The great Irish writer James Joyce tried his best to distance himself from his Catholicism, but the Jesuits planted its spirit in his heart and, try as he might, he couldn’t get away from it. In each of his short stories, Joyce created a moment when his main character would come to see something about himself or the world he had not seen before. They were life-altering, eye-opening moments. And what did Joyce end up calling these instances? Why, epiphanies, of course!
The Christ Child has come to us on a starry night in Bethlehem. The ragged shepherds have ventured in from the hills in wonderment, and Herod has leaked his devilish scheme. The divine plan has been set into motion. The most sacred moment in human history has been accomplished. And here we are, or should be, utterly changed by the joy of His presence. But it’s hard to settle in with that joy as we secularize the holy days, make them reflect our consumerist principles, render them little more than quaint in an English Victorian kind of way.
It’s sometimes hard to keep Bethlehem in our hearts. Eventually the Magi come bearing gifts. And the Holy Family begins yet another sojourn. And where are we? What do we do now?
Modernity’s hold on Christmas encourages a great letdown, but a liturgical view of the season keeps us in the sacred surroundings of God’s plan. We take this time to bless our homes. We bring ourselves as a gift to the Christ Child. We take Him out into the world. We make our own sojourn with Jesus, Mary and Joseph – walking with them over the lonesome hills and valleys of our own lives. We see the Holy Family in those around us, especially the poor and the suffering, and we bring to all we encounter the joy of a changed world.
How is my family different now? Do I infuse my work with the presence of the Christ Child? Does my life reflect this embrace of Jesus, His Mother, and Joseph, the silent, anonymous hero of the Nativity narrative?
What do we do now?
I will try to look for the small but wondrous epiphanies awaiting me, epiphanies that might just change my life bit by bit and bring me closer to my God and, thus, stronger in my faith. I find those opportunities right in front of me, in the people with whom I engage, the situations I discover and fret over, the challenges I face, the charity and passion I put forth. I quote my old standby, Rabbi Abraham Heschel, who said, “The higher goal of spiritual living is not to amass a wealth of information, but rather to find sacred moments.” We go out from the manger and the night sky, having just celebrated the most sacred moment in history, and we find other sacred moments. They are everywhere and all around us. Willa Cather says, “Where there is great love there are always miracles.”
The Christ Child comes with miracles as a part of His story. So we pay closer attention, and we look for His face in those around us and those who live in our hearts.
I don’t know how you might better recognize the epiphanies that show up in your life. They may come while walking the dog or doing the dishes; maybe in a family visit; in a hand-out and a hand up; in a prayer or at Mass; in confession; by showing love to those who are dearest to you. We find our own stars and we find our own way and, if we let her, Holy Mother Church is there to suggest a path, nudge us along, guide us, hold our hand.
Our eyes are opened also by art. Visual representations of the Nativity or the arrival of the Magi, as well as so many of the biblical scenes of the old masters, can be particularly moving. Poetry that gives God glory in ways only poetry has the capacity to is amazing: the turns of phrase or metaphor that touches the soul. One of the best poets I know in circulation today is a wonderful Catholic writer by the name of Dana Gioia – in his poems I encounter epiphanies. And the music of the soul – be it in the elegance of jazz, the divine complexities of sacred and classical, or the humbling honesty of country – takes us to places we can’t get to any other way.
Epiphanies are everywhere, waiting to be embraced.
What now? We do what is in front of us, but we do it infused with love of the Christ Child. Epiphanies are everywhere, waiting to be embraced. So look, and listen. The Child will appear to you, and you will be changed.
Fred Gallagher is an author and editor-in-chief with Gastonia-based Good Will Publishers Inc.