers tricks the emperor into believing that they have made him a suit of magical clothes. Clothes that cannot be seen by stupid people. Incompetent people. People unfit for their jobs. As a result, everybody pretends to be able to see the suit, even though it doesn’t exist. It’s only when an innocent little boy exclaims that the emperor is naked, that the scam is brought to light. At a time when everyone else was too afraid to look stupid, this little boy bravely proclaimed the truth. How did he save the emperor, sisters and brothers? By being willing to put his foot in his mouth.

All of which may help us to appreciate a little better, what our Mass readings are telling us today. As you may have noticed, the readings are all about what it means to be a prophet. Contrary to popular belief, a prophet is not just someone who is able to predict the future. A prophet is not a soothsayer or a fortune-teller. A prophet is primarily a spokesperson. Someone appointed by God to speak God’s word to others. So, in the first reading, God tells Jeremiah that God has consecrated him–has set him apart–even before he was born, to be God’s prophet to the nations. And, in the gospel, after reading from Isaiah, Jesus claims that the prophetic text is being fulfilled in him. Jesus identifies Himself as the One Whom God has appointed to bring the good news to the poor.

But our readings go even further. They invite us to reflect more deeply upon what it means to speak God’s Word to others. As it turns out, to be God’s spokesperson often means having to speak an unpopular word. An embarrassing word. Even a scandalising and upsetting word. This was certainly true of Jeremiah. When we read further on in the book of Jeremiah, we see just how unpopular was the message that God wanted him to proclaim. At a time when the Babylonian empire was growing in strength, and posing a serious military threat. At a time when many voices were calling for military alliances to be made, and military action to be taken, against Babylon. Jeremiah tried to persuade the people to submit. To let themselves be conquered. Even to allow their precious Temple to be destroyed. And they themselves to be sent into exile. Is it any wonder, then, that the people were so unhappy with Jeremiah that some even plotted to have him killed?

The situation in the gospel is similar. Perhaps one of the most striking things in the reading is the sudden shift in public perception of Jesus. When He first identifies himself as the Saviour that everyone is waiting for, we’re told that he won the approval of all. Not only that, but people immediately try to claim him as their own. This is Joseph’s son, surely? They exclaim. In other words, he is one of us. We know him. His achievements are our achievements. We can share in his glory. And it must have been so easy for Jesus simply to go along. To ride this wave of public approval. As any politician might.

But Jesus is the Prophet. Not a politician. His concern is not to win popularity, but to speak the Truth. He points out that it is not God’s intention simply to side with the people of Israel against their enemies. For God does not take sides in the way that we may expect. If anything, God sides not so much with Jew or Roman, but with all who are downtrodden and oppressed. Wherever and whomever they may be. As Jesus reminds the people, this is how God acted in the past. In a time of famine, when both Jews and Gentiles were starving, it was a Gentile that God sent Elijah to feed. A widow from Sidon. And, even though there were many lepers in Israel in the time of Elisha, it was Naaman, from Syria, that God sent the prophet to heal. This is how God operated in the great prophets of the past. And this is how God is operating in Jesus in the present. God’s mercy reaches beyond human boundaries to embrace all who may be suffering. All who may need God’s care and concern.

This, of course, is not a popular message to preach. It is not a politically astute position to take. So seriously does it scandalise the people, so upset are they, that they try to do to Jesus what their ancestors tried to do to Jeremiah. They try to kill him.

Clearly, sisters and brothers, to be a prophet is not an easy thing. It’s not easy because it often means having to put one’s foot in one’s mouth. And to do it on a regular basis. Even to make it a way of life. And yet this is what we too are called to be and do. You and I. We, who have been baptised in Christ, share His prophetic mission to speak the often unpopular, but always truthful Word. Which is why it’s important for us to pay close attention to the reassurance that God gives to Jeremiah in today’s first reading. Although it may be difficult and frightening to be a prophet, God promises to strengthen us. To make us into a fortified city, a pillar of iron, and a wall of bronze. And God does this by pouring into us the gift that Paul writes about so beautifully in the second reading. The gift of God’s love. The gift that comes to us in the one Sacrifice of Christ, which we have all gathered around this altar this evening to celebrate and to share.

This gift of love–as well as the gift of prophecy that it empowers–is something that our world needs more than ever. Today, we need people loving enough to speak the unexpected and unpopular word. People like Canadian journalist, Carl Honoré, for example. In a world increasingly obsessed with speed, Carl has written a book In Praise of Slowness. Or people like American former-corporate lawyer, Susan Cain. In a world that tends to favour extroverts–people who crave continuous social connection–Susan has written a book entitled Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. Or, closer to home, people like Francis Yap. The father of Nigel and Donovan. The two brothers recently killed in a tragic accident in Tampines. At a time when others might curse and urge retaliation against the driver responsible for his sons’ deaths, Francis has this to say: Losing my sons, my heart is broken. Even if I hit, punch or scold him, my children can't come back…. as a Christian, I must learn to forgive.

Sisters and brothers, how is God calling us to speak the truthful word, and to live the prophetic call? How are we being invited, in some way, to put our foot in our mouth today?

3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)
Reviving the Drowning

Readings: Nehemiah 8:2-6,8-10; Psalm 18:8-10,15; 1 Corinthians 12:12-30; Luke 1:1-4,4:14-21

Picture: cc Ofutt Air Force Base

Sisters and brothers, imagine for a moment someone suddenly experiencing difficulties while taking a dip in a swimming pool. Maybe s/he develops a muscle cramp. Or maybe s/he just doesn’t swim very well. Whatever the reason, the person starts to struggle in the water. Finds it difficult to stay afloat. And, after some time, the struggling gets weaker and weaker. The person begins to drown.

Thankfully, an alert lifeguard sees what’s happening, dives into the pool, and pulls the person out. But s/he has already stopped breathing. The body has already started to shut down. The lifeguard immediately begins administering CPR. Blowing life-giving air into the person’s mouth. Compressing the person’s chest. And, as this is being done, a small group of people start to gather. Maybe they’re curious. Or perhaps they’re genuinely concerned for the survival of their fellow-swimmer. They want to see if the lifeguard will succeed. Or if it is already too late. Will the unconscious swimmer be revived? Will the motionless body be resuscitated? Will the drowning person once more draw breath?

Crucial questions surrounding a rescue mission. Isn’t this also what we find in our Mass readings today? In each of our readings, there are drowning people requiring resuscitation. People on whom a lifeguard is performing CPR. With varying degrees of success. The first reading, as you know, is set in a time just after the return of the Israelites from exile in Babylon. God has rescued them from foreign oppression. And brought them back to their own land. But they are not completely out of danger yet. Having been away for so long, the people have forgotten the laws that God had given to their ancestors. Laws that helped earlier generations to live according to God’s ways. The people have been drowning in attitudes and habits that they picked up when living among pagan peoples, who worship foreign gods. Customs that are not always in line with the ways of God. The ways that lead to the fullness of life.

It is this same drowning people that the prophet Ezra gathers in the first reading. And it is on them that he performs CPR. He breathes the breath of life into them by reading and explaining to them the Law of God. For, as we declared just now, in the response to today’s psalm, your words, Lord, are spirit, and they are life. The Word of God is, for us, the Breath of Life. And, thankfully, Ezra’s rescue mission has a happy ending. The people welcome the breath of God’s Word into their hearts. And they begin to come alive. They are moved by what they hear. They even shed tears. And Ezra continues to revive them by reminding them to focus not so much on their own sins, as much as on God’s mercy. They are to stop drowning in their own sorrow. But instead to remember all the wonderful things God has been doing for them. To rejoice in the goodness of the Lord. For the joy of the Lord is your stronghold.

We see something similar happening in the gospel as well. In Luke’s gospel, Jesus begins his public ministry by entering the synagogue in his hometown and preaching the Good News to the people there. Using a passage from the prophet Isaiah, Jesus describes what he is doing in terms of a rescue mission. The spirit of the Lord has been given to me, he says. He has sent me to bring the good news to the poor, to proclaim liberty to captives and to the blind new sight, to set the downtrodden free.

To a people imprisoned by many religious obligations that do not seem to bring them any closer to God, Jesus offers liberation. To a people unable to see and to recognise God’s presence in their daily lives, Jesus offers new sight. Into the cold hearts of drowning people, Jesus breathes a new breath of life. Which is nothing other than the breath of the Spirit of God. A breath that brings freedom and the fullness of life. Unfortunately, however, Jesus is not as well received as Ezra was. As we will see in next Sunday’s gospel reading, the people refuse to be revived. They take offence at what Jesus tells them. So angry are they with their Lifeguard from Heaven that they even try to kill him.

In the second reading too, we find a people drowning in some way. As you know the Christian community in Corinth was blessed with many different spiritual gifts. Gifts of praying in tongues, for example, of speaking words of prophecy, of healing and teaching, and so on. But the people place such great emphasis on their individual giftedness that they lose sight of God, the Giver of every good gift. They use their different talents in ways that divide the community. In ways that bring death and destruction. Instead of life and freedom. In the second reading, Paul is writing to a people drowning in their own arrogance and overblown sense of self-importance.

It is into this people that Paul breathes God’s Word of Life. Paul reminds them that they should be exercising their gifts not to inflate their own egos, but rather to build up the Body of Christ, of which they are all members. You together are Christ’s Body, he tells them, but each of you is a different part of it. What the reading leaves unclear is how receptive are the Corinthians to Paul’s efforts at spiritual CPR. Will they choose to accept the Spirit of life and of freedom? And to expel the spirit of division and death? Will they let themselves be revived by God’s Word?

Sisters and brothers, I don’t know the answers to these questions. But perhaps it’s less important for us to inquire about the Corinthians than it is to ask about ourselves. For whether we care to admit it or not, like the people in each of our readings, we too live in constant danger of spiritual drowning. Perhaps there are some of us here this morning who feel as though they are struggling to stay afloat. If you are among those who feel this way, then our readings offer you good news. In this Mass, as you listen to God’s Word, and eat at God’s table, God is breathing into you a breath of new life. Reminding you of God’s undying love and concern for us. Encouraging you to persevere in living according to God’s ways.

And perhaps there may also be those among us who are in danger of drowning without even realising it. Drowning, for example, in the often superficial and empty busyness of our daily routines. Such that we are unable to recognise and respond to the God who comes to meet us in the people and the situations we encounter everyday. The God who continues to call us to a deeper relationship. Drowning in our obsession with building our careers and inflating our egos. Such that we fail to notice the many people around us who may need our help. Drowning in the many gifts we have received from God without being sufficiently grateful for them. Without trying to share them with others in some way.

Whatever may be our situation today, God our Divine Lifeguard wishes to breathe into us the Breath of the Spirit. The Breath of love and compassion. The Breath of freedom and of fullness of life. The question for us, sisters and brothers, is how ready are we to be revived from drowning today?

Feast of the Baptism of the Lord
Sharpening the Word

Readings: Isaiah 40:1-5,9-11; Psalm 103:1-4,24-25,27-30; Titus 2:11-14,3:4-7; Luke 3:15-16,21-22

Picture: cc _P_

Sisters and brothers, have you ever noticed the similarities between a knife in the hand and a word from the mouth? What do you do, for example, when you need to sharpen a knife? And how do you tell whether or not it’s sharp enough? I found the answer to these questions the other day, while watching Top Chef. You know that TV show that features a group of chefs taking part in a cooking competition. On that particular episode of the show, each of the chefs had to sharpen a blunt knife on a sharpening stone as quickly as possible. And they had to keep sharpening until their knives were so sharp they could slice a sheet of paper with a single stroke. A sharpening stone. And the slicing of paper. That’s how you can develop and discern a sharp knife.

Words are no different. We’ve all probably felt the effects of a sharp word. Perhaps we know someone–maybe a colleague, or a friend, or a relative–who has that frightening ability to cut through us with nothing more than a few carefully chosen words. We know from experience that words can have an effect very similar to that of a knife. A sharp knife can slice paper. A sharp word can pierce the heart. And the similarity doesn’t end there either. A knife becomes sharp by being repeatedly drawn across the hard surface of a sharpening stone. Sharp words are developed, very often, when a person is forced to endure hardship of some kind. When someone is brought into close contact with certain harsh realities of life. A hard life. And the piercing of the heart. That’s how a sharp word is developed and discerned.

But is this all that knives and words have in common? What about the fact that a sharp knife can be used also for a very good purpose. Even a very tasty and delicious purpose. On Top Chef, for example, those knives that the chefs sharpened were used not only for cutting paper, but also to prepare mouthwatering dishes of food. The knives were used to build up. Not just to destroy. And sharp words can do the same too, can’t they?

Of course they can. Isn’t this what we find in our Mass readings today? In the first reading, God wishes to speak a word that has precisely this delicious effect. The effect of building people up, instead of destroying them. Of comforting, instead of causing pain. ‘Console my people, console them’ says your God. ‘Speak to the heart of Jerusalem and call to her. This desire of God to speak a sharp word of solace to us, a word capable of penetrating our hardened hearts, comes to fulfilment at Christmas. At Christmas, the Word of God becomes flesh. For in order for this Word to penetrate our hearts, it has first to be sharpened. Sharpened by being drawn into the harsh realities of human life. By being brought up against the hard surface of human weakness and sin.

And this process of sharpening is exactly what we see happening in the gospel today. For why did Jesus submit to the baptism of John? John’s baptism was one of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. But Jesus had no sins for which to seek forgiveness. He had no need to repent. Why then did he choose to begin his public ministry by allowing John to lead him into the waters of repentance? In the first volume of his book, Jesus of Nazareth, Pope Benedict XVI tells us that the Baptism of the Lord was not so much an act of repentance of sin as an expression of solidarity with sinners. According to the Pope, by his baptism, Jesus loaded the burden of all mankind’s guilt upon his shoulders; he bore it down into the depths of the Jordan. He inaugurated his public activity by stepping into the place of sinners (p. 18).

In other words, like a knife being ground on a solid sharpening stone, in his baptism, Jesus the Word of God allows himself to be drawn up against the rough and hardened surface of our sinfulness. Why? So that he might better fulfil the wish of His Father in Heaven to speak a healing word to His people. So that Jesus, the eternal Word of God, might truly be made sharp enough to penetrate the hardness of human hearts. The hardness of our hearts. Yours and mine. And to penetrate us not in order to condemn. But to comfort and to console. To touch and to transform.

Isn’t this also what Paul is talking about in the second reading? When the kindness and love of God our saviour for mankind were revealed, Paul writes, it was not because he was concerned with any righteous actions we might have done ourselves; it was for no reason except his own compassion that he saved us. And isn’t this also why God the Father expresses such delight over Jesus after his baptism? You are my Son, the Beloved; my favour rests on you. Just as a top chef might favour a sharp knife, so too does the heavenly Father delight in the penetrating Word who is his Son. For, with this sharp Word, the Father can now speak to our wayward hearts. The better to call us back to His side. To transform us from strangers and enemies into beloved sons and daughters.

This then, sisters and brothers, is what we are celebrating on this feast day of the Baptism of the Lord. Today, we rejoice that Jesus our Saviour has seen fit to share in the weakness of our human condition. Today we feast our eyes on the sight of the Word of God submitting himself to being sharpened in order to save us. Today, we open wide our ears and our hearts to listen closely to the Word of God as he speaks to us the words that we need to hear. The words that comfort and heal and transform. The words that proclaim that we too are beloved children of God. That we too find favour in God’s sight.

But that’s not all. As we celebrate the Lord’s baptism, our readings remind us also of our own baptism. Today, we remember also how God has saved us by immersing us in the cleansing water of rebirth and by renewing us with the Holy Spirit which he has so generously poured over us through Jesus Christ our saviour. Today, we recall how we too are called to follow the example of Christ. To allow ourselves to be sharpened by contact with the hardships of human life. Hardships of our own surely. But also hardships of those far less fortunate than we are. Hardships of those who continue to struggle to shelter and to feed themselves and their families. Hardships of those who are lonely and depressed. Those who can’t seem to find any meaning to their life here on earth. Today, we commit ourselves to continuing to allow God not just to save us, but also to sharpen us. So that, like Jesus, we too can learn to speak words of comfort and consolation. Words capable of touching and transforming our world.

Sisters and brothers, on this feast of the Baptism of the Lord how ready are we to allow God to sharpen us today?

Solemnity of the Epiphany of the Lord
A Candle’s Choice

Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 71:1-2,7-8,10-13; Ephesians 3:2-3,5-6; Matthew 2:1-12

Picture: cc aussiegall

Sisters and brothers, some of you may still remember those 5 candles that were part of the Advent wreath placed in our sanctuary in the weeks leading up to Christmas. There was a white one, a pink one, and 3 purple ones. Do you perhaps wonder where these candles are now? Or what they look like? Very likely, wherever they are, they look far less pretty than they did before we set them alight. By now, their wicks, which were once so soft and white, will have become blackened and stiff. The tall elegant wax columns melted and misshapen. How do you think these candles are feeling now, if they could feel? And, if a new candle were to see what has happened to these used ones, what do you think the unused candle will say, if it could talk? What will it do, if it could move or walk?

I’m not sure, but I think there are at least two possible reactions. The first is that of fear. Having seen the terrible effects of fire on its friends, a new candle might say: Never! This will never happen to me! It may try its best to protect itself. To avoid ever being set alight. It may run away whenever a flame approaches. Or even try to put the fire out. Anything to avoid disfiguring its sleek solid body. In other words, the candle will be making a choice. It will choose to preserve its wax, rather than to submit to the flame. And, if it’s a smart candle, it might even find some way to make its wax increase. To make it grow so thick and so tall, that the wick is completely enclosed within. No longer exposed to the open air. Making it all the more difficult for someone to set the candle alight.

But it’s also possible that another new candle might have an opposite reaction. Not fear, but desire. Even after having seen and spoken to candles that have been used and discarded, a new candle might actually still want to be set alight. Why? Perhaps because such a candle realises that the whole reason for its existence is to be consumed by fire. So as to give light to those who live in the dark. Perhaps such a candle might have felt the strange inner emptiness, the curious restlessness, that comes with remaining pretty and elegant, but unused and unlit. So that, in contrast to the first candle–the one gripped by fear–this second one may eagerly go out of its way to look for the fire. To expose itself to the heat. To allow its wax to be consumed by the flame.

Fear and desire. Wax and flame. Two possible reactions. Two different choices that candles can make when facing the fire. And these too are also the reactions and choices that we find in our Mass readings today. As you know, the solemn feast of the Epiphany of the Lord is an important part of our celebration of Christmas. A celebration of how Christ our Light comes among us to enlighten not just the people of Israel, but the whole human race. As the second reading tells us, pagans now share the same inheritance... they are parts of the same body, and... the same promise has been made to them, in Jesus Christ. Or, in the words of our response to the psalm: all nations shall fall prostrate before you, O Lord.

But in order for the Light of Christ to spread to all people. those on whom it is already shining need to do what Jerusalem is being asked to do in the first reading. Arise, shine out, for your light has come, the glory of the Lord is rising on you… Like a candle that’s about to be set alight, all those on whom the light of Christ is already shining are being asked to submit themselves, in some way, to the flame. To allow themselves to burn. So that those who are still living in shadow might see and enjoy and be guided by the Light.

This invitation, however, is not easy to accept. It’s difficult, because there is a price that must be paid. A sacrifice that must be made. And not all are willing to pay the price. Not all are willing to make the sacrifice. Isn’t this what we find in the gospel? Notice what happens when a mysterious star begins to shine in the sky. The light from this heavenly flame provokes two contrasting reactions. On the one hand, not only are the wise men from the East filled with delight, they also take the trouble to drop whatever they’re doing and to travel a long distance, just to come close to the Light. They even spare no expense. They’re willing to give away their most precious possessions. And we may imagine that, having been set alight by their encounter with the baby Jesus, they return to their own country to share this same Light with all whom they meet. With all who may still be walking in the dark. Like the second candle we spoke about earlier, these wise men are willing to sacrifice the wax of their comfort and their material possessions. They’re eager to submit to Christ, the love and light of the Father. Christ, the divine yet human Flame.

King Herod, on the other hand, reacts very differently. In the gospel, we’re told that when the king receives news of the star’s appearance, he is perturbed. Not delighted, but disturbed. Disturbed because it was believed that a new star indicates the coming of a new king. And if a new king was coming, what was to become of the old one? Of Herod himself? To welcome the new king, the old one will have to give up his kingship. Much like a candle has to let go of its wax in the face of an approaching flame. But Herod is not willing to make the sacrifice. He refuses to pay the price. So he plots instead to have the child murdered. He goes all out to snuff out the Flame.

Delight and disturbance. Eager self-sacrifice and anxious self-preservation. These are the reactions that were provoked, the choices that were made, when the Light of Christ came into the world for the first time. And aren’t these still the reactions and the choices that remain open to us, sisters and brothers, even as the Light of Christ continues to enter into our world, and to shine upon our lives today?

Self-sacrifice or self-preservation. Isn’t this the choice that presents itself when, for example, crowded conditions and apparently diminishing job prospects lead a nation of immigrants to frown upon the many newcomers looking for a better life? To discriminate against them, and to treat them badly? Self-emptying sacrifice or self-serving ambition. Isn’t this the choice that presents itself too when career-minded people are suddenly led to see that their obsession with accumulating worldly possessions, and with achieving earthly success, is taking a serious toll not only on their own physical, mental and spiritual health, but also on the wellbeing of their families and communities?

Sisters and brothers, on this solemn feast of the Epiphany of the Lord, much like a burning match might approach an unused candle, the Light of Christ continues to draw near to us. How ready are we to submit to its fire? How willing are we to be set alight by its flame today?