January 6, 2008

by The Rev. Constance Jones

Matthew 2:1-12

Once upon a time, long long ago, I grew up in Grace Church.
A different Grace Church, in Plainfield, New Jersey.
And oh how I remember our annual Epiphany celebration!
I’m not sure I knew what “epiphany” meant back then,
but there was the manger, the star, and the wise men.
Three men from the choir (which I was allowed to sing in after I got to fourth grade)
would dress in exotic velvet and glittery costumes handed down from year to year,
and they’d slowly process up the aisle in the darkened church,
wearing crowns, carrying gift boxes,
and singing the gold, frankincense, and myrrh verses of “We Three Kings.”

Of course the Gospel of Matthew does not say
that there were three of these visitors from the east,
or that they were kings, much less named Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthazar,
as the 1940 hymnal had them.
Ah, God bless the unfolding traditions of the church!
Matthew does say the wise men or magi or astrologers came from “the East” –
but that might mean Persia (which we call Iran), or Arabia, or Syria –
or where the sun rose,
or where wisdom comes from.
It seems very very unlikely they could have arrived in twelve days after the divine birth.
It’s all very mysterious,
but this story only Matthew of all the Gospels tells
is supposed to remind us of the prophecy from Isaiah you just heard –
Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.
It’s Isaiah that mentions the camels, too.
The Grace Church of my childhood had a camel in its nativity scene
that was about the size of the deer you see around Yorktown,
but a lot bulkier.

Camels, Magi –
it’s almost as if Matthew had said space aliens came to worship the baby Jesus –
but that may be exactly his point.
That while Jesus fulfilled the Hebrew prophets’ forecast that a Messiah would come,
the light of the Messiah’s salvation could not and would not be limited.
It was for all humankind.

But those magi certainly captured my imagination back then,
and they still do.
I wonder: Did they know one another before their journey?
Were they strangers at the beginning – a bit suspicious,
each sovereign in his own way and jealous of his own magic?
Did they begin to tell their stories, though?
Did they warm to each other as they shared the burdens of the voyage?
Did they enlighten and encourage each other?

And did they talk about Herod, that king so eager to find the holy child,
so fearful of a rival to his throne, that he sent these magi as spies?
Was it in conversation that these magi
began to drift from Herod’s purposes to their own – or God’s?

He told us, Herod did, that he wanted to worship this child, one of them may have said.
But don’t you believe it, said another. He wants to kill him
You know - that Herod’s a conniving one; don’t trust him;
wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley.
But look at that star.
There’s nothing ordinary about that. Maybe old Herod should be scared.¹

These magi from “the east” are surrounded by mystery.
But maybe they’re just a little bit like us.

Surely they were a bit more educated than average,
no strangers to positions of responsibility.
You and I have held some power in our hands, haven’t we?
Have more than our share of gifts and talents,
and a chance to affect the lives of others.
More than our share of wealth,
if you’ll pardon my saying that one the eve of the tax season.

Sure, we’ve been knocked around in this world a bit,
but we have some influence;
we’ve got some magic to wield, don’t we?

But when the magic fades and the achievements pale,
truth be told, we’re frightened.
We walk in a world that still has Herod in it,
and we often walk a little closer to him and his purposes than we’d like to admit.
And futility?
Sometimes all our influence is like water running through our hands.
What is it for? Is this all there is?

I’m not sure, one of the magi may have said,
I’m not sure there’s anything to find at the end of that starlight.
Name one thing that doesn’t disappoint.
Name one thing that’s called holy that isn’t a fraud.

But do you think it could be true?
If so, there’s no journey too arduous, no cost too high.
I’d give my whole kingdom if it were really true.
That light, the frightening and mysterious light of the self-revealing God,
is so insistent, so irresistible.
Could it really come from one we are looking for,
who will make everything worthwhile?

Arise, shine, for your light has come, Isaiah says,
and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.

“When they saw that the star had stopped,” Matthew says,
“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.”

And what did they see? Yes, a baby in a manger.
But who can ever say for another how the light comes.
I’ve seen the “aha!” experience portrayed in movies.
I have heard people tell it, with all the delicacy of holding a bird’s egg,
or a newborn baby in your hands.
It is real, I am sure of it.
But as they say, you have to be there to know for yourself.

And we do. We go and follow the path, higher and higher,
farther and farther, with all our baggage of our real selves with us,
and then it happens.
It could come in a blaze of starlight or in a dream.
It could come in silence.
But what was veiled becomes clear,
what was mysterious is spoken,
what is holy has become incarnate.

The Epiphany in something like Christmas in action.

And what then?
Matthew says the wise men were warned by God in a dream to go home by another route.
Well I guess so.
Because our lives are never the same after seeing the light,
and we must not return the same way,
must not betray the change that is at work in us.

And what became of the wise men?

I bet their lives still required them to decide what to do with power and wealth.
I bet the trajectory of their lives was still crooked and complicated,
and I’d put money on it that Herod was still lurking in the wings.

The light of Christ seldom gives us what we expect or pray for.
We ask for a solution and get a story.
We ask for an answer, and get an idea.
We ask for success, and are given undeserved love.
We ask for a gift, and are asked to give one.
We ask for forgiveness, and become fire.
We ask not to die, and are given eternal life.

It’s another road, not the one we were on.
But we will never forget the star.
It will guide us even when we can’t see it.
I promise you it will,
even when we are close to the edge of the precipice.

There is still darkness, though, because we cannot possess the light.
It still shines for aliens and strangers, not only us.
And there is danger, for Herod is still out there,
waiting to kill the Christ-child.
He’ll kill all the other children too, if he can.
And Jesus is not going to escape execution,
just as you and I will not escape death.

But the way of the light is the way of life,
and now that we have seen it, nothing else will ever do.
Once we’ve taken the broken body and blood of Christ into ourselves,
Herod cannot harm us.
And we are new forever.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.
The star is forever.

So, we return by another road.
What will our lives be like as free people, in star-shine?
Thank God for God’s own presence in this,
and for our community with one another.
Because this is a sacred path, and a sacred future. Amen.

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