The Christian faith dawns on the soul in an epiphany. That is, it is a new manifestation of God's presence, one the soul has never known before and somehow hoped for, even without knowing it. It comes in the form of a surprise, a gift. It alludes any effort to grasp or control. Not the result of any exertion of human effort, exercise of power or mastery of method, no creature can take credit for it. Yet, it makes a whole new effort possible, a whole new freedom, a new hope - a hope that does not disappoint.
Liturgically, three epiphanies are especially celebrated: the adoration of the Magi, the Baptism in the River Jordan, and the Wedding Feast of Cana. In each case, something hidden was made manifest. The light of the star manifests the Messiah of Israel to the Magi - even as Herod plotted his death. The ministry of John the Baptist manifests the voice of the Father, the sonship of Christ and the anointing of the Holy Spirit in the waters of Baptism - even as own His people could not recognize Him. The obedience of the servants under the direction of "the Woman" manifests the Bridegroom in water made into wine - even as the joy, not only of the wedding feast but of marriage and family was running out. Each epiphany unveils what Tolkien coined as a Eucatastrophe -- the sudden happy ending that we were hoping for all along but that seemed so impossible. It is the possession of this knowledge that faith in Christ gives a soul -- a truth so powerful, not even death can hold it back.
One of the most beautiful Epiphany's of my life was spent with my grandmother. It would be in the final weeks of her life. Well into her nineties, she was a devout Baptist and knew her Bible as very few others ever will. Yet, as she faced the final trials of her long life, she confessed to me that she was not able to pray anymore. Nor was she able to read the Bible. So I asked her what she did as she rocked in her rocking chair. She told me that she repeated to herself over and over a verse from Romans 5:5, "Our hope does not disappoint." Then she gazed at me and whispered, "I long to see His Face."
As it is, there were many truths she had come to believe about the Catholic Church. Namely, that Catholics were right to honor Mary because, she argued, that the Bible says that Mary is "full of grace," "blessed among women" and "every generation" is to call her "blessed." She also pondered the Eucharist explaining to me that what Catholics teach about the Real Presence must be true. "After all, He did not say that this is a symbol or a sign but "this is my body" and "I am the living Bread."" While she never formally entered into the full communion of the Church, her faith stretched toward this communion even as her final suffering became more intense.
As it turned out, toward the end of our time together, a Catholic priest came by her house unannounced, mistaking her for a parishioner. There were many visitors, many saintly men and women who came to pray with her in her final weeks. She was delighted to have them and graciously received them all, sometimes consoling them more than they could console her. All the same, it was an unexpected gift to have an icon of Christ the priest enter under her roof. He prayed with her and whatever he told her, I felt a deep peace and beautiful joy had filled her home, even as her final struggle was to begin. You could say it was a gift, an unexpected epiphany.
It has been years ago since the Bridegroom came for this soul, and I will not sugarcoat her difficult death that I did not witness but that other family members suffered together with her. Yet, I also know, that her hope did not disappoint. Right as her most difficult trial was to begin, the Lord used a frail minister, even in his innocent mistake, to shine His face on her. So it is today with us. A Eucatastrophe is breaking in on the Church, an Epiphany of such glory as to exceed the limits of this life to hold. Such is the gift that faith gives us right in the midst of overwhelming circumstance - a gift of hope, a hope that does not disappoint.
Beautiful. Thank you!
This is so comforting to read after my experience yesterday, on epiphany Sunday. I just couldn’t describe it. I came home and that night after mass I happened upon a description of at Teresa of Avila’s prayer of quiet by Fr Lagrange and it put into words that I could not find myself to describe my day after a long week of the inability or desire to prayer and all I could do was the minimum and I felt tired and unmotivated. Then this morning I read this. 🙏🏻 madeleine
“Behold, I make all things new.” (Rev 21:5)