The Patriot Ledger
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Epiphany Sunday, or “Three Kings Sunday” just passed us last week. It’s a day that always reminds me of my cats. Years ago, when I first got married, I inherited a couple of cats, and I just hated them. I was raised with dogs and always thought of cats as sort of a fake pet, not really worthy of attention. In fact, I hate to say it now because they eventually grew on me, but in those days I spent a lot of time just making fun of them and putting them down in front of our friends and family.
One Christmas Eve about 10 years ago, some of my wife’s family came to visit, and among them was her little niece, Rachel. That night we had an early dinner (because I had to do the Christmas Eve service) and while we ate, I remember going on and on about the useless felines that inhabited the house. Rachel was aghast. She had kittens of her own and she loved our cats, and here I was rudely telling stories about them.
After dinner we all went over to the church for the service, which was lovely. We sang and prayed and welcomed the Christ child into
The next day when we were all gathered around the tree giving out presents in the name of the one who gave his all for us, I noticed something different about the lovely crèche on the side board in the living room that two of my parishioners had made for us. It just didn’t look right somehow. We were busy all morning opening gifts and drinking coffee, but I kept looking back over to the side board because something just seemed different. Finally I realized that all of the animals had been turned around. “Now what?” I thought.
Finally, when we broke for a late morning brunch, I went over to take a closer look and realized that everything had been turned around. The donkeys and camels were now looking up and around into the room. The wise men were standing next to them pondering the sky or a star or whatever. Even the shepherds were now out at the edges of the manger peering intently away from the crib that should have been the center of attention. But when I looked more closely, I saw that not only had some things been moved, new things had been added. There, right next to the crib full of straw and the baby Jesus, were two little clay cats that we received as a gift years earlier, which are normally kept in another room on a dresser. Someone had moved them into the manger and made them look right into the crib, with their little kitty noses almost touching the baby. What on earth had happened? I looked around for the culprit and caught little Rachel staring at me and giggling uncontrollably.
“What have you done,” I yelled accusingly.
“I was just doing what you said,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“You said that in the Bible the meaning of Jesus was hidden from the smart people. That the big people don’t understand him and the little ones do.” “Uh, sort of...” I said very cautiously, not know exactly where this was going.
“So, that’s why I turned all of your people and animals away from the baby Jesus.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Everybody but the cats.” “Well,” she said. “If they are as bad as you say they are, that means that God wants only that cats will get it.” And last week, that little conversation was again on my mind as I looked forward to Epiphany and the visit of the so-called “Wise” men. The wisdom of the world seems increasingly dismissive of the wisdom of the cross. They - we - just don’t get it. All of us who claim to be Christian love to praise the baby in the manger and then go about the business of lifting up the powerful and putting down the weak, of making the rich richer and the poor poorer. May we pray this New Year, as we never have before, that the wisdom of the lame, the weak and the cats might come into our lives and guide us forever.
