The Gift That We Are

“They were overjoyed at seeing the star, 
and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother. They prostrated themselves and did him homage.  Then they opened their treasures and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.” (Mt 2:11)

A child is born for us, a son is given to us.  He is our gift.  Part of the ritual of Epiphany is that we get our chance to reciprocate with a gift of our own.  All too often we react with empty-handed gloom: What do I have to offer?  The shepherd gives a lamb.  The drummer-boy gives his pa-rum-pa-pum-pum.  Don’t mention the Magi, please, or I’ll get depressed.  Everyone’s favorite Christmas song takes gift-giving to a ridiculous extreme.  What did my true love give to me? – in total, 23 musicians, 19 dancers, 8 milk maids with their cows, 5 gold rings, 23 birds and a tree.  And there I am with my awkwardness and indigence, hoping to hide behind a camel.

But no.  On this day, each of us is drawn to approach the Child and lay open our treasury – the treasury of the heart, whose contents are infinitely precious.  What is inside?  Dark and dusty places, chaos and mystery, but also beauty, richness, prayer and worship, a pleasing odor, hidden suffering and compassion.
Step one: open.  Step two: let him look.  Step three: let him take what he wants.

Gold.  Does he find gold in me?  Yes.  Gold is my deepest, truest, most beautiful self, fresh from the hands of my Creator.  This is the self God sees in his dreams and smiles.  The imago dei that I am may be crowded out by the accumulated junk of unlikeness, but it still gleams brightly in the light of his face.  It is worth spending time identifying the gifts of nature and grace that have been given to me, so as to offer them to him with gratitude and delight.
Open; let him look; let the King draw out the gold hidden in the mountain, and fashion for himself a crown of beauty.

Frankincense.  Does he find frankincense in me?  Yes.  As our favorite Epiphany hymn tells us: “incense owns a Deity nigh.”  I am capax dei, made to contain him; I am homo adorans, a worshiping being.  A member of a kingdom of priests, I am called to consecrate all creation to its creator.  My body is a living censer, offering the incense of prayer night and day.  It is worth reflecting on this, striving to be conscious of my body as a vehicle of God’s glory, a sacred vessel in which continual prayer burns even when I am not aware of it.
Open; let him look; let the Priest take up his censer and send a pleasing odor to the heavens.

Myrrh.  Does he find myrrh in me?  Yes.  Ointment dripping from fingers that fumble with a bolt; spices gathered into a bundle between the breasts; perfume poured forth to anoint a body for its burial.  Hidden suffering manifests in a house filled with the sweet odor of perfume.  This strange substance joins self-knowledge and devotion, intimacy and sacrifice, into one.  And I discover myself as one made to be totally given.
Open; let him look; let the Bridegroom receive his anointing at my hands: my body given; my life poured out.

Today, on our Epiphany, may we be open to receiving the gift of seeing ourselves under the light of Christ’s gaze.  And seeing, may we rejoice, and rejoicing, may we give the gift that we are.