Feast of the Epiphany, Yr. C,
January 6, 2013
Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72:1-7,
10-14; Ephesians 3:1-12; Matthew 2:1-12
Sermon preached at St.
Stephen’s Episcopal Church
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was
born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking,
‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and
have come to pay him homage.”
Every
journey begins somewhere. Every journey
has a beginning, something that marks its purpose, something that nudges us out
the door, something that prompts that first step out. For the wise men, who were more likely
wandering astrologers or members of “a priestly class of Persian or Babylonian
experts in the occult”,[1] it is no different. These pagans were following a star, a star
that moved against the natural pattern of east to west, a star that was leading
them to a king. They weren’t the kings in this story. They were seekers
of a king, not just any king … but the king of the Jews. Gentiles were looking
for the very king that the Jews hadn’t yet discovered themselves.
The
star leads the magi, the “magicians”, to King Herod, the king of Judea who was
backed by Roman rule. The king who had
fought against his own people in order to come to power. Sure, he had improved and expanded the temple
in Jerusalem, but he wasn’t really for
the people. He was an instrument of
Roman oppression.
When King Herod heard that the wise men had
come to pay homage to the new king, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with
him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he
inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born.
The king was frightened. A new king had come into the land, and even
though he was yet a baby, he was a threat to his power. The magi called him “the king of the
Jews”. Even as a baby, this “new king”
was creating a stir. The king was
frightened; he acted out of that fear.
He began investigating, desperately hoping to discover where this “new
king” might be, so that he could rid himself of this threat before his
following had time to grow. Already
those from distant places, those who weren’t even Jews, were journeying to see
this “new king”. So he called together all the chief priests and scribes of the people,
he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea; for so
it has been written by the prophets: “And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a
ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.”’ So Herod knew the place, but he did not know
the time. When had the baby been
born? How much time had passed? Had it been weeks or months or years? How would he know whether to look for an
infant or toddler, or worse yet a young boy already growing to manhood. His fear gnawed at his heart.
Then Herod secretly called the wise men and
learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. So now he knew. He knew when and where this “king” had been
born. Now it was only a matter of time
until he would be able to extinguish that flame of hope. Perhaps he could use the magi to further his
cause. Then he sent the wise men to Bethlehem, saying, ‘Go and search
diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I
may also go and pay him homage.’ He
sends them off with a lie to do the work he needs done. They will find the boy for him, and then
Herod will pay his homage, the homage of death in the night, the homage of
betrayal.
When the wise men had heard the king, they
set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its
rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. Led by the star, their journey finds its
end. They followed in hope and
faith. Drawn by possibility. Drawn by wonder. When
they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child
with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Their seeking paid off. They found “the king”. They captured the prize. So what did they do? Opening
their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Gifts of gold … for a king, of frankincense …
for a priest, of myrrh … for an honorable death. They gave gifts and found their rest.
And having been warned in a dream not to
return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road. Herod’s plan does not work out the way he had
hoped. The strangers from the east do
not play into his hand; something has alerted them to his deception. Fear rules the day in this king’s
house. Herod sends out soldiers across
the land with instructions to kill all boys two years of age and under. All the innocents he kills, to calm his own
fears. And an angel warns Joseph of the
terror to come in a dream. The angel
tells him to take Mary and the baby and escape to Egypt. Their journey will continue there.
Sometimes
journeys take us to unexpected places. They
change us. They form us. When I began
discernment for ordination eighteen years ago, I was thinking about becoming a
deacon. When I began to contemplate the
idea of being a priest, it became clear that I would need to leave the Adirondacks. When we moved to Rochester, I anticipated
going to seminary and moving somewhere else soon after … to begin a new life as
a chaplain. But while we were in
Rochester, we adopted a child. Nancy
found a job that she loved. I wasn’t
moving toward priestly ordination as easily as I had expected.
After
a year as a chaplain resident I had no cure and no job. I thought very seriously about going back to
teaching, and the bishop encouraged me to do that … if I thought that was right
to do. I knew how much work starting a
new teaching position would be. I told
the bishop that I couldn’t imagine going back for just one year. I’d have to stay longer. “How long”, he said? “I don’t know, maybe five years”, I
answered. “Go ahead and do it”, he
said. I wanted my bishop to tell me what
a great priest I would be, to tell me not to go back to teaching, to offer me a
place to serve. But that didn’t
happen. I was SO angry.
The
pull to go back to what had been secure and rewarding and comfortable was
incredibly strong. I knew I had been a
good teacher. I loved children. I loved the academic schedule. I wanted to go
back to what I remembered as a very good time in my life, to a time that was safe
and predictable and secure. My way was
not well lit, but it was my journey,
not the bishop’s. The bishop had been
right not to tell me what to do. I was
afraid of my future as a priest. It
meant letting go of any map and allowing myself to follow a star. It took me a long while to realize it, but I
was afraid of my future as a priest. I
was so angry precisely because I was so afraid.
The
magi took risks. They walked through
wilderness and unfamiliar territory following a star. They didn’t know where they were going to end
up, but they were confident that they were going somewhere they needed to
go. I wonder how many times they ended
up getting on the wrong path, or huddling through dust storms without optimal
shelter, or spending an extra night or two in one place because of overburdened
animals or lack of supplies. I wonder
how many people told them they were dreamers and fools? They weren’t kings … they were seekers. Were they
tempted to go back? Did they ever
consider giving up the quest? I imagine
that they did, but when push came to shove, they continued in faith because
they believed in what they were walking toward.
They were going to meet a “new king”.
Herod
made choices too, but I’m not sure he ever took a risk. His choices were all about protecting himself
from danger and loss. His choices were
self-serving ones, grounded in fear. His
choices were all about maintaining the status quo. Instead of being rewarded with the joy of
meeting the “new king”, Herod found himself spiraling more deeply into that
place of fear, until he reached the point where he was willing to order the
murder of a multitude of innocents.
Choices made in fear do not lead us to freedom. They lead us into the mire of confusion and
bondage to our own doubts and insecurities.
We
are all on our own journeys, journeys where we have to make choices … about
issues relating to violence and jobs and services to the most vulnerable among
us, services we now call “entitlements”.
Our country has choices before it because the fear of unemployment and
personal safety has touched a broader section of our mainstream culture. It’s no longer someone else’s problem.
It’s
no longer just random shootings on urban streets, as bad as that is. We can’t blame it on gangs or drug wars or
“the city”. It’s senseless violence
that’s killing the innocent and unsuspecting among us. It’s killing on university campuses, in
shopping malls, in schools, and in movie theaters. It’s a journey of violence run amuk, played
out in stories on our TV screens and in our newspapers every few months
now.
It’s
no longer the unmotivated, uneducated or mentally ill who can’t hold down
jobs. It’s wall street executives and
those with college degrees laid off and getting cut back. What were perfectly stable households are
finding themselves on the brink of homelessness and their own private debt
crisis. It’s been a frightening
journey. Our lives have become much more
frightening.
What
will we do about it? How will we respond
to this fear and anxiety? Will we be
willing to follow a star, or will we plot to maintain the status quo in a world
that can do nothing but change? Is the
time of Herod or the magi?
We
can be like Herod, and hole ourselves up, creating higher and wider barriers
between ourselves and others, arming ourselves with even more powerful and
frightful weapons … or we can be like the magi who followed a star. We can
be like the magi, who journeyed outward toward others in hope … crossing
boundaries, and wandering through strange lands hoping to find the peace that
they believed was drawing them forward, a peace that can bind people together
in love. That’s why God came into the
world, to bind us together as one in God.
Jesus spent his life embodying that concept … preaching care for the
weakest, and acceptance of those on the fringes of society.
It
took a while, but I finally came to realize that I did not want to go back to
teaching. That was not my future. As a country I think we need to do much the
same thing. Face our fears and remember
our priorities, remember our calling. We
exist for everyone, and only together will we be able to solve our
problems. They will not just go away, or
take care of themselves. We need to take
care of each other, not with more guns … but with more love. Not by cutting services to the poor and
elderly, but by shouldering the burden that is ours. We can be champions of compromise or we can
dig ditches and die in them without ever looking over the edge to look our
neighbor in the eye.
We
can be harbingers of a different way, teachers of peace and nonviolence, a people
committed to shining a light on a different road home. That’s what I think the magi were doing. Choosing to listen to a different voice, a
voice of love … and compassion … and acceptance … and forgiveness … and mercy …
that came to life in the face of an infant born in a stable and destined to
bring healing to all who believed in him.
They followed the star. That star
still shines for us.
Amen.
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