"The Devil’s Arithmetic" is an excellent movie. I highly recommend that you see it, if you haven’t already. The story-line concerns a 16 year-old Jewish girl from Long Island named Hannah Stern, whose perspective on life changes radically at a Passover meal she celebrates with her family.

When the film opens, Hannah is in a tattoo shop in New York with a teenage friend. From her conduct in the shop and from her interaction with her parents when she gets home, it becomes very clear to the audience that this girl is a spoiled, self-centered, materialistic adolescent. Like many young people—and like many not-so-young people today—Hannah is all wrapped up in herself and in her own concerns and desires.

Later that evening she goes with her parents to the home of her Aunt Eva, for the annual Passover meal (which, of course, commemorates the Exodus of the Hebrews from Egypt at the time of Moses). She goes reluctantly. Her Jewish faith means very little to her, and she knows that when she’s there she’ll be forced to listen to her older relatives talk about their experiences during the Holocaust—all of which she finds quite boring.

Well, toward the end of the Passover ritual that evening, Hannah is asked to go and open the door so that Elijah can come in. (There’s an old Jewish tradition which says that Elijah the prophet spiritually visits every home where Passover is celebrated.) When Hannah opens the door, she’s mysteriously transported to Poland in the year 1941. There she experiences firsthand the horrors her older relatives had been forced to live through: the deportation from their homes, the sickness, the pain, the humiliation, and the horrible executions.

She finally comes back to the present—she re-awakens on the floor of her aunt’s home—and, needless to say, she’s a changed person. Her attitude is different (especially toward her religion and family); her priorities are different; her outlook on life is different.

Hannah finally had learned to look beyond herself and her own selfish desires. Before her "trip" to 1941 Poland, her biggest concerns were what tattoo she would get and what her friends thought of her. That’s fairly typical in our western, affluent, materialistic culture: life is all about "me, myself and I." It’s all about what I want, and what will make me feel good.

But the sad irony is that her excessive self-concern did not make Hannah happy. Quite oppositely, it made her miserable.

In that respect, she was very much like King Herod, one of the main characters in the Epiphany story which we heard a few moments ago. Now there are 4 different Herods mentioned in the New Testament—that’s something we need to be clear about. This one was known as Herod the Great—which, by the way, he was not (unless your idea of greatness includes people who murder their wives and children!).

Herod the Great was a paranoid individual who saw rivals to his throne everywhere. (He definitely would have been a good case study for a modern psychologist.) And this fear he had of losing his earthly power led him to kill (or at least to try to kill) everyone he suspected of wanting to de-throne him—including members of his own family, and the Holy Innocents!

Herod was all wrapped up in himself (like Hannah was before her mysterious "trip" to 1941 Poland); and this intense self-absorption was at the root of his paranoia.—"I’m the king; this is my kingdom, and no one will take it away from me! I rule; it’s what I want that matters; life revolves around me; everyone must bow to me; they are to serve me and respond to my needs."

Herod’s self-absorption was also what prompted him to kill the Holy Innocents. They died because he was convinced that somewhere among them was a newborn king who would steal his crown—and that was a threat he could not tolerate.

Think of the "innocents" of our age: the unborn, the elderly, the terminally ill. These human beings are killed in our day for the very same reason Herod killed the Holy Innocents—because of obsessive self-concern. People, you see, are just too busy with their own wants and desires to be bothered with little babies or sick old people. Their comfort is threatened by these "innocents," and the threat cannot be tolerated.

Herod thought his excessive self-concern would bring him happiness, but it only brought him paranoia and misery—much like Hannah’s self-absorption brought her unhappiness.

Along these lines, here’s an interesting question: What was the difference between King Herod and the magi—aside from the fact that Herod was Jewish and the magi were Gentiles?

The answer is: the magi looked for their happiness outside of themselves and through self-giving. They weren’t wrapped up in their own egos, like Herod was. Think about it: their purpose was to find the newborn king of the Jews and to give him the honor he deserved—they weren’t making the trip for their own glory. And, lest we forget, they didn’t travel to Bethlehem in limousines on nicely paved roads; they came riding on camels (ouch!), on rough, treacherous roads with danger around every corner. And when they finally arrived at the house where the Holy Family was, they gave Jesus 3 precious gifts: gold, frankincense and myrrh. They came to give, not to receive.

Thus what Scripture says about them is no coincidence. It says "they were overjoyed at seeing the star"—the star which was leading them to Christ. Can you imagine how much happier they were when they finally saw the Lord in the flesh?

The magi gave: they gave their time, they gave their energy, they gave their resources, they gave the most precious gifts they had—and they found the happiness that selfish Herod didn’t.

The lesson for us should be crystal clear.

Let me conclude today with a story Bishop Sheen told in one of his many books. The good bishop wrote:

"Not very long ago a father brought me his young son, a very self-wise, conceited young delinquent, who had given up his faith and was bitter with himself and everyone he met. The next day the boy ran away from home. He was away for a year. The boy came back as bad as ever, and the father brought him to me and said, ‘What shall I do with him?’ I said, ‘Send him to school, but not in the United States.’ So I recommended a certain school to him, and about a year later the boy came back to see me. He said, ‘Would you be willing to give me moral support for an enterprise that I have undertaken in Mexico? There’s a group of boys in the college I attend who have built a little school. We have gone all around the neighborhood and brought in the children to teach them catechism. We will also bring in a doctor from the United States once a year, for one month, to take care of all the sick people of the neighborhood.’ I asked him how he became interested in this work. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘The boys went down there during the summer, and I thought I would go down too.’ He recovered his faith and his morals and everything else, in his neighbor."

Here we have a young man, who, like Hannah Stern, was all wrapped up in himself—until he lived among the poor in Mexico, and learned to be a giver and not a taker.