O Star of Wonder

Abbot Brendan Thomas • January 5, 2025

Epiphany Homily


O star of wonder, star of light,
star with royal beauty bright,
westward leading, still proceeding,
guide us to thy perfect light.

 

The story of the Magi—those mysterious travelers from the East—is a fitting culmination of the Christmas season. Delighting in the star those wise men make their way to the Christ child, they do him homage, they bow down and adore.

 

This journey of wonder, faith, and discovery, resonates deeply because it speaks of the universal quest for meaning, for truth, for God. The Magi’s story is not only their story—it is ours. It is, as the carol puts it, a star of wonder, that awakens them to embark on a journey that will transform them, to find something beyond themselves. What are the “stars” that God has placed in your life? What beauties or moments of inspiration, or even struggles have called you to journey beyond your place of comfort? The Magi would return unsatisfied with their old Kingdoms. When we discover the joy and love of Christ, old realities lose their savour.

 

Led by the star, guided through the deserts, facing hazards and dangers they catch a glimpse of the King of heaven and earth, and go back changed. Every journey toward God involves challenges—moments of doubt, distractions, and obstacles that threaten to turn us back. Yet the trials we face on our journey—suffering, temptation, or spiritual dryness—are part of it – they shape us, change us, help us grow.

 

We don’t know much about these Magi, perhaps that is why we have imposed our own stories upon them. Given them exotic names like Casper, Melchior and Balthasar. Making them representatives of the three known continents of an earlier age – Africa, Asia and Europe; or the three ages of man – look at the length of their beards. They symbolize the universality of Christ’s mission.

 

And people have told tales about their journey, about those whom they might have met on the way, or companions who missed the journey, or what happened when they got home. Whether poets like T.S. Eliot, novelists like Evelyn Waugh or the Russian story of the Bakushka and the Wise Men, or the novel The Other Wise Man.

 

We picture these Magi as Kings making their way on their camels across the desert, wearing exotic clothing and bearing strange gifts. They sensed something of the child’s destiny shown in the mysterious gifts they offered. Gold for a King, Myrrh to worship a God, and myrrh to anoint the body of baby born to die.

 

In Gian-Carlo Menotti’s opera "Amahl and the Night Visitors" from the 1950s, a little boy looks up to the night-sky in wonder and cries to his mother: “Oh mother come and see, there has never been such a sky. Damp clouds have shined it and soft clouds have swept it as if to make ready for a King’s ball… Hanging over our roof is a star as large as a window and the star has a tail and it moves across the sky like a chariot on fire.” But wearily his mother replies “O Amahl, when will you stop telling lies?... all you do is worry your mother with fairy tales.”

 

Amahl’s wonder captures the essence of the Epiphany. Like the Magi, he sees the world with eyes of awe and expectation. He recognizes the extraordinary breaking into the ordinary. Yet how often, like Amahl’s weary mother, do we dismiss such wonder as mere fantasy? Scripture reminds us: “Unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3).

 

The feast of the Epiphany calls us to open our eyes to the extraordinary in our midst—the shining of Christ in our world, even in its darkest corners. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness shall not overcome it.” (John 1:5).

 

Amahl is a dreamer, he meets those three Kings who speaks so profoundly of the new-born child. The king says:


The child we seek

Doesn’t need our gold.

On love, on love alone

He will build his kingdom.

His piercéd hand will hold no sceptre,

His haloed head will wear no crown;

His might will not be built

On your toil.

Swifter than lightening

He will soon walk among us.

He will bring us new life

And receive our death,

And the keys of the city

Belong to the poor.

 

This is the heart of the Gospel. Christ’s kingdom is not of power, wealth, or domination. It is a kingdom of love, humility, and self-gift. The Child whom the Magi adore will grow up to stretch out His pierced hands on the cross. His crown will be one of thorns. And His kingdom will belong to the poor, the meek, and the merciful.

 

These words bring us to the heart of the Gospel. Christ’s kingdom is not of power, wealth and domination. It is a kingdom of love, humility, and self-gift. He came not to demand tribute but to offer Himself as the ultimate gift. His pierced hands will one day stretch out on the cross to save us. His crown will be one of thorns. And His kingdom will belong to the poor in spirit, the meek, and the merciful.

 

We, too, as pilgrims, go on our search. Week by week, we journey to this altar, and offer our gifts—not gold, frankincense, or myrrh, but our lives, our love, and our faith. And in return, Christ gives us the greatest gift: Himself. He gives us his life and his love. The love with which we are to build his Kingdom.

 

So let us go forward brightly in this New Year, delighting in the star and where it leads us, delighting in the Christ whom the Magi adore who today shines brightly for us.  


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Bishop Mark Jabalé OSB RIP Given at his funeral by Dom Alexander Kenyon Baby Jean Pierre (Mark) Jabale was born on October 16th, 1933, in Alexandria, Egypt. As he said, himself, his background could be considered “cosmopolitan”: his father was Lebanese / French and his Mother, British / Greek / French. He also reminded people that he wasn’t Egyptian. Through his mother, Arlette, he was related to St. Jean Vianney, so it was, perhaps, no surprise that he followed in his priestly footsteps. His father, Jean, was MD of Fiat and Simca cars Europe and, maybe surprisingly or not, he did love a car – not, however, Italian cars, but German; he loved his Audis. Perhaps we should begin today by remembering his mother and father, his brothers Christian and Paul and his nieces, here today, Aline and Nathalie and Isabelle and their families – they were so dear to him and he to them and I know they miss him enormously. Young Jean wanted to join the Navy and came to England, to Belmont Abbey school but the Lord had other ideas – he ended up joining the rather land locked monastery, our dear, late Fr. Raymund opining that he wouldn’t last a month. After a rather uninspiring course of priestly studies (his words, not mine) he studied for a Licentiate in French literature in Fribourg, then a Dip Ed at Strawberry Hill and played Rugby there – the Papist Witch Doctor as he was affectionately known. Teaching followed, at Belmont, Housemaster, acting Headmaster, then to Alderwasley, our prep school in Derbyshire as Headmaster, and then back to Belmont soon after as Headmaster. In 1983 he went to Peru to build our first monastery there only to realise there was little money. So, he returned to the UK to put in a stint of fundraising with his usual zeal and determination. With his mission accomplished he was asked by Abbot Alan to return to Belmont as his prior in 1986 – Peru remained close to his heart. In 1993 he was elected Abbot. In his time as Abbot, he had to preside over the closure of the school, necessary but no less painful for him. In 2000 he was appointed coadjutor Bishop of Menevia and succeeded Bishop Mullins in 2001. He retired as Ordinary in 2008 and “retired” to Chipping Norton as parish priest, then Hendon, saying Mass for the nuns and helping with confirmations. After a spell at Archbishop’s House, Westminster, living with his great friend Cardinal Nichols, he came home to Belmont – it was as though he had never been away and he loved being back in the monastery, particularly praying the Office with the community. That’s the list, of sorts, but it doesn’t really say “who” he was. I haven’t mentioned his outstanding contribution to rowing – the 1979 coxless, lightweight four gold medal at the world championships in Bled, which almost didn’t happen as, at the last minute, he was told there was no money to send the crew. He begged, cajoled and got them there – the video footage of the final is compelling. He transformed Henley Royal Regatta, writing a computer programme for the race results – he was well ahead of his time. He coached the Oxford Boat, ran the Heads of the River Schools Regatta, and more. What an achievement from someone who had never sat in a boat but learned on the job, as he said, “from books, mainly”. It was his determination, his commitment, his love of people and his drive to share what he had that is, perhaps, one of the key things to celebrate about him. And it was underpinned by his rock-solid faith – nothing overly pious, nothing showy, but a faith and a love of the Lord built on granite. Even his occasional lack of patience (sorry Mark) extended to that faith; ‘why won’t God call me?”. At the risk of being irreverent my response was always “would you want you?”. But God did want him, and he knew it. God had a purpose for his Apostle during his life and he now rests with Him in eternity. His purpose was, simply, to bring the joy of the Lord into the lives of others, in many and varied ways. A few weeks before Mark died, Pope Francis died. When the late Pope was seriously ill the son of friends of mine who entertained Mark and I to lunch regularly, was distraught at overhearing mum and dad say the Pope may die. He couldn’t stop crying. “But darling”, they said, “you don’t know the Pope, why so very sad?”. “We do know him” came the reply, “it’s Mark”. “No, Mark isn’t the Pope”. “Oh, so when the Pope does die will Mark be Pope then?”. Mark loved that one. When Mark himself did die said son would only be pacified by picking flowers from the garden and bringing them to church for him. He wanted to show how much Mark meant to him and wanted to give a little something back. That is the real biography – a man loved, respected, a man who shared what he had, above all his faith, a man who touched so many lives and made them better.  Rest in peace our dear friend.
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