What the Magi did not say…

It is often pointed out that the character of St Joseph never speaks in the Gospels. His earthly fatherhood is one of silent constancy. Without the words themselves we still see a man of faith, who trusted in the messages given to him by God; and in that faith he was able to love the Lord. There is a great deal of good in his silent example alone, but this Epiphany a connection occurred in my mind between St Joseph and the lesson of the Magi. Credit must go to my school’s chaplain for prompting this connection in something he referred to in his Epiphany homily, 2023.

Image: Wise Men Seek Him by Susan Comish

The Magi’s journey would not have been easy for many reasons: the distance; the weather; the dangers of robbery and so on. One of the difficulties not often considered would be language. The Magi were educated men, and when they came searching for the infant King of the Jews they logically went first to Jerusalem. There they conversed with the great and the good; learned scholars who had spent their lives in the study of various disciplines, and of course, King Herod himself. Aramaic was not a widely known language, so it is likely that these conversations took place in a common language such as Hebrew, Greek or Latin, or through court translators. The Magi would have been prepared for this; they would have known how the courts of great men worked, and the etiquette to be followed. They asked their questions and were honest in the answers they gave to Herod’s questions in return. But then they were pointed to a small town south of the city; there would be no scholars or translators there.

And so comes our parallel with the silence of St Joseph. The talkative Magi of Jerusalem do indeed find what they sought. “Going into the house they saw the child with his mother Mary, and falling to their knees they did him homage.” St Matthew puts no words into their mouths now. Perhaps a difficulty of language rendered conversation impossible; perhaps they were struck with a divine awe; perhaps there was an awkward and unrecorded conversation of sorts. Whatever the truth of that visit, St Matthew chooses to recount their visit as an example of silent homage to the Christ-child. They knew that this child was something special. Psalm 111 teaches that “the fear of the Lord is the first stage of Wisdom.” It seems from their visit to Jerusalem that their knowledge of the Jewish scriptures was lacking, but if proof of the Magi as ‘wise men’ were needed, we should have all we need in the way that they fell to their knees in silent wonder.

Image: Wise Men Adoring Christ Child by Ade Bethune

From the earliest days of the Church silence has been recognised as a powerful thing. The Lord himself would retreat into the wilderness alone or with his disciples to pray and commune with his Father. John the Baptist, the desert fathers and medieval hermits all recognised that the Lord could be found in the quiet of the wilderness. Contemplative religious orders spend much of their time in silence listening for the Lord’s guidance and praying for the needs of the world without distraction.

Of course for those of us in the secular world, noise is a constant. Sometimes that is external noise: cars, music and conversation around us; but sometimes it is the noise of our own minds, which cannot switch off from the cares and worries of daily life. Fortunately as Catholics we have a beautiful solution to this. Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, whether at Exposition with the Lord in a monstrance or of the reposed Sacrament in a tabernacle, gives us time to remove ourselves from the noise of the world. Any church provides the respite from the external noise, but releasing our own minds is far more difficult. I do not intend to give a list of exercises for quietening one’s mind in prayer here, but I will suggest that it takes practice, and we should not be disheartened or put off because we find it difficult to let go of our earthly worries the first time, or consistently every time we try.

What we can and really must do, is make the effort. While our internal journey is very different from the travelling of the Magi, it can seem just as difficult. What we can be assured of however, is that it has the same end; to offer our true and complete homage to the one Lord and Saviour. We can be sure that whenever, and however often we come to him, the Lord will be waiting for us: “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.”

Anything but grace?

“For what greater grace could have dawned upon us from God, than that him who had only one Son, made him the son of man, and so in turn made the son of man a son of God. Ask yourself whether this involved any merit, any motivation, any right on your part; and see whether you find anything but grace!”

These are the words of St Augustine of Hippo in the Office of Readings for Christmas Eve. As we draw at last to the end of Advent, St Augustine invites us to consider the why of Christmas.

The Adoration of the Child is depicted in this 17th-century painting by Dutch artist Gerard van Honthorst.

The first sentence of that quote can seem quite bewildering, but it is a rephrasing of the fundamental Christian reality: God sent his only Son into the world as a man, to redeem all of mankind to himself. In the words of St Paul in his letter to the Galatians: “God sent forth his Son, born of a woman… so that we might receive adoption as sons.” The Nativity of the Lord which we are about to celebrate is the beginning of this mystery; the Son coming to earth. We must of course wait until the Easter Triduum to celebrate its terrible and glorious fulfilment in the Passion, Death and Resurrection of the Lord.

This is the root of our faith, but as St Augustine points out, we must ask why? Psalm 8 asks just this question of the Lord: “What is man that you should keep in mind, mortal man that you care for him?” What has mankind done to warrant the coming of our God to earth, on that first Christmas, or this one, or any in between? St Augustine offers us an answer in a roundabout way:

Nothing.

Even if the world had the united will to earn salvation, to earn the presence on earth of our Redeemer, there is not enough wealth in the world to buy his favour. From the Lord’s perspective in Psalm 49 (50): “If I were hungry, I would not tell you, for I own the world and all it holds.” In short, there is no thing that we can offer to God.

So what can we offer, if not things? That same psalm gives us an answer: “Pay your sacrifice of thanksgiving to God… a sacrifice of thanksgiving honours me and I will show God’s salvation to the upright.” Many of us will sing the carol In the Bleak Midwinter over the coming days; the final line of that hymn gives us the same answer: “what I can I give him; give my heart.” The sacrifice which the Lord asks of us is our heart-felt love. It is by loving him that we will find salvation, and that begins tonight, with the remembrance and celebration of a helpless child, born to humble parents two millennia ago.

St Augustine challenges us one last time with his final words. We can and should make the free choice to worship God; but he did not come as our Redeemer in repayment for love which had been given, nor to leave us in his debt, with love to be offered later. He came because he loves us, and with a more perfect love than we can imagine. In his love God showers us with graces of all kinds, but none more so than that which began in a stable of Bethlehem, with the child named by St Gabriel as Emmanuel – God-with-us.

Mankind did not, and does not, deserve what St John called the “love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God.” When we truly consider the mystery of the Incarnation which we are about to celebrate, can any of us “find anything but grace?”