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| Non timeo Danaos et dona ferentes |
For many years the late Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen would preach a sermon on Good Friday at the Church of Saint Agnes in New York City on the topic of the “Seven Last Words” of Jesus. (For many years I wondered, “How could they call them the 'Seven Last Words,' when the last thing Jesus said wasn’t seven words long?”) With characteristic erudition and wit, Sheen would connect Jesus’ Passion Pronouncements to other lists of seven. These were long sermons, but the time was well spent because of both the message and the messenger!
It occurred to me that today’s
feast of the Epiphany could provide a regular opportunity to preach on the “Three
Gifts” from the Magi. Two obstacles come
to mind: first, I could not approximate the content or style of Bishop Sheen,
and second, another preacher in our parish is fond of presenting three major points
in his homilies. But since 2013 is as
good a year as any for overcoming obstacles, here we go with a meditation on
the Three Gifts of the Magi and the Three Secular Sins in the first letter of
St. John (2:16).
A little background on the Secular Sins might be helpful. John writes his primary epistle to oppose the spread of Gnostic Docetism into the fledgling Church. “Gnostic Docetism” is a two-for-one heresy. The Docetists claimed that Jesus appeared as man, but didn’t actually assume human nature because that would be “coming too close” to us peons; the Gnostics considered Jesus as a mere stepping stone to higher knowledge of God as if such knowledge were an “exclusive offer not available in stores.” The antidote to spiritual poison, then and now, is twofold: right teaching and right living. If you want to know the Father, encounter the Son, specifically as one who has assumed true flesh and shed true blood. If you want to know the Son, encounter the Church, who is known by her obedience to the Commandments, loving God and loving neighbor. St. John addresses various subgroups in the community to encourage them that they do, in fact, know Christ. They don’t have to wait for any secret teachings, as the Gnostics would have them believe. Jesus’ companions know Him because, as John says, “your sins have been forgiven for His name’s sake” (2:12). But knowledge alone doesn’t guarantee right action, nor is it a one-way ticket to everlasting life. As John later relates, the awareness of being God's children, with its promise of likeness to Him, must lead to purity of life (cf. 3:1-2).
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| Whatchu talkin' about, Satan? |
The evil one continues to assail us with temptations as he assailed Jesus en route to His public ministry. By His fidelity in the wilderness Jesus manifested Himself as Victor over Satan; and we share in that victory when we reject “the things of the world” (2:15)—a discordant tune that John summarizes in three notes: (1) sensual lust, (2) enticement for the eyes, and (3) a pretentious life. The offerings of the Magi are suitable substitutes for these vicious patterns.
Sensual lust may be considered more
broadly as physical gratification. When
pursued as an end in itself, gratification becomes a shortcut to forgetting God and
neighbor. God made our bodies, so they’re good: this point can’t be emphasized
enough, if only because our gainsayers accuse us of hating the flesh. It’s actually the lustful, gluttonous, and
slothful persons who have a hard time giving the body due reverence and
care. Consider the Magi’s gift of myrrh:
a perfume, a bodily adornment. Later in
the Gospel, myrrh appears once again, when the holy women bring it to the
Lord’s tomb to anoint His dead body—an act of reverence and care. The body of Christ deserved such treatment
and so do our bodies. Reverence,
however, is not pampering, for it involves the sacrifice of one’s own desires
and energies. To live this way in the world is a prophetic witness. Modesty draws attention because it seems like a judgment upon the indulgent; at the
Enticement for the eyes refers to the
bulging of the eyes and the shrinking of the heart at the sight of
another’s blessings, which are viewed as a threat to one’s own. In the acquisition of goods, there are two
extremes to avoid. One extreme is to
claim for oneself the supreme right to get whatever one wants, by whatever
means, at whoever’s expense. The Gospel
parable of the rich man and Lazarus (Lk 16:19-31) assigns a bleak outcome to
the person who pays no attention to the person in need. Yet we also avoid such distrust of the human
person that discourages or forbids private property. The Catechism has a splendid paragraph (1884)
on how God’s respect for human freedom is the model for human governance. The Magi’s gift of gold bears witness to Our
Lord’s kingly state. Gold is the “wealth
of nations” about which Isaiah speaks—the treasure of the Gentiles, who have
now been invited to share in the promise of salvation furnished by the Holy
Child of Nazareth. God’s chosen and beloved people have freely shared their
wealth for the benefit of every person of every place and time.
The third
worldly vice, a pretentious life, is
best illustrated in the depiction of just about any celebrity’s life. But it has less to do with wealth or fame than
with how people carry themselves—what rights and privileges they claim, a quick
disdain for whoever doesn’t meet their qualifications, the impression of
self-importance they give off, as noticeable as a cologne bath. Of course, it’s always easier to notice
someone else’s more egregious displays of vanity. We may be drawn to the guilty pleasure of
television shows that we can watch with the satisfaction, perhaps laced with
gratitude, of knowing that “I’m not that
bad.” Perhaps not, and thank God for
it. But we seek the disposition that
corresponds to the Magi’s offering of frankincense: a priestly, worshipful attitude,
eager to observe and acclaim the virtues and achievements of others. In the seminary I had several friends who had
such a disposition. As an amateur organist,
I always admired the talents of the organists who would enter the seminary in
the course of my nine years of study.
Several of them were professionally trained. But they were often quick to compliment me
when they enjoyed something I played. The
lesson: “File this under your cap, Chris, so that you can ‘go and do likewise’
in your day, starting this day!” Many opportunities have
indeed surfaced; sad to say, I haven’t taken them all, so I ought not be
surprised about the many melancholy moments I’ve had, which tend to be quickly
transformed by making a sincere and hearty compliment.
The life of
virtue, marked by prompt giving and grateful receiving, is what St. John might
call “the will of God.” His presentation
of the secular sins concludes with aphorisms reminiscent of the prophet Isaiah
and the prophet Jesus: “Yet the world and its enticement are passing away. But whoever does the will of God remains
forever” (2:17). The Magi followed the
will of God to its very Source, a humble stable in an out-of-the-way place. Their hearts were open to the promptings of
the Holy Spirit, who led them to appreciate a light that wasn’t their own, to
adopt a fresh, spiritual way of thinking and acting. That was their true gift, and it’s meant for
us as well.
