Peace be with you.
Friends, we come to this wonderful Feast of the Epiphany,
and that great accountant in the Gospel of Matthew,
of the journey of the Magi, of the three kings.
What is it about that story that's so beguiled the poets,
and the artists, and the preachers
over the centuries?
It's a marvelous story, it's kind of a mystical story.
It's a little bit puzzling and odd.
But it also bears a very profound theological truth,
which gets us very close actually,
to the heart of biblical revelation.
What do we see?
Well, these magi, Matthew calls them Magoi.
We're not exactly sure what that means.
Wise men, magicians, astronomers, astrologers.
We know that in the Chaldean culture of that time,
the Babylonian culture,
there was a tradition of stargazing.
So they're looking up into the heavens
with a kind of scientific curiosity.
A bit like scientists today.
Also probably a bit of astrological curiosity.
But in the deepest sense, they're looking for
signs of God.
There's a theological curiosity that's in their search.
So they see the sign, the star.
And once they see it, they leave their own country.
Now, why?
Because they know that star is the sign
of a newborn king of the Jews.
Now, we've heard the story a thousand times,
and we don't really think much about it.
But pause there for a minute.
So here are these people at a high level
of the Chaldean culture,
I presume Patriots.
I presume that they were connected to the
traditions and history of their people.
And they see a star
that's announcing the arrival
of the king of a foreign country.
And because of that, they up and leave
and go in search of that king.
Well, think for a second.
I mean, it might make some sense if an American had
some kind of sign of this guy's the next
President of the United States,
so I'm going to go try to find him.
Or if someone from China had seen a sign of a
future leader of China.
But wouldn't it be a little bit odd
if I were to say to you,
"Yes, I saw a sign!
And because of it, I'm going to France
to acknowledge the new president of France."
You'd say, "Well, I don't get it."
I mean, a Frenchman maybe would do that.
But why are you, as an American,
paying attention to the ruler of the French?
It brings up this issue, and it's central
to the Bible, of the national and
the transnational.
The national, that we're connected
to our own people, our own tribe,
our own language, our own way of life.
Sure.
And you see it all through the Old Testament,
that the ancient Israelites are very attuned to their
own history and traditions,
and they indeed will build walls around their cities
to protect them.
They have laws and they have prohibitions that are
designed to define them as a people.
Absolutely.
But alongside that insistence, you find in many places
in the Old Testament, this keen awareness that
Israel is not for its own sake.
Israel, in its distinctiveness, is finally for the sake
of the whole world.
There's something transnational in the very heart of the national
interest of ancient Israel.
Yes, the King of Judea.
Yes, the successor of David living in Jerusalem.
But the ultimate orientation is toward a king who will
govern all the nations.
Think for a second too, everybody, of nationalism.
Which is a beautiful thing, patriotism and being close
to your own national traditions and language and so on.
Beautiful.
But how many wars and how much heartache
have been caused by a preoccupation with one's
national identity?
How many wars have been fought over borders,
over national limits and disputes and so on?
Nationalism is beautiful, patriotism is beautiful,
but it carries this terrible shadow.
The shadow is overcome by a keen sense of
something that transcends the particularities of a nation.
What are we seeing now in the magi?
This rather extraordinary thing.
Chaldeans, yeah, but they see the star of a foreign king,
but they up and leave their own country in search of it.
They're sensing something, that this king is not just
the king of a foreign nation.
Somehow, this king of Israel is also destined to be,
supposed to be, the king of all the world.
This is the genius anticipated in the Bible.
And I think everybody realized in a very powerful way,
in the Church Catholic up and down the centuries.
I just came back a few months ago from
the Synod in Rome.
There I was, this guy from Chicago, Illinois.
Now bishop in Southern Minnesota.
And I'm sitting across the table from Cardinals from Malaysia,
and from Hong Kong, and from Lithuania,
and from Argentina.
And then at the front of the room,
there's the Successor of Peter,
who's from Argentina and has now made his way to Rome.
Again and again, I was struck by the startling
internationalism of that gathering.
And I said many times,
"I don't know any other organization on the planet
that could bring together such an extraordinary
international gathering."
All of us under one king, all from our different nations,
but willing to transcend the particularity of our nation
for the sake of this common kingship.
I think that's part of the genius of Catholicism.
I saw it too, just a few months before the synod.
I was in Lisbon for World Youth Day.
That was part of the genius of John Paul II, wasn't it?
To bring together young people from all over the world,
with their national flags, and songs,
and garb and so on.
They weren't abandoning that, but they were finding a
higher transcendent unity.
Because they were all under the kingship and lordship of Jesus.
Like the Magi, they were willing to get up
from their home countries, to cross in
some cases, to go halfway around the world.
And to find a communion with every other kid from
all over the globe under the one common kingship.
Think for a second of the power of the
symbol of the star.
The star of Bethlehem.
What's a quality of those heavenly bodies,
the moon, and the sun, and the stars?
They can be seen from everywhere,
France or Germany or the US.
Of course, there's northern-southern hemisphere.
But you get my point that a star transcends
the national boundaries, and all of us together can look
up toward toward its light.
That, I think everybody, is the power of
this feast day.
Of the epiphany.
Epiphanea, that something has been shown.
What is it?
That there's something that stands beyond our particularity,
beyond our simple national identities,
beyond these divisions that have caused so much anguish.
It's Christ the king.
And we leave behind these particularities in search
of this common kingship.
Can I make a connection now between this feast day,
which celebrate something at the very beginning of Jesus' life,
and the accounts of the crucifixion?
What do we find there, that Pontius Pilate nailed to
the cross of Jesus this sign?
Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum.
"Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews."
Well, the magi 30-some years before were indeed looking
for the king of the Jews.
But what did they know?
The king of the Jews was not just for particular people,
but the king of the Jews was meant to be
king of the whole world.
Does Pilate, at least implicitly,
know the same thing when he insists that that sign be put up
in Hebrew and Latin and Greek?
In other words, in all the major languages
of that time and place.
He meant to mock Jesus.
"Hey, let's make sure everybody sees this sign."
But in doing that, he became unwittingly the
first great evangelist.
He was saying exactly what the magi intuited 30 years before.
Yes, this one who is the unexpected king of the Jews is
also meant for all the world.
It's from that place, everybody,
that the missionaries went out.
And they went out with the message of the magi.
We found the king.
Not, a rival king from another country is
going to conquer yours, and bring you under
his domination.
No, no.
We found the king who's like a star that hovers over all of us,
that we can all see together.
That's the genius of the Catholic Church.
Kata holos, according to the whole.
Today, I know we read this in terms of domination.
That's a hangup of our time.
Whenever you talk about wholeness,
or unity, or everyone coming together,
it looks like domination.
No, but watch again.
What does this king look like,
whom the magi anticipated?
What does he look like?
Not like Caesar, not like the Napoleon,
not like Stalin or some domineering figure.
He looks like this crucified criminal.
His arms outstretched, powerless,
stripped of all the goods of the world.
The conduit of the divine grace to the world.
That's the king, everybody.
That's the king.
That's the star.
That's the one who lures all of us out of our self-preoccupation,
lures all of us out of a hyper-identification with one
people and nation and background, into this beautiful catholicity,
this beautiful internationalism that has marked the Church at
its best from the beginning.
I think that's one dimension, anyway, of this marvelous
Feast of the Epiphany.
Something's been shown to the whole world,
that we have this king of peace who draws all of us together,
and God bless you.