Brothers and sisters,
peace be upon you!
Celebrating Epiphany here, in Bethlehem, means allowing ourselves to be reached by the very heart of the mystery that the Church contemplates today: the manifestation of Christ as light for all peoples.
The readings for this solemnity present two opposing themes that are constantly intertwined: light and darkness, acceptance and rejection, joy and fear.
It is the great drama of human history, which also passes before our eyes today.
The Gospel of the Magi shows it to us with clarity. Two cities are outlined around the Child Jesus: Bethlehem, the city of David, the place of the promise being fulfilled; and Jerusalem, the city of Herod, marked by restlessness, by the fear of losing power.
Herod's violent search is contrasted with the confident search of the Magi; the night is overlaid by the light of the star; the restless question, "Where is the King of the Jews?" is followed by the simple joy of those who "saw the child with Mary, his mother."
And in the end, the Magi return "by another road": the new road of those who have encountered God and can no longer walk as before.
Epiphany makes it clear that history is traversed by a choice. There is no neutrality in the face of Christ: one either accepts or rejects.
Matthew shows us how the rejection, represented by Herod, progressively grows until it becomes aggressive and bloody. Darkness often seems the most conspicuous feature of the story. Yet, they do not have the last word.
But alongside the field of darkness, today's liturgy makes us contemplate the other great space of history: that of light.
Light is the symbol of Christmas and Epiphany; the light of the star and the light that shines in the eating.
A light that is not possessed, not grasped, yet that envelops us, illuminates us, gives us life. The star of the Magi is not just a phenomenon to be observed: it is a sign to be understood with the eyes of faith.
A luminous sign to be followed to come to the light of Christ.
A light that does not blind, but heals; that does not dominate, but accompanies; that fits even the weary and wounded eyes of man.
St. Augustine recalled that Christmas falls in winter, when the sun is weakest, precisely to indicate the delicacy of Christ's light toward our frailty.
Here, in Bethlehem, before the place where light chose to make itself small, let us ask for the grace to become enlightened men and women as well, capable of bringing light into our choices, into relationships, into the wounds of history.
Like the Magi, let us learn to allow ourselves to be guided, to pause in adoration and to set out again on another path: the one that comes from an encounter with the Lord.
