I have confessed that Epiphany is one of my favorites in the feast days of the Church. The exotic element is most attractive and the multi-angled view afforded by the protagonists in its drama make Epiphany a preacher’s delight. Of course, one must be selective. One cannot, in a single sermon, speak about the mysterious men known as magi, of their place of origin and their destination, the star, the meaning of the three gifts, the fury of Herod, the presence of the Holy Family. This time, I want to speak of none of these things–things that have captivated my eager spirit in years past–and speak only of the trek, of the journeying of these men, and, at that, not in its literal and pictorial sense, although that too would be interesting, but in its figurative sense.

Without a doubt, these men, whoever they were and from wherever they may have come, were changed men on account of their finding the Christ Child. Epiphany was not an episode in their lives such as they returned to life-as-usual once they had returned home. These men are reverenced by the Church as saints. Their conversion to Jesus meant that everything for them had to be re-evaluated in the light of Epiphany’s manifestation of Jesus. They whole meaning of their existence, their family, their occupation, their thinking, everything would have been affected by their becoming Christians, even though their knowledge of Jesus’ doctrine–something still in the future–would have been largely unknown to them, unless they were given to learn of it through a special revelation, or through later instruction.

What fascinates me most, as I contemplate these men this year, is this very redefinition of their lives in light of their finding of Jesus. And this brings me to a self-examination of the deeds, thoughts and motivations in my own life and, along with it, the desire to have you become likewise reflective. To what extent has my Catholic faith permeated my life? For everybody here, the answer will not be 100 percent, I suppose–in order to be honest–and yet, no one here, by your mere presence at Mass, would say that the Catholic faith means nothing to you. Somewhere then between 1 and 100 percent of your life is taken up with your religion. But, I don’t mean this question in a quantitative sense, as if I were asking you, how much time, or how much money, or how many activities of yours are religious. That’s a real trap that many devotionally-minded fall to so easily, once they have a deep religious experience and also why their excessive religiosity (I don’t mean their ‘high sanctity’) puts others off. My proposition, rather, is simply this: is Jesus the central figure of my life, or not? Regardless of all the things that must occupy my time and my thoughts, is the desire, the desire of my life focused on Christ? If it is–again, in greater or lesser degree–how much does my religion curb my words, does it forbid certain thoughts, does it make me do things that otherwise I would not do? Again, one might answer in a percentage: one is more or less Christian in the totality of his life.

I would like to frame the question in a different way that’s meaningful to me and I hope that has some significance for you also. Is my greatest joy, my most fulfilling thing in life, to find Jesus, to converse with Him and to adore Him? Maybe that’s a priest’s question, or something made for Religious, but I don’t really think so. Of all the things I might do with my time, of all the things I would like to accomplish in my life before I die, there is the one thing that looms largest of all. It is my possession of Christ. When I come into an empty church and find the Lord ‘alone’ as it were in the tabernacle, I can take delight in having found Him and in being with Him: as if He were here all for myself. Or, in finding my prayer time, I often like to say, "Good, Lord, now I can be with You alone, without anything else to distract me." I don’t mean to make this too personal and remove it from your experience, but I do want to express to you from my own life what I am trying to convey. Epiphany means finding Jesus and forever having your life changed. It doesn’t mean that one is instantly a saint. It’s just a re-definition of the goal of my life, or the thing that is uppermost on my mind. Christ should change me, alter my habits, reform my speech, restrict my desires and interests, forbid that I here or there. This is not religious fanaticism but religious reality. It’s the awareness of Christ that has penetrated my whole life. I continue to live and act in the world, fulfilling my duties, but this one thing is the center of all and it alone gives a meaning to everything I do. It’s my faith in Christ.

I believe that this is the great blessing of Epiphany. The magi were on a long journey and they both found Jesus and, as it says, they worshiped Him. This is a symbol of the whole of a Christian’s vocation. I hope that this is something we all have in common, with the magi.