In order to adore Christ this Epiphany, first we must find him

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nativity set
This traditional-looking ceramic creche appears in a Christmas exhibit at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit in Conyers, Ga., and is part of the personal collection of Marcy Borkowski-Glass of St. Pius X Church in Covington. (CNS photo/Michael Alexander, Georgia Bulletin)

Scott WardenMy wife and I have six children that break neatly into two groups: big kids and little kids. They are divided this way not because of age, but because of their ability or inability to function largely on their own. If you can cut your own meat and bathe yourself properly, you’re a big kid. If you can do neither of those two things, you’re a little kid. It might seem arbitrary, but the line needs to be drawn somewhere.

Anyway, the other night I pulled two of the little kids — Gemma, our 2-year-old, and Dominic, who just turned 5 — upstairs so that the big kids could find excuses not to do their homework in peace. We were playing hide-and-seek in our bedroom, and they would take turns lying face down on the bed and counting while I hid in one of the two spots I could fit (in the closet and crouching behind the bed). Gemma, ever impatient, continued to count, “One, two, three, 10!” And then it’s always, “Ready or not, here I come!”

That’s a little like how the coming of Christmas went for us this year: One, two, three, 10! Ready or not, here it comes!

We blinked and Advent was nearly over — our precious time of preparation taken up by basketball games and school board meetings and cooking and cleaning and hours and hours of trying to put children to bed who fight sleep like a boxer, ducking and dodging their own exhaustion and getting a drink every three minutes. It seems each night we go about 15 rounds.

It was the second week of December by the time we dug our artificial tree and the plastic totes full of decorations out of the attic. Most years, we at least start the season strong by reading a family devotional before dinner or bedtime; this year, we forgot to even try. Our Advent wreath is a sad, candleless ring in the middle of our dining room table — by the time we had found the wreath, we’d passed Gaudete Sunday and thought, well, we’ll add candles to our next Amazon order and right the ship next year. So the Advent tradition of getting to watch our kids argue over who gets to light the candles (big kids) and blow them out (little kids) went uncelebrated. Even the bulk of our Nativity set seems to have gone missing — the work, no doubt, of Gemma, who likes to invite the Holy Family to tea with Barbie and Ken and a smattering of Disney princesses.

It’s not just our spiritual preparation for the birth of Christ that has been lacking; we’ve also consistently and spectacularly dropped the ball on our secular duties as well. While we’re not the Griswolds in the exterior illumination department, most years we do make an effort to brighten the season with Christmas lights; this year, all of our strands stayed wound up on the floor of our garage, waiting for an unseasonably warm weekend afternoon that never came. Our shopping was rushed and done mostly in the dark, after midnight, with only the warm glow of our Amazon apps to light the way. Our carry-in contributions to Christmas parties were mostly store-bought instead of the usual assortment of homemade treats.

Regardless of whether our hearts and homes were well-prepared for the birth of Christ, he has come to save us — lights or no lights, Advent wreath or no Advent wreath, homemade desserts or store-bought cookies. While the busyness of the secular holiday season has come and gone yet again, the Church’s liturgical Christmas season continues — quieter, calmer. The presents have been wrapped and unwrapped, and the countless parties have ended.

And now, as we celebrate the Epiphany of the Lord, we can become like the Magi. The newborn King is with us; now we need to make the journey to find him and adore him. Like the three Wise Men, we must become seekers of Christ who longs to be found.

Ready or not, here we come.

Scott Warden is managing editor of Our Sunday Visitor.