“They found him in the Temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors,
both hearing them, and asking them questions.”
Epiphany is, par excellence, the season of teaching. It begins with the Magi-Kings bearing gifts to the Child Christ, gifts that primarily teach; “sacred gifts of mystic meaning,” as one of the hymns puts it. And then, on the First Sunday after the Epiphany, we have this Gospel story, the only Gospel story about the boyhood of Jesus. He is found in the Temple in Jerusalem by his parents. He is with the doctors, the teachers of the Law. He is both listening and asking questions and providing answers. He is at once both student, humanly speaking, and teacher, divinely speaking. Epiphany is about what God makes known to us through the things of humanity.
This Gospel story challenges us about education. It does so from within the meaning of the story of the Epiphany itself which is primarily about adoration, a concept which we have, perhaps, lost or forgotten in our contemporary culture and which then effects how we think about education, about the teaching. T.S. Eliot’s marvelous poem, The Journey of the Magi, begins with an arresting quote from the 17th century preacher and divine, Lancelot Andrewes.
A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey;
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
Eliot goes on to reflect on the nature of the journey, talking about the hardships of the way, “the camels galled, sore-footed and refractory,” though the biblical account makes no mention of any camels, about the recalcitrance and uncertainty of the servants, and about the unfriendly reception in the towns and cities along the way; in short, “a hard time we had of it,” referring to the journey. About that journey, he says,
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death?…
He reflects on the ambiguities of life and death that somehow belong to the uncertainties of the journey. Birth and Death. Our lives, too, are often described and spoken about as being a kind of journey. But what kind of journey? Education, too, is often described as a kind of journey, an adventure in learning, and so forth. But, again, what kind of journey?
There is a journey to be sure, the journey to and from Bethlehem by the Magi. And there is a journey to Jerusalem and ultimately back to Nazareth in the Gospel story of Christ teaching in the Temple. But for the tradition artistically, devotionally and spiritually, the story of the Epiphany is known as the Adoration of the Magi, not the journey. Journey seems to speak to a more contemporary perspective.
We seem to like our journeys, our trips and travels. But what are they about? A flight from reality? A kind of escape from the pressures of the day-to-day? A desire to get away from it all? This contrasts completely with the biblical journeys of the Epiphany. You see, the Magi are not only the original and greatest ‘come-from-aways,’ they are the original truth-seekers. They come with purpose. They come prepared with gifts, gifts that honour and respect the truth they seek and before which they bow in the presence of Holy Child of Bethlehem. The gifts they bring are hardly useful gifts; they are, instead, gifts that teach us who the Child Christ is and they are offered and opened in worship. The greater journey is about teaching and adoration, God’s opening out to us the truth of himself and calling forth an attitude of devotion and worship in us. The Truth is both taught and adored.
We have perhaps lost this sensibility about adoration, about worship. We are only too quick to turn everything into something practical and useful according to our lights. But the gifts of the Magi are really useless gifts for a child. That doesn’t stop us of course from thinking about them precisely in terms of use and utility. Gold, we might think, is always useful as currency. But what about Frankincense? Surely there is nothing useful about that? And yet, we may think it useful to cover over other odours, like the smell of bacon and eggs from the men’s club breakfast this morning! But what about Myrrh? Surely we cannot turn that into something practical and useful! But no, someone will say how the Gospel has kindly prepared for the tasks and labour of the funeral industry in dealing with corpses!
And yet, this is to miss the point entirely about the gifts. They are fundamentally and essentially gifts that teach us about the one to whom they are given, the truth before which we bow down and adore. Gold honours Christ as King; Frankincense honours him as God; and Myrrh, most disturbingly of all, as Sacrifice. King, God and Sacrifice. That is the real point of the Epiphany gifts of the Magi. As Lancelot Andrewes puts it, “they came, they saw, they worshipped,” a point largely overlooked in Eliot’s poem. We have, it seems, lost the sense of adoration.
The gifts signal their deep commitment to the Truth, their adoration of God. And this marks a special feature of the biblical journeys. They are not about a flight from reality, from Truth but a journey to the Truth which is always to be adored. In a way, the Gospel story for today complements that fundamental Epiphany theme. The story emphasizes Christ engaged with the doctors, the teachers of the Law, in the Temple. While we are made aware of the unease and, no doubt, the anxiety and consternation of Mary and Joseph when they discover that he is not with them in the crowd of Passover pilgrims on the return, that emotional side of things is remarkably restrained. “They found him in the Temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them and asking them questions. And all that heard him were astonished at his understanding and answers.”
I know. We want education to be something practical and useful. I know of no parent who does not want their child’s education to lead to success in life measured in terms of getting ahead, in terms of jobs and careers, in terms of material sustenance. But is that what education is really about? There is of course no direct and causal connection between education and a successful career, however much a good education contributes in lots of indirect ways to all kinds of success, even the success, dare I say, of living with failure, with hardships and sorrows; in short, to endure “the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks/that flesh is heir to” in human experience.
It is an old story, of course. Augustine in his Confessions recognized that his parents saw his education as a means to an end, as a way towards getting ahead in life. He came to recognize that it was so very much more. Reading Cicero’s Hortensius, now lost to us, he realized the power and truth of philosophy, of the sheer delight in truth for truth’s sake, of learning for the sake of learning. It was a freeing and a defining moment for him.
We are perhaps quite perplexed and confused about education, about teaching, all the more when we are demand that it all be useful and practical, as if there were a one-to-one correspondence between studies and careers. There isn’t.
I am reminded of a story by Somerset Maugham who described himself as “the best of the second raters.” His story entitled “The Verger” challenges us precisely about the nature and purpose of education.
Albert Edward Foreman, a distinguished looking man, had been the Verger of St. Peters for many years. He was conscientious and proud of his office in the Church. But the new vicar or minister of St. Peter’s, which was a rather upscale Church, was distressed to find out that the Verger could not read. He had tried as a younger person but as he explained, he “never got the hang’ of it.”
Though it had no effect whatsoever on the execution of his duties, his illiteracy became the occasion in the eyes of the new vicar for his having to leave his job as Verger. Sadly, Albert Edward Foreman hung up his gown.
Leaving the St. Peter’s, he took a wrong turn and found himself on a long street full of shops. Thinking it would be nice to have a smoke, he looked for a tobacconist only to find that there was none. All manner of shops and no smoke-shop! An idea came into his head and sighting a store-front that was empty, he arranged to rent it and to set up a tobacconist shop. One thing led to the other. After ten years, he had a chain of ten tobacconist shops and was making a lot of money.
One day, depositing his earnings at the bank, the Bank Manager approached him, suggesting that he invest his profits rather than leave them in the Savings Account. All he would have to do is sign for the transfer and it would be done. Albert Edward Foreman, said, well yes, he could sign things, but how would he know what was being done with his money. To which the Bank Manager replied, ‘well, you can read, can’t you?’ to which Albert replied, ‘well, no, I can’t.’ The Manager, astonished, replied, ‘what, you can’t read?’ My God, just think what you would be if you could read!” To which, Albert Edward Foreman replied, “Well, I would be verger of St. Peter’s, Neville Square.”
The story is told to counter the assumption that education serves business success. In the Gospel for today, Jesus says to Joseph and Mary, who have found him and questioned him, “did ye not know that I must be about my Father’s business?” It is a challenging question and one which opens out to the greater mystery of God. What is his father’s business? It is, emphatically, not about opening shops in Nazareth!
It is about creation and redemption, about the dignity of our humanity as enveloped in the cloak of God’ glory, a glory that cannot be cheapened. But it requires our commitment to the Truth in all our journeyings. It is about the recovery of that capacity to adore. Epiphany teaches us and teaches us how to “come and worship;” in short, to adore.
“They found him in the Temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors,
both hearing them, and asking them questions.”
Fr. David Curry
A version of the Homily preached at 8:00 and 10:30am
January 8th, 2012