Sunday, January 2, 2022                                           (today’s lectionary)
The Epiphany of the Lord (Sunday)
And the child grew
On entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother.
Willa Cather wrote a story a hundred years or so ago, “The Burglar’s Christmas,” about a young man down and out in Chicago. William was born on Christmas Eve, and on this particular Christmas Eve twenty-four years later he tried to rob a house to get food to eat. But the house turned out to be where his mother and father lived since they had moved from the East.
He had no idea. His pockets were full of jewels when his mother opened the bedroom door and saw him. “Willie, O Willie!” she cried overjoyed. “You have been so long in coming, even I almost gave you up.”
Raise your eyes and look about; they all gather and come to you: your sons come from afar.
His parents were not angry with him for being a careless, bohemian boy at the end of every rope, about to cast himself into Lake Michigan. His mother knew him as she knew herself. “You have never had an impulse that I have not known. I had hot battles of my own, and I felt your likeness to me. From the hour you were born you were restless and discontented, as I had been before you.”
Then you shall be radiant at what you see, your heart shall throb and overflow, for the riches of the sea shall be emptied out before you. All from Sheba shall come bearing gold and frankincense, and proclaiming the praises of the Lord.
Reading Willa Cather’s heartfelt story of grace beyond forgiveness, I began to think of the infant Jesus and his own “restless discontent.” Whatever Mary chose not to tell Luke, he could not tell us. So I can imagine the transitions Jesus had to make, from God to baby, and his human surprise, perhaps, at the first faint stirrings in his soul.
O God, with your judgment endow the king, and with your justice, the king’s son; He shall govern your people with justice and your afflicted ones with judgment. Justice shall flower in his days, and profound peace, till the moon be no more. May he rule from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth.
I imagine Jesus hearing these words, over and over as he studies his Scriptures, and gradually knowing, “Yes, these words are about me.”
Behold, the star the magi had seen at its rising preceded them, until it came and stopped over the place where the child was. They were overjoyed.
But how could he even begin to bring those wonderful predictions about? He was a baby, then he was a boy, then he was a man with ideas that made him a suspect – dangerous to the leaders of his faith. Was he surprised? He didn’t seem to be. Did it break his heart? Yes! It broke his heart. Did their suspicion turn him from his calling? Of course not.
The magi prostrated themselves and worshipped Jesus. Then they opened their treasures and gave him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Back in Chicago, Willie accepted his mother (and father)’s open arms, and slept at last in a Christmas Eve-warmed bed. His mind remained restless, and he began to think about the other Baby, born on his own birthday.
As the chimes rang joyfully outside and sleep pressed heavily upon his eyelids, he wondered dimly if the Author of this sad little riddle of ours were not able to solve it after all, and if the Potter would not finally mete out his all comprehensive justice, such as none but he could have, to his Things of clay, which are made in his own patterns, weak or strong, for his own ends; and if some day we will not awaken and find that all evil is a dream, a mental distortion that will pass when the dawn shall break.
 (Isaiah 60, Psalm 72, Ephesians 3, Matthew 2)
(posted at www.davesandel.net)
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