The Epiphany of the Lord
I
can’t be sure if this story actually took place,
but
in the deepest sense—as you’ll see—it’s certainly true.
Kahua
lived in the hills overlooking the plains of East Africa.
One
day he came down to the village below.
He
knocked on the church door, asked for the priest,
and
then asked the priest for a job for the next six months.
The
priest just happened to be in urgent need of some help,
and
hired the stranger to work with him closely.
Kahua
quickly proved to be an honest, hardworking, and reliable man.
Most
impressively, he seemed to get along with just about everybody.
Which
is why is was so shocking, just shy of six months later,
that
he told the priest he’d be leaving the following week.
“No,
Kahua, you can’t go,” the priest pleaded.
“I need you!”
Recognizing
his guilt, he continued,
“I
know I’ve been cranky
and
difficult to work with much of the time.
And
I’m quite sure I haven’t paid you nearly enough
for
all the good work you do.
But
I promise to make it up to you now
and
do better in the future!”
Which
is when Kahua explained it was never about the money.
You
see, from his home in the hills,
he
had looked down on the village
and
saw the Catholic church and the Muslim mosque.
He
knew they represented two of the world’s great religions,
and
figured they might help him in his search for direction in life.
Kahua
had thought he’d go
to
work for six months with the Catholic priest,
then
for six months with the Muslim imam,
and
so figure out which religion would be best for him.
“Now
it’s time to go work for the imam,” he said.
“But
you didn’t tell me!” the priest replied.
“If
I had only known…” (cf. N. Connelly)
The
magi—like Kahua—were spiritual seekers.
They
had a star to lead them to Jesus.
But
the people of our day:
where
can they look for guidance?
How
do they find their way to Christ?
Generally,
it’s not by following a star,
but
by what they see in us.
To
the ancient Israelites, Isaiah said,
Rise up in splendor,
Jerusalem! Your light has come!
God’s
chosen people were to shine brightly,
that
all the nations might come to know the Lord.
Likewise,
we can hear the prophet say to us,
Rise up in splendor, Malone! The glory of the Lord shines upon you!
have
been given stewardship of God’s grace—
and
not for our own benefit alone.
The
mystery of God’s plan of salvation has been revealed to us,
and
we are to make it known to others.
And
since we never know who is seeking
or
when they’re looking to us,
that
mystery should be revealed
in
how we live at every moment, in everything we do.
Here’s
a somewhat silly example…
It
was early in my priesthood that I learned
that
tipping the wait staff in a restaurant
could
be a form of evangelization—
especially
when you’re wearing a Roman collar.
Folks
may not know my name or the address of my church,
but
they have an idea of who I’m supposed to represent
and
what I’m supposed to stand for.
What
would a stingy tip say?
We
often associate religion fairly exclusively
with
what occurs within these four sacred walls…
…but
if faith doesn’t influence all we’re doing outside these walls,
then
what happens here is, in large part, in vain.
My
thoughts can’t help but turn to our patron, St. André Bessette,
who
died on the feast of the Epiphany in 1937.
When
people came to him—and so, so many people did—
Br.
André saw them for what they were: people searching for God.
He always
treated them accordingly.
“If
you save only one soul,” he used to say,
“you
will save your own.”
One
soul at a time, he led countless people to Christ.
At
the funeral of this simple, uneducated, sickly man,
born
not so very far from here,
a
million people filed past his casket.
Rise
up in splendor! Let your light
shine!
We,
my friends, ought to be as so many stars
that
the many nations on earth may see us
and
come to adore the Lord.
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