After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, “Where is the One Who has been born king of the Jews? We saw His star in the east and have come to worship Him.” When King Herod heard this he was disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him. When he had called together all the people’s chief priests and teachers of the law, he asked them where the Christ was to be born. “In Bethlehem in Judea,” they replied, “for this is what the prophet has written: ‘But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for out of you will come a ruler Who will be the shepherd of my people Israel.’” Then Herod called the Magi secretly and found out from them the exact time the star had appeared. He sent them to Bethlehem and said, “Go and make a careful search for the Child. As soon as you find Him, report to me, so that I too may go and worship Him.” After they had heard the king, they went on their way, and the star they had seen in the east went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the Child was. When they saw the star, they were overjoyed. On coming to the house, they saw the Child with His mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped Him. Then they opened their treasures and presented Him with gifts of gold and of incense and of myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to go back to Herod, they returned to their country by another route. (Matthew 2:1-12)
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This isn’t the Christmas story. In fact, as of today it’s not even Christmas anymore! It’s a little bit jarring, I know - because we’ve become so used to seeing the magi on Christmas cards and in the nativity scenes - but the fact is that this isn’t a part of the Christmas story, and nativity scenes and Christmas cards aside, there were no magi at the manger. This happens later. The magi come not to a manger where they find a baby; they come instead to a house where they find a child. So this is a later story whose power we often forget because we choose to sentimentalize it by throwing it in with all the Christmas trappings. But this story is important enough that it actually has its own day. Epiphany, it’s called. January 6. The first day after the end of Christmas. In a way, today is the beginning of the rest of the story, and with the Christmas story finished, the gospel has a chance to become a little bit harder hitting than simply the birth of a baby and the appearance of angels. This story about the magi is a hard hitting story. In fact, it’s so hard hitting that no less a figure than Martin Luther could call the story both “terrifying and consoling … terrifying to the great and wise, the self-satisfied and the mighty, because they all reject Christ; consoling to the humble and despised, because to them alone Christ is revealed.”# Luther wasn’t afraid of challenging perceptions - the story of the wise men can be “terrifying,” and, as he notes in the same sermon, “These wise men are usually called the three Kings. As not much depends on this, we will grant this opinion to the simple minded people.” Our opening hymn today was apparently one that Luther would have tolerated, but not much admired!
I want to think a little bit about this “terrifying and consoling” idea. How does this story “terrify?” How does it “console?” What is its power to do either? Where does that come from? There’s a lot in the story (the magi, the King, the chief priests and teachers of the law, Christ Himself, and His mother Mary.) They’re all there. But over it all (both symbolically and literally) there’s a star. It probably wasn’t a star. Maybe there was something in the sky or maybe it’s a spiritual symbol being used by Matthew, but the point is that the story revolves around light - a light that draws people to it. Everything in the story eventually converges on the point where the light is shining. At that point, there’s terror; there’s consolation. This is the beginning of a titanic clash between light and darkness that fills the pages of the Gospels and the story of Jesus and the history of the world. It’s a struggle that still continues on today, because it’s a light that continues to shine, a light that can never be extinguished or overcome.
Let me ask you first, in the context of the story, who’s terrified by this light? We know Herod was. And not only Herod, but “all Jerusalem with him.” We can understand Herod’s fear. He was the king, after all - not a particularly legitimate one; dependent on the Romans for his power and position; but still the king. He was in charge of this land, as long as he did more or less what the Romans told him to do. And all of a sudden strangers showed up and wanted him to tell them where to find the “King of the Jews.” “Where to find him?” must have been Herod’s first thought! “Where to find Him? How about right here, in front of you, you silly sorcerers. I’m the king!” Herod saw the threat very clearly. Those opposed to him would now have a rallying point. And the people of Jerusalem understood the threat. Jerusalem was a government town, you know. Civil servants, mostly. A threat to Herod was a threat to them. They wondered about their own future. They had hitched their wagon to worldly power; now that worldly power was threatened. They were frightened. The magi were probably frightened. They were probably frightened from the moment this whole thing began; from the second this strange star appeared. These weren’t Jews, after all. To put such great stock in this star and to believe that it would lead them to the King of the Jews was, in a way, to turn their backs on their old beliefs and on their own people. How would folks at home respond? We never know because we never hear of the magi again. Even Mary must have been a little frightened. This child was attracting a lot of attention.That could only mean trouble.
If you think about it in today’s terms, there are still a lot of people who are frightened, troubled or at least apprehensive about what this light of God draws them to. Who’s frightened by this story; by this light? Anyone who thinks they have it all together. Anyone who thinks they’ve got it all figured out. Anyone who thinks they have all the answers. Anyone who thinks they have everything they need. Anyone who’s hitched their wagon to one of the things of the world like a good job or a lot of money. Anyone who thinks that God belongs to them rather than the other way around. Those people should be very frightened. You know why? Because the story reminds us that sometimes it’s the things we have that we cherish the most and that give us the most comfort that we have to give up to journey to this strange new land where Christ is King and everything else has to be subject to Him. You can respond to Christ in different ways - you can worship Him as the magi did or you can seek to wipe Him out as Herod ultimately did - but whatever you do in response to Christ (and, in a way, everything we do is in response to Christ) you’ll never get away from Him; you’ll never eliminate His call on your life. We baptized a baby this morning. We celebrated the love and grace of God in that sacrament. It’s a blessing - but it’s also a challenge, because, you see, Jason is always going to have that call of Christ upon him, that light shining over him, and he (like all of us) will have to figure out how to respond to it. He - and we - will have to puzzle that out - a never-ending process probably, because Christ is constantly changing us, transforming us, challenging us to understand more; to understand better; to understand more fully. That’s a little terrifying. We’re all, in a sense, walking in darkness, groping after that light that’s shining, reaching for it (or maybe running from it, at times.) It’s a little terrifying. Martin Luther called it “terrifying to the great and wise, the self-satisfied and the mighty, because they all reject Christ …” Sometimes we’re all tempted to think of ourselves more highly than we ought to, to depend on our own wisdom, to become satisfied with what we have. Sometimes we reject Christ, because we think we’ve got it all taken care of ourselves, thank you very much. Most frightening to those of us who sometimes think we’ve got it all together is that this story forces us to realize that we’re nothing special to God - which means that we’re no more special to God than anyone else. And here comes the consoling part of the story
Luther also thought the light of the star “was consoling to the humble and despised, because to them alone Christ is revealed.” In commenting on this passage, one of my professors from Chicago (Craig Satterlee) wrote that
“God seems to do whatever it takes to reach out to and embrace all people. God announces the birth of the Messiah to shepherds through angels on Christmas, to Magi via a star on Epiphany, and to the political and religious authorities of God’s own people in [and] through visitors from the East. From a manger, where a child lies wrapped in bands of cloth, God’s reach, God’s embrace in Christ Jesus, gets bigger and bigger and bigger. Jesus eats with outcasts and sinners. Jesus touches people who are sick and people who live with disabilities. Jesus even calls the dead back to life. Ultimately, Jesus draws all people to himself as he is lifted up on the cross. In Christ Jesus, no one is beyond God’s embrace.”
There we find the comfort, don’t we. If we really listen to the story, we realize that the basic message is simply that God is “for” everyone. If we really listen to the entire gospel, we realize that the basic message is simply that God is “for” everyone. That’s disconcerting in some ways. Why should God be “for” everyone? Why not just for me and for those like me? Why shouldn’t God just be on my side? Why shouldn’t God just honour the fact that I’m the only one who really gets it? Why should God embrace anybody else except me and those like me?
Here, in this one story, you have magi coming from Persia, an illegitimate king who’s no better than a collaborator with a foreign enemy, the religious leaders of the people who are so caught up in their religion that they’ve forgotten to leave room for God to actually do anything, and a young woman probably still pondering things in her heart, probably still coping with unexpected motherhood, probably still wondering where all this is going to lead. Here, in this one story, you have everyone drawn to that light. And, if we can set aside the expectations we have of how God should act, and if we can set aside the barriers we erect against those who are different, and if we can set aside the anger and the disappointment we feel at those who we feel have let us down - then we’re not only drawn to the light but we can embrace the light. Then we can discover grace; then we can discover mercy; then we can discover forgiveness; then we can discover new life. There’s the comfort. It’s found in the new life God offers us - a life we live in the full knowledge that we’re being fully embraced by God. It doesn’t matter if you’re Jason (who’s probably the youngest among us) or whether you’re the oldest among us (and I won’t hazard a guess as to who that might be!) - you've been embraced by God from moment one of your existence, just as all the figures in the story of the magi were being embraced by God. They would respond differently to that embrace - some faithfully, others not - but they’d have to respond. It’s like someone putting their arms around you - you may not hug them back, but you’re still being hugged. That’s a bit like the embrace of God. Whether or not we embrace God back, God doesn’t let us go.
To me, that’s the great hope of the gospel. God doesn’t let me go. For some, that might be a frightening thought as they look back at their lives and realize all the things they can’t hide from God; to me it’s a comforting thought as I do the same thing and realize that nothing I’ve done has been able to push God away. God won’t be pushed away. God’s embrace won’t end. God’s light will still shine on us, no matter what.
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