What a Difference a Year Makes

The Magi by He Qi

Cameron Presbyterian Church

January 5, 2013 (Epiphany observance)

Matthew 2:1-12

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, 2 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.” 3 When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, (he wasn’t terrified by the birth of the child, he was terrified when people wanted to pay him homage) and all Jerusalem with him; 4 and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. 5 They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

6 ‘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.’”  7 Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. 8 Then he sent them 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.” 9 When they 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. 10 When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. 11 On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 12 And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

Sermon: “What a Difference a Year Makes”

We in the Church are a people of the Book.  We always have been, and always will be.  We believe that within these pages lie words from God that teach us essential things about who we as human beings are, and who God is.  Our worship services center on this Word, where we first lead into it, and then out of it into the world.  We believe that somehow the Spirit breathes into these pages, written down by ordinary human beings, and that they are as relevant today as they ever were.  If we didn’t believe these things, then there’s really no point in me going on with a sermon, right? 

This book inspires visceral reactions in people – those who see it as a literal, inerrant Word from God see it as a rule book of how to keep in God’s favor.  Those who see it within its historical and cultural contexts embrace its contradictions and even errors, trusting that still, through all of it, God speaks.  And, of course, folks who see it somewhere between these two.  But however it is we read this book, we most of us treat it as a comforting tome of favorite stories.  Actually though, this book is as foreign to our eyes as a copy of War and Peace is washing up on the shores of a West African village.

We can tame these words and stuff them awkwardly into our own cultural norms and understandings of God.  We can say that Jesus was born atop fresh, fluffy straw to a glowing, peaceful blue-eyed Mary, and that Joseph was calm and quiet and strong.  We can say that Jesus never cried or that he curled up next to the nearest fluffy lamb as he slept. 

We can say that the Magi were “wise men” who showed up just after that birth, looking immaculate in silky robes and bearing small but invaluable gifts (that we enjoy acting out with glittery painted paper boxes).  Yes, we can quite easily tame this story. 

OR we can pick up this battered tale from the sandy shore in front of us and treat it as something utterly foreign, and hear what it is really saying, with fresh ears.  If we tame this story, it will still speak to us, but we will hear the same exact message over and over again, year after year, for all of our lives.  But if we let what we do not understand teach us of a new reality, this story will never cease surprising us with new wisdom.

As you may guess, I choose the latter approach.  In order to enter into the world of the Magi, the refugee child Savior and the desperate King Herod, we need to first set the record straight.

Let’s start with the whole notion of these Magi being “wise men.”  That phrase was given to us, not by the original language, but by King James.  Yes, these men were wise, but not in a conventional way.  They were Magi—magicians, sorcerers, students of the stars.  To say they were not often warmly welcomed by conventional religious folk is an understatement. 

They were seen as wild and even, at times, dangerous.  Having studied the stars all the time, they knew when stars changed, when some burned out and when new stars were born.  And so they saw the star that led them to Bethlehem not because it was large and diamond-shaped like we see on a Christmas card, but quite simply, because they were looking. 

They journeyed a long way to Jerusalem, from perhaps somewhere near modern-day Iraq.  They would not have arrived looking like opulent genies from the East, though.  They would have arrived exhausted, weary and filthy.  They discovered the star when Jesus was born, but many estimate that they didn’t arrive to Jerusalem for about a year.

John Polkinghorne said it well:  “The Magi were…intellectuals, students of the stars and seekers after truth. It took the learned sages somewhat longer than the unlearned shepherds to find their way to Bethlehem, but they got there in the end.”

These sages knew the ways of power and society and so they went first to King Herod in Jerusalem to inquire about this Bethlehem baby.  Herod was of course afraid at the mention of a newborn “king” but it had been about a year – he was lulled into a false sense of security, thinking that all of the prophecies and whisperings had been nothing but the hype of short-lived celebrity. 

That was, until several (who were probably more than three, by the way) wandering magicians showed up asking about the child.  In a panic (induced by an innocent one-year-old, by the way) Herod gathered the smartest cookies he knew and asked them all about this star and prophesy.  They quoted Micah, saying “But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah . . . from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old.”

Now, this was a serious problem for Herod for two reasons.  The first is obvious: that another ruler, another king, has been named and identified with a prophesy that everyone from grandmothers to grocery sellers knew.  But the second reason was even more troubling: this ruler was coming from Bethlehem.  Not from Jerusalem, home to Herod’s rule of terror and center of power and privilege.  If a ruler came from Jerusalem, Herod could pull all of his politicians’ strings easily enough to have him eliminated. 

But Bethlehem?  That was a tiny, rural community nine miles South of Jerusalem.  It was a poor place, all but invisible to the eyes of the powerful, like Herod.  A ruler from there?  That would mean a ruler coming from commoners, a ruler from among those who knew poverty and oppression, which was (as always) the majority of the population.  They would rise up.  They would rally around such a humble king.  And they would most certainly overthrow Herod. 

So, with sweat no doubt forming on his brow, Herod put on his best politician’s face and said, “Ooh yes, Magi, please go find the boy and tell me where he is so I pay him homage, too.”  (In the movie version, there would be an evil laugh here.)

And those weary magicians traveled on to see this Jewish child Messiah.  In doing so, they bridged the division between the religious establishment of Judaism and the bizarre ways of magicians.  They took the finest gifts a king could receive and laid them at the feet of an innocent toddler, right there on the dusty ground.  With that act, all of the ways of the powerful over the powerless, the wealthy over the refugee, were reversed, for all time.  This child king would change it all forever, and no amount of terrorism by a desperate and powerful ruler could stop that change.

I feel sorry for Herod, really.  Such desperation to keep power, such wild vengeance, such fearfulness.  He never expected much to happen after the hubbub about this baby died down.  But around a year later, he realized that such whisperings of hope and freedom would never die down.  What a difference a year makes. 

His reaction, out of fear of losing power, was genocide.  There are no words for the grief Herod’s fear caused.  And sadly the fear of desperate leaders has cost innocent lives throughout history…in Germany, in Rwanda, in Syria and so many other places, again and again and again.  Herod’s fear, when backed by might, was a terrible thing.  But still, that Godchild king rose from the rejected and powerless.  And he still does rise, again and again and again.

So, let’s not read this story, from this Book of ours, like Herod.  Let’s not assume that we know it, and can keep it safely contained in ways of power and control.  Let’s instead be like those strange Magi who were so intent on watching for a change in the cosmos that they couldn’t help but see it.   Because the fabric of the universe is still shifting through that child, even now.  This story isn’t contained on these pages, you see.

God’s story of worshipping wanderers and a Savior among refugees, of challenging the powerful not with might but with Light from a star, is still being told, even through us.  Yes, we are a people of the Book.  But only because we believe that God is not found in the abstract, but in the flesh-and-blood, complicated stories of history, even within our own complicated stories. 

The story of God becoming one of us, bringing redemption and reconciliation to a world of the powerful and powerless will never end.  And truth be told, we know, somewhere deep within our places of despair and delight, of fear and faith, it is so much more than just a story.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.