The Sacramental Big Bang

Although the Epiphany Octave has been abolished for over fifty years in the Ordinary Form of the Roman Rite, it seems as if the Ordinary Form can hardly do without it; the Divine Office and other liturgical texts constantly point to that void. Epiphany, the so-called “Christmas of the Gentiles”, continues to loom large, with all its joy and solemnity, over the period leading up to the Baptism of the Lord.

The Epiphany, as the West largely calls it, is based upon the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles in the persons of the Three Wise Men, which is the scene that largely captures the popular imagination. Not so obvious, however, is how this feast has traditionally celebrated not just with that particular scriptural event in mind, but also other key “firsts” in the life of Christ; namely, his first miracle, that of Cana, and his revelation as the beloved Son of the Father, in his Baptism.

What I find interesting is that virtually all Apostolic Churches, both East and West, practically go crazy with blessings this time of year, and their loss in practice is a tremendous impoverishment to ordinary Catholics throughout the world, and especially in the increasingly secular west. The Church’s ‘blessing spree’ is due to a deep and enriching theological insight, that these “firsts” in the life of Christ mystically indicate the inauguration of the Sacramental Economy, the order of grace on earth, by which God has made use of physical objects to convey divine blessings. I like to call it “The Sacramental Big Bang”.

Let’s take the traditional text for the Blessing of Epiphany Water, for example. What has always struck me about the blessing is how many exorcisms there are. There is an emphatic command for Satan and his angels to leave, and that several times. Why? I think part of it lies in the ancient Christian belief, based on St. Paul, that both time and space, that is, unredeemed time and space, are under the dominion of sin and the devil. Christ famously calls the devil the “prince of this world” (John 14:30) and St. Paul calls him the “prince of the power of the air” (Ephesians 2:2). Usually we think of Christ’s Passion, Death and Resurrection as his definitive victory over sin and the devil: why, then, is the feast of Epiphany so replete with almost military jubilation?

One facet of this that I would like to explore is the Introit to Midnight Mass, so literally the first liturgical text (excepting the Christmas Proclamation) of Christmas Day proper, the beautiful Psalm 2. It reads with very clear Messianic tones, juxtaposing the kings of the Gentiles with the sovereignty of God’s Christ. It ends with a tantalizing conclusion:

10 Now therefore, O kings, be wise;
    be warned, O rulers of the earth.
¹¹ Serve the Lord with fear,
    with trembling ¹² kiss his feet,
lest he be angry, and you perish in the way;
    for his wrath is quickly kindled.

The beginning of the Christmas Season liturgically began with the assertion that the Christ born on that day is also the one who mysteriously is God’s Son. And the Psalm, as is typical of Wisdom Literature, urges the rebel kings to the adoration of this Christ. To adore is to attain wisdom. The Magi, being wise according to their paganism, achieve truest wisdom in their adoration of Truth Himself. In a sense, the visit of the Magi is the first fruits of Christ’s spoils of victory. It is fitting that the same Psalm which exhorts the listener to adoration, is fulfilled here in the Scriptural narrative of the Visit of the Magi. The adoration of the Magi is Christ’s first triumph over the powers of the world. Yet this first victory was largely hidden, whereas, as we will see later, it is up to us to make that triumph more and more manifested until Christ returns.

This theme was not unknown to the Fathers of the Church. Many Fathers, like St. Augustine and St. John Chrysostom, noted quite perspicaciously that the birth of Christ in Bethlehem, and his subsequent exile into Egypt, had the effect that his arrival, in terms of world events, was relatively quiet. It is in light of this fact that the Fathers were able to explain why the Devil, in his Temptations of Christ, was strangely unable to understand the identity of the person he was tempting. The Adoration of the Magi is both theophany and foreshadowing. It is a manifestation of the divine power on the earth, but also a prophecy for the day when “every knee shall bend, every tongue confess that Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” The gifts are representative of this fact, representing both adoration and also the identity of the Christ child. They also represent another, ‘prognostic’ dimension: that offerings, when made to Christ, will be transformed in their significance, and perhaps even their nature, by his interaction with him. More on that later.

Moving to the marriage of Cana, which is also commemorated in Epiphanytide, we famously witness Christ turning water into wine at the request of his Mother. There are many mysterious elements to this story. Commentators have written many volumes about the Eucharistic, Mariological, and Soteriological elements of this story. This story has also been used to show that Christ desired to elevate the natural institution of marriage to the level of a Sacrament. But I think it is easy to overlook something basic at the root of all these: Christ demonstrates, for the first time, his absolute mastery over the natural world. No Old Testament figure could ever create something out of nothing, an ability belonging solely to God, nor had anyone changed one substance to another instantaneously in such a way. In this story, there is also an element of offering: Christ requests that the jugs of water, which would be quite large, be filled in his presence. He doesn’t simply perform a miracle ex nihilo in the sense that it is completely devoid of human agency. At the request of his mother and with the cooperation of the servants, something miraculous takes place out of something quite ordinary. An offering of men meets divine power. A pattern begins to emerge.

The Baptism of Christ is the final theophany in the series which again highlights Christ’s contact with the physical world as producing definite effects. Here, Christ’s contact with the water in baptism, leads to a manifestation of entire Trinity, confirming for all onlookers that Jesus is God’s Son. Christ did not need to be baptized, yet he “fulfilled all righteousness” by bestowing the power of justification to the pouring forth of the water in the name of the Trinity, which has made many righteous in him. Yet this event too was not without human agency: Christ asked his forerunner, John, to baptize him. Our Lord once again showed his desire to sanctify natural realities by our cooperation.

It should be fairly obvious then why the Church has always viewed this time of year as an opportune one to do blessings of a multitude of things connected with these stories, such as water, salt, chalk, gold, incense, myrrh, and houses. In keeping with the theology of ‘ransom’, we in a sense ‘claim back’ the physical world from the devil and his angels, and proclaim the Lordship of Christ over the entire created order. In so doing, the Church also has a sort of “Epiphany”; that is, she is manifested as the Body of Christ on earth, and so has an active, even necessary role to play in casting out evil and calling down divine grace upon the world. The sacramentals of the Church are the natural extension of the seven sacraments, because while Christ established the latter by his own power and authority, we established the former in his name, to spread his Kingdom of Grace across the earth.

There is more to this sanctification of the world: the proclamation for the Feast of the Epiphany, the so-called Noveritis, announces the moveable Feasts of the rest of the Church year. There is such an exquisite and organic connection between this proclamation, the Christmas Proclamation, and the explosion of blessings on this day. This is because the Church, by her sacramentals, wants to announce the redemption of the created order. But it is in the Noveritis that we hear the Church proclaiming her own liturgical cycle, by which the Church redeems in Christ perhaps that most mysterious part of God’s creation: the creature of time. The Christmas Midnight Mass begins with that proclamation of the age of the world according to world events, concluding with the Birth of Christ, which so begins a New Age. At the Epiphany Proclamation, the world’s time is now ordered according to the annual celebration of Christ’s redemptive work, until he return, and time is no more.

It is extremely discouraging that in so many places in the world, traditions like the Noveritis, let alone the aforementioned seasonal blessings, go completely neglected. Together they constitute powerful antidotes to secularization and a reaffirmation of the sacred identity of Catholics. They are full-throated proclamations of Christ’s sovereignty over the world and human history. On a practical level, the loss of these traditions really damages our community and culture. While it may be difficult in some parishes for the Priest to individually visit all the homes of his parishioners, what a blessing such a visit is to people! These are the events which put the fun and feasting in the forefront of our religious practice, and also remind the faithful that there is more, far more, to Catholicism and Catholic Spirituality than simply Mass attendance. It is also a helpful reminder to the lay faithful that they are also agents of the ‘sacramentalization’ of the world: that they, through their prayers, sacrifices, good works and family life advance the victory of Christ throughout time and space.

These celebrations are also an important means by which Catholics can recapture Christmas itself from secularization. We have a lot of trouble convincing Catholics that Christmas is a season, not just a day. But what incentive do we give people to continue celebrating as a Church on the local level? Do we promote continued celebration among the faithful, or do we give in to holiday fatigue?

Finally, I think these celebrations are extremely important for clergy, in that they remind the people, and themselves, that they are not merely Mass machines. Their ministry has far more potency and scope than simply the celebration of the Sunday Masses in the average parish. It’s really difficult for the Priest to gloss over his authority in Christ over the Evil One when he prayerfully reads the texts of Exorcism over the water and salt, and the emphatic and forceful words of blessing. The Priest as an alter Christus should take special note of the authority of his spiritual fatherhood and the power bestowed on him by Christ to bless and sanctify. On another level, these celebrations historically have served to place the Priest with his people outside of a completely ‘cultic’ setting. The parties and celebrations help bring Priest and people together in shared joy. The Priest should revel in the feasts of the Church, and so be an example of the joy these feasts offer. It makes the salvific mysteries all the more tangible, and create warm and lasting memories in the minds of children.

So Fathers: have sacramentals virtually disappeared from your people’s spiritual practice? If so, why? Dear people: do any of these practices exist in your parish? When is the last time you organized an Epiphany celebration with your friends, family, neighbors and fellow Catholics? And don’t think this is beyond our scope to do: plenty of Hispanics, Eastern Europeans, and others still heartily celebrate Epiphany Day and its attendant celebrations. The only thing we lack is will. It is Christ’s will to extend grace to us by our worthy reception of his Sacraments. It is likewise his will that we sanctify the world and ourselves, by our use of the sacramentals of the Church. Will we follow his lead?