Isaiah
60:1–6
Psalm
72:1–7, 10–14
Ephesians
3:1–12
Matthew
2:1–12
(We canceled church due to snow on January 5, so I moved Epiphany--I'm a touch unorthodox.)
Whenever
I start to tell people a story about someone, especially a family member, I
tell the stories in a circular way. This happens especially when I talk about
my father, who he was, what he did for a living at various points in his life,
even about his relationship with my mother—and her commentary about his life—I
circle back and fill in the blanks. I end up telling stories and circling back
around to tell his story from an earlier point than when I first began. I want
to get the context right. I want to build a world around the story so that
whoever I’m telling gets the big picture.
I tell the story from various points at which I
noticed something about him or some event made my understanding more clear. And
he told stories, some more true than others, for his own entertainment I think,
so those stories come into the picture, too. I tell the stories that have been
epiphanies into my understanding into his life or my own after a lifetime of
hearing stories he told or really that anyone tells me.
And the writers of the biblical stories will often
tell stories in a similar way—maybe not in such a circular way—but in a way
that sets events into a particular context, that sets a singular story of a
person into the big picture. Sometimes we can figure out the references that
put us into a bigger picture because the big picture is familiar. And sometimes
the bigger picture is harder to see because the world into which the writer is
drawing us is ancient and very foreign to our experiences. Sometimes we
prayerfully find connections to the biblical stories and poems very quickly;
sometimes the connections and context take longer to understand and involve
prayer, meditation, study, research, and time to contemplate the stories.
Most stories in the bible can be grasped in both ways,
the quick understanding that reveals parts of the purpose of telling the story
and a deeper more nuanced understanding that takes time—and may take a lifetime
of consideration and experience.
In Christianity, we celebrate the revelation of the
light of Christ to and throughout the world as the day of Epiphany, when we
read the story of the star appearing to the magi, also known as wise men or
kings. Last Monday was Epiphany and I decided to go ahead and preach this
sermon this Sunday instead of skipping it this year because this story sets the
birth of Jesus into the bigger picture. It’s the beginning of Matthew’s
description of who Christ is and how he was a gift to the world beyond the
people of Israel, beyond those who were expecting someone who would be called
Messiah or Christ.
An epiphany when used in the general sense is usually
described as a sudden realization of some truth, some reality—the celebration
of Epiphany in the Church is the revelation of Jesus as Christ to the whole
world, symbolized by the arrival of the magi (wise men) in Bethlehem to witness
the presence of Christ in the child Jesus.
Matthew 2 begins by telling us that Jesus was born in
the time of King Herod, a tetrarch appointed by Rome. Herod was known for
killing anyone who challenged him in any way. He’d killed many family members
including some of his own sons by this time. Herod represents humanities worst
kind of relationship with power and authority.
Jesus had already been born. Magi or scholars and astronomers,
even priests from another faith—not really kings—had traveled to find out what
great leader had been born because of a star that had been revealed in the sky.
They, for some reason, realized that this was the land where he would arise,
but weren’t clear on his birth. The scholars of Israel (chief priests and
scribes) were able to clarify with words from the prophet Micah that Bethlehem
would provide the origins of the shepherd or ruler they were looking for.
Bethlehem was the home of David, the iconic king of Israel who successfully
brought the kingdom together in prosperity in ancient times. Bethlehem was all
at once, the home of the great king of the past and the hope of the future.
Herod’s lust for power made him deceive the magi or wise men, hoping he could
stamp out any challenge to his power.
After they finished their journey, the wise men, who
represent those who seek God’s revelation throughout the whole world, they
knelt in worship and recognition of God in that place, in that child. And their
gifts were expense certainly and richly meaningful. The gold was the wealth of
nations, the royalty of the Gentiles brought to serve God. The frankincense was
burned on altars in the temple, representing prayer and the presence of God.
Myrrh was an anointment, fragrant, used for anointing priests and kings, used
in healing as an antiseptic. Each gift brought a fulfilled meaning to the birth
of this young child—meaning that extended beyond any power-hunger and greedy
Roman appointee like Herod. The rule of this child was to be beyond even the
understanding of the prophets.
God’s dream message outwitted any plan of Herod to get
rid of whomever the wise men had found by sending. And by sending these a
dream, God revealed God’s word beyond the boundaries of the Jewish faith,
beyond any bounds that human’s had created.
The text that follows our selection this morning
describes how Herod sent soldiers into Bethlehem to kill all the infants
younger than 2 years, cementing his identity as symbol of violence destruction,
of the greed for power, and of the rejection of God’s revelation in Jesus as
the chosen one or Messiah and Christ. And Jesus’ salvation in his first years
reminds us how his life will end—and how God’s power in him wold not be
stopped, even by that death.
The context of this story, as told in this way only by
Matthew, discloses particular ideas about who Jesus would be revealed to be as
time went on, as our eyes are opened, as the light returns, as the star
rises—and as we seek to pay homage to the Christ, newborn and someday risen and
eternal.
Though we celebrate an epiphany as a sudden event,
like the day the wise men found Jesus—we also know that noticing God often
takes some practice. It often happens that we can notice God only when we know
that God is who we’re looking for. The wise men themselves were practiced
scholars, priests, or astronomers who knew the sky they studied. Astronomy is
one of those scientific endeavors that takes great amounts of time and
patience. Hours are spent gazing into the sky at night, marking when and where
the lights appear and move—and keeping track night after night so that you know
the difference between what is always there and some new event that you’ve
never seen before.
Seeking God’s presence can be that way as well,
practicing the well-worn steps of prayer and bible study, continually checking
what we know now with what has been known and then realizing something about
God or something in our relationship with God that we’d never noticed or had a
chance to notice before.
We may notice that the love of God is more real to us
than before when we realize that no wall or boundary we have created to keep
God safe from sin or evil, has kept God from loving beyond those walls and
boundaries. We may notice God’s mercy and justice more when people are crying
out in need and in righteous indignation. People who can suddenly speak though
their lives had been crushed by evil, hateful power and run-away greed.
Suddenly they have voices rising above the noisy violence and the machines of
unchecked progress.
We may notice leadership in places we had never seen
or been allowed to notice when young women share a perspective in leadership
that we had never known. We might hear the voice of God when Jesus’ message of
loving enemies comes out of the ancient texts of the First Testament and even
from texts beyond our faith traditions. We may find that the new messages are
old ones we’d never had noticed if we hadn’t been practicing paying
attention—if we hadn’t been studying the old stars so hard that we could
identify the new ones.
Today we practice entering into the story that Matthew
tells about this child born in Bethlehem. We practice entering so that we can
continue to enter the story of Christ. We look forward to rehearsing the
familiar stories of who Jesus is in each moment. We seek out his life so that
we can find our own place and purpose as his disciples, now and throughout our
lifetime.
To the glory of God, now and always. Amen.
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