EPIPHANY
THE Magi took the lids from their urns and unfastened
their caskets, when they presented the symbols of universal homage to our
infant prince. But when a woman came to anoint the king in his royal
city, she shattered her alabaster jar, that she might pour the precious
spikenard on his head. There was a sympathy between her action and
the approaching Passion: the perfume of man’s homage could not be offered
to God, without breaking the veined alabaster, the body of the Son of Man.
Our incense may rise, like that of the Magi, from unbroken vessels, if
we present our bodies a living sacrifice. Yet a living sacrifice
is also a sacrifice, and is made so by some participation in the shattering
of the vase. Christ, sacrificing himself, joins us with him in sacrificing
him; Christ, sacrificing himself, sacrifices us, for he has made us parts
of him. We come to offer our homage to Christ, but his star has brought
us, and the breaking of his mortal vase has furnished all the perfume of
our offering.
