We must not forget to stay, in spirit, around The Crib- from Christmas Eve until Epiphany; for it is on the “Little Christmas”, at the coming of the Three Kings, that Our Lord showed Himself to the gentiles, indicating that He had indeed come for all peoples, for “all men of good will”. If we leave The Crib, we miss this momentous event:
They come, those Three, more-than-kings, the Wise of the East. Their faces are inscrutable, hard lines etched in well-traveled countenances; one bears a design of dark kohl, a lattice-like mask around his eyes; another a robe bearing fantastic scenes embroidered in gold thread- not gilt, but real, gold-leaf thread. He shimmers like a living sunrise as he approaches on his knees. The other two take his well-intuited cue and also fall to their knees to shuffle slowly forward. Servants behind them, bearing bundles well-concealed, fall to their knees as well, unquestioning, following their masters. It is a silent, strange scene, the breathing and the drag of robes over small pebbles and discarded leaves.
These Three, reverently coming forward, are passing from the light of the torches (a strong and soldierly light, harsh and flickering) into the star-shadows of the small shrubs and towering cypresses that surround the tiny cave. Suddenly Joseph is there, holding an oil-lamp, peering into the dark to find out who is approaching. He sees the strange sight of the kings and their retinue. They stop. He looks into their eyes, holding all three in his glance, and then slowly nods his head, both in welcome and in humble respect.
Slowly, entering over the threshold, the lip of the cave that holds the thresh inside, they still themselves in reverence. St. Joseph is standing to the right of the manger, now carefully filled with wool and binding cloth, gifts from the shepherds. He has gently touched Our Lady’s shoulder, she who was dozing with the Holy Child in her arms. She wakes, and turns slowly, trying not to wake the Baby. As He sleeps, the Three Kings gaze upon the Child, upon the Mysterious King. Their Eastern eyes do not stray in confusion at the poverty and ignominy of the place, the clothes, the manger, and the animals; for they know that mystery and true greatness is not to be understood; that something larger than the world can indeed inhabit this tiny cave.
They know, too, that something in this Mystery is about a King who will give His very life for His beloved, this God who will empty Himself for His creatures; they know of the ancient pagan kings who were sacrificed to the gods to assuage wrath on a suffering tribe, and the subsequent ‘shadow kings’, or substitute sacrifices-and so they bring myrrh, a precious scent used for burial rites. They know, too, that this Mysterious King is far greater, far higher, than the ancient pagan kings, higher then themselves as the cypress trees to the blade of grass- therefore they bring Him frankincense, a precious sap, crystallized and used only in the liturgies of prayers to the Most High God.
These three, they bring their homage, their wisdom, their intuition, their most precious gifts, symbolic of their graced-understanding; but most of all, they bring hopes-hope of salvation for the gentiles.
Epiphany is the day for the world to cry out again, in hope: to send our prayers up like the wafts of frankincense: but they must be precious, careful and loving, like St. Bernadette’s beautiful Sign of the Cross. It is the day for the world to let go of its gold, putting its wealth at the feet of Christ the King, in His service. It is the day to hand the box of myrrh to glorious St. Joseph, to ask for our daily and final death to be taught to us by him. It is the day for the world to gaze anew at the Holy Family, and ask the Lord for forgiveness, and to rejoice that His answer is not sent, but that He comes Himself: to the Crib, to every Holy Sacrifice of the Mass- and again as Judge at the end of time.
