Tuesday, February 25, 2014

“Heart of the Matter” Sermon February 16, 2014



Deuteronomy 30:15-20
Psalm 119:1-8
1 Corinthians 3:1-9
Matthew 5:21-37
When I was in seminary the pastor at the church where I attended most often preached on this text from Matthew the Sunday following her public announcement of her divorce to the congregation. The members of that church loved her and her husband. I don’t know what happened, I don’t suppose anyone besides those two are aware of exactly what happened, but it broke the hearts of those who read the news. And it was a hard sermon to give—I can’t even imagine how hard.

This text from Matthew has been one of the 20th and 21st century church’s most difficult to wrestle with as divorce has become more common, often for very good reasons. As we all are aware, there have been times in the past when women were stuck in abusive marriages or with unfaithful spouses. (I say women because men have almost always had the option of divorce.) And these verses concerning divorce are pretty blunt. Yet if you read it within the context of first century Judaism, you realize that Jesus is seeking to protect women from husbands who want to abandon them for shallow reasons—reasons that cause all parties to sin according to the law.

But this whole passage isn’t about marriage and divorce—this whole passage is, however, about integrity, humanity, community, and fidelity. And this passage is just one part of a whole set of teachings that Jesus gave, according to Matthew’s gospel, after he went up the mountain, and sat down and began to speak and teach his followers—his disciples.

Matthew’s gospel outline parallels Jesus with Moses and this passage, from Matthew 5, verse 1 to Matthew 7, verse 28. The gospel writer presents theses teachings of Jesus as Moses’ teachings were brought to the people, from a mountain. And theses teachings are often commentaries or parallels to the laws and regulations based upon the commandments that God gave Moses on the mountain.

Here in these verses, Jesus even quotes a few of the commandments that concern human relationship and interprets them for his followers. “You have heard it said,” Jesus begins, “but I say to you . . . “. Jesus, in these words, was revealing his relationship to God and his understanding of the law and how it functions within human relationships.

Jesus begins with ‘“You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, “You shall not murder”; and “whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.” But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment.”’

So just being angry is enough . . . to be liable to judgment . . . so who doesn’t fit that category? I get angry at people. I get angry and hurt when I am personally insulted—though that doesn’t happen as often as it once did. But once I beat on a very close friend of mine (in two separate incidents) because we were arguing about a television show. Yes, that’s what I said, a television show. Stupid, huh? We were good friends and are still friends, but I was overwhelmed by that anger. I was out of control—and that made me angrier. I think that’s what I eventually told her in my apology—that I was possessed by it. I had a choice, don’t get me wrong and at the same time I lost control of myself. And I’ve been angry at children that I love when I saw their behavior as deliberately disobedient. Anger is hard. My own anger has frightened me—I don’t like it at all.

I could have chosen in all of these situations to behave in calmer ways and more loving ways and I didn’t. I believe I am better about this now. I also have to say that there are some situations in which I think anger spurs us to action—but it’s not about carrying out angry emotions or vengeance. Anger at racist, sexist, genderist, ageist, etc., systems instead of anger at persons can move people to change those systems. When Jesus talked about anger between brothers and sisters—he also meant between his followers and we are supposed to be linked by our love for Christ and Christ’s love for us. We are to participate in a better system—something like the kingdom of God.

And our love for Christ—and Christ’s love for us—and God’s love for the entire world leads us to look at Jesus’ next two admonitions regarding the law. “You have heard it said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” And Jesus remarks that the law allows divorce, “Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.” But I say to you that anyone who divorces his wife, except on the grounds of unchastity, causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorces woman commits adultery.”

Looking at a woman or a man, the other person with desire—especially when in a relationship is, in my opinion, necessary for the life in the relationship. Whether it is a desire for his or her presence, time, conversation, or sexually—I don’t believe that’s Jesus’ point. Lust on the other hand sees another person as an object designated for use—lust turns a person into a thing. Recently I’ve read the proverb, “Most of our problems today stem from us treating objects as if they are people and people as if they are objects.” That’s lust. Lust means no relationship; lust isn’t just desire, lust is all about self.

The second admonition about the allowance of divorce in Jewish culture in the first century sounds a lot to me like the admonition against treating a woman as an object. Women, in first century Judaism, couldn’t divorce their husbands, but husbands could divorce their wives. Jesus’ instruction was intended to eliminate superficial reasons for men to abandon their wives, superficial reasons that included infertility, since Jesus commented that unchastity was the only acceptable reason for a writ of divorce. Even though Jesus condemns divorce—which is a very narrow view in our day and age—he is protecting the more vulnerable person in the partnership in his age and time. He was making divorce more difficult for men who might abandon their wives for shallow reasons. The wives would then have little choice but to remarry to have a home and any kind of protection. Unattached women had no rights in that society. That’s why widows and orphans were often mentioned as people to whom the rest of society was responsible.

Finally, in this passage, when Jesus addressed swearing oaths, like swearing to tell the truth on a sacred text, like many do in courtrooms—or like someone might swear “on their mother’s grave” or “on their father’s good name,” we are brought to the basics, the heart of life as a disciple of Jesus. Though our choices may not always be easy ones, our insides are supposed to match our outsides. How we live and our thoughts and beliefs should match. We follow a Jesus who taught that we are to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us—we are taught not to persecute others because they are different. The different people—like the Samaritans to the Jews—are also to be loved because they are neighbors.

When Jesus said, “Let your word be “Yes, Yes” or “No, No”; anything more than this comes from the evil one,” I hear that anything else is an attempt to deceive ourselves or others with an elaborate story. With a vow like swearing by some thing or another—or some idea or another—you or I question our own integrity, we question whether or not our inside matches our outside. We question whether or not our words match our action. As an non-legalistic, non-doctrinal denomination, we don’t forbid our members from taking oaths in court or as a requirement for governmental service, as some do, and yet it should feel strange when we have to put some guarantee on our promises.

The heart of our lives—when we are disciples of Jesus, faithful to God, vessels of the Holy Spirit—calls us to put love first, the heart first. What is loving, what is kind, what is hopeful, helpful and healthy. Severing relationships for no good reason isn’t good—continuing to hate another person (Christian or not), treating covenants between people like they are meaningless, or walking away from another person lightly. When the inside matches the outside, when love—for God, others and self—guide our decisions we have found what being Jesus’ disciple is. We create community and healthy relationships. We strengthen our relationship, as a community with others. But it’s not easy—it takes continuous learning as we grow and develop as human beings.

As children we learned to obey our parents and follow the rules (so that we would learn what love and responsibility look like)—as adults we must learn to examine the world around us, figure out how to love our neighbors, enemies and others with integrity. We make choices daily that effect loving actions and just systems of relationship because we are in systems of relationship. (what we drive, what we buy, how we speak about or treat people in private differently than in public, etc.) We have come to realize—as Jesus taught—that we live in complex systems. Neighbors, spouses, men and women, courts and governments, laws and expectations, written and unwritten draw us into various times of complexity. Let us know ourselves—and know our Christ—so that we can know and decide how to act and to act with justice—which is what love looks like in public.

To the glory of God—creating with a word of life, teaching us a life of love, and breathing into us a spirit of love. Amen.

“Call: A Challenge and a Gift” Sermon January 26, 2014



Isaiah 9:1-4
Psalm 27:1, 4-9
1 Corinthians 1:10-18
Matthew 4:12-23
There’s a story in “a book by Jack Kornfield [that] tells that a young man who had lost a leg came to a Buddhist monastery. Extremely angry at life, he drew pictures of cracked vases and damaged things. He found inner peace and changed his outlook, but still drew broken vases. One day his “master” asked: "Why do you still draw a crack in the vases, are you not whole?” The young man replied, “Yes, and so are the vases. The crack is how the light gets in.” ” (Seasons of the Spirit January 26 2014)

Leonard Cohen, a brilliant songwriter and poet wrote a song that is likely based on this story.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in
That’s how the light gets in
That’s how the light gets in

Last week's sermon spoke of how we often come to times of decision when we know it’s time to choose one way or another. And once we make those decisions—the big ones and the small ones—the changes we experience cause stress. Stress isn’t always negative. Stress is just another influence on change and change can be positive or negative. Stressing a flowering plant in a particular way can cause flowers to bloom. Stressors like temperature changes can cause some species of turtles’ eggs to hatch one gender of offspring or another. Stress is necessary for most living things. The stress of hunger makes the predator hunt and the grazer forage. The stress of being tired causes us to seek out sleep, necessary to live.

And biblically, there are several places and times when the stress of loss and change introduces a cycle of life within the relationship between God and God’s people. Sometimes the pain and loss are credited to God unfairly, more often the kinds of losses and changes I’m talking about are about great cultural shifts or violent actions taken by some individual or nation. When Moses died, for example, the Hebrew people were just about to enter into the land of God’s promise. Moses had been a particular kind of leader as the people journeyed through the wilderness—as they were transformed by God from slaves to people with common laws and ethics who could become a nation together. As they prepared to cross the Jordan River into what would become Israel, Moses died and Joshua rose up as the leader of the people. He inherited Moses mantle of leadership, so to speak. The people mourned Moses’s death and slowly but surely followed Joshua across the Jordan when it was time.

I’m sure many hearts were broken that day when they understood that Moses wouldn’t lead them anymore. But one leader’s time ended as another one began.

But biblical changes aren’t always about the death or loss of one leader for another. In Isaiah’s prophetic word from chapter 9, we read about how when the time came a leader would free the people from the oppression of their exile in Babylon. This early in the prophecy, Judah was still free and yet Isaiah’s words (The words of God given through Isaiah) were given to comfort the people. Yes, their lives would be torn from their homeland. Yes, the wealthiest among them and their leaders had committed great sins that would tear apart their culture. Yes, the majority of them would be taken into exile. And yes, in that time of darkness, after a journey that felt like death, light would come. Hearts would be broken—the heart of the nation would be broken by their oppressors—and their oppressors would on be defeated some unspecified day in the future and songs of celebration and rejoicing would come to them again.

Stress, pain and heartbreak would be followed by God’s presence and God’s purpose.

Several of these things are going on in today’s gospel lesson. These verses are the story of the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry—and it begins when he returned from his trial in the wilderness to hear that John, who baptized him, had been arrested. When he heard it, Matthew writes that Jesus withdrew to Galilee. According to what we know, he had grown up in Nazareth and at this time he moved to Capernaum which is on the lake at Galilee. This move connected him to the ancient land called Zebulun and Naphtali in Isaiah’s prophecy. It also connected him to the place and time where he would find his first disciples.

The story began with the arrest of John, which we know is the end of his ministry. Eventually, we also know, he will be killed. His mantle of active ministry was tragically cast away. Jesus’ times and mantle of active ministry and work was taken up. Into that darkness, Jesus brought light. Jesus began to preach repentance plus, “Turn your lives around and head toward the realm and house that God is building for God’s people.”

John understood that confession, repentance was the first step. Jesus brought the realization of God’s kingdom, household, or family being created out of the whole world beginning with the laborers and the common people living in the region of Galilee. Jesus’ hope and joyful good news consisted of calling common people like fisherfolk to the work and message of God’s salvation.

And as he called the first disciples to him, can you imagine the stress they felt upon that call. In the scripture, we don’t hear about a struggle within Simon Peter, Andrew, James and John as they left their nets to follow him—the stress of change wasn’t described in this text. But can you imagine the pain, the stress, the challenge of his words upon their lives? When you understand that you are being called to change your life in some way—and I believe that all of us have experience that urge to change—what kind of stress does that bring to you?

        What questions or hesitations would arise for you if you were one of the fishers in this scene?
The people who were fishing, Peter, Andrew, James, and John had families. Peter was married, I don’t know about the others, but they had fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters and families worked together them. I would question my responsibilities to them if I was faced with this call. And I have questioned what my responsibilities are to my family at times when I’ve been discerning my call.

First I wondered about my parents and their response to my decision and I believe, my call, to attend seminary and enter some kind of ministry then undetermined.

I won’t go into more detail, but each change that this calling has placed before me, I questioned what it would do to the people I love. It wasn’t until after my mother died that I left Oklahoma. I don’t know what would have happened otherwise.

I honestly can’t imagine that they didn’t take a few moments and have a few discussions with family members—in the middle of this decision to follow Jesus. 

We will always stop and think before we decide to follow Jesus. We do consider the effect our choices make on those we are connected to.

        What do you prioritize when making a decision?
I do believe that we have to protect the most vulnerable among us when we make decisions. I doubt that Peter walked out on his family and left them to fend for themselves. (He’s the one I know had a wife and likely children, though he probably wasn’t the only one.) Jesus doesn’t call us to be irresponsible, but Jesus doesn’t make it easy either.

Being faithful to the mission of Jesus Christ isn’t convenient and it usually doesn’t pay very well. Being faithful to that mission costs us everything that we can afford to give, not a moment or a dollar les. It always will cost more than I realize and the benefit to God’s purpose always outweighs the cost—though I may not ever know or understand that benefit.

        What was the challenge of Jesus’ call?
Jesus challenged the disciples to leave behind the most familiar life style they had ever known to become scholars of his teachings. He challenged them to be followers of the way that he was living, imitators of his acts of mercy, healing, compassion, justice, and kindness. He challenged the people he called to prioritize the ideals of God’s kingdom in their own lives, in the lives of their families and in the way that society and culture itself was put together. He challenged them as time went on to question the teachings about the Messiah. He challenged them to question the leaders of the temple and to speak for the poor instead of the rich. He challenged the notion that wealth was a reward for faithfulness and to open their eyes to see that material gain could also be a distraction from the real purposes that God had for them.

        What was the gift in Jesus’ call?
The disciples were well aware of the ways in which the people of Israel, God’s chosen ones, the children of Abraham were in need of the Messiah and the hope that God promised them. They needed the light of life that God had promised and given, again and again. And they saw in Jesus and heard in his message this light and this hope, this life—they at least heard the beginnings of the hope and the life. They heard that God continued to build and build the home they were promised.

The gift of the call of Jesus upon their lives and upon the lives of all who are called to be Jesus’ disciples is the chance to participate over and over and forever in the salvation of the whole world. The gift we are given is the hope that Jesus offered in every word that he spoke and every work that he did and still does in this world—through our hands and feet and voices and hearts and minds.

It is through the discipleship and apostleship of those Jesus’ called—and so many others—that our lives have been changed, challenged and gifted for the work of purpose that Jesus gives. And it is through our discipleship as a community within the body of Christ that the work of the kingdom continues to grow.

We may cry out in sorrow and despair at the transition and change that we experience—and God pours the light of love and hope and purpose and life into the cracks of our broken hearts and lives. When God calls us in the voice of Jesus, our hearts cry out to our minds to seek the way that God wants us to live. And I promise it will be inconvenient, difficult, costly, and people won’t like it. And I also promise our choice to live in Jesus’ way will help to build the kingdom of God, right now and forever.

The disciples who were casting those nets that day in Capernaum had no vision of what God would have built more than 2,000 years down the road, but because of their willingness to follow, we know this story. They broke open the familiar and comfortable fishing life they’d always know to let in something new. We know that Jesus called to them and to us teaching us to love our neighbors, to love our enemies and those that persecute us. We are learning about the challenge of being a disciple of Christ and we are learning, like they did, that in that challenge was the ultimate gift.

To the glory of God. Amen.

“Turning Points” Sermon January 19, 2014








Isaiah 42:1-9
Psalm 29
Acts 10:34-43
Matthew 3:13-17

We all come to times in our lives when we have to make decisions—usually decisions that will change the nature of our lives in some way. And those times are often punctuated by big events. Graduating or preparing to graduate from high school means deciding what’s next? Job, career, more education, armed services, Peace Corps, or other options are presented—sometimes we have a real choice and sometimes for economic reasons, some options have to be postponed. We decide to be in a relationship with another person, to get married, to stay informally committed, or to be single. We avoid decisions and let things happen to us—thus deciding to give up the power to decide.

We come to a turning point, a water shed. Each of us has come to the places and times when we know decide what happens next, how the cookie is crumbling, the other shoe is dropping—we may not know it all, but we are aware that our choice will make an impact, have an effect. And we take the next step in our lives in faith, in hope, and with confidence—at least in the best circumstances.

But even when the change is hopeful, happy, and what we’ve always been told is positive, change is still scary because change means something new, something unknown, something mysterious is about to happen.

Throughout the seasons of Advent and Christmas, we read scriptures and told the stories about how God sent Jesus into the world as God’s Son and he was born to Mary and to Joseph. We heard the stories of preparation, how Mary heard she would conceive and bear and son. We heard that Joseph was concerned and God’s messenger reassured him in a dream. We heard the prophets’ words and the words from the letters of Paul and others—how they understood Jesus’ work in the world.

And this Sunday we have the opportunity to hear the story of Jesus’ inauguration, how God claimed him as God’s beloved son—with a word and with the sign of the Holy Spirit. The stories of Jesus’ birth and early life are familiar to us—and yet it wasn’t until Jesus’ whole life was known, until the work and words of his message of life and in his death and resurrection were known that people began to tell the stories of his life.

They didn’t realize the significance and didn’t need to tell the stories of his birth until they looked back and saw how it all came together—how the choices he made about his work and teachings fit together with his actions in life, his death at the hands of other human beings, and how God gave him life—and us life—in his resurrection. They didn’t necessarily see how the word of the prophets were true about him as Messiah until they saw his whole life.

And, according to the witnesses of the gospel writers, Jesus’ baptism by John was the first action of the grown man called Jesus as he accepted his identity and God’s calling on his life to do God’s work. John was reluctant to baptize Jesus because he saw in Jesus the Messiah but Jesus insisted on being baptism as the beginning of his obedience, the first act of his willingness to do the work God had given him, and the way in which he received the Holy Spirit, the power of God to do as God intended.

We have, in this scripture text about Jesus’ baptism, a ritual action in which he agreed to all that God wanted him to be as God’s beloved son, and that he wished to and would please God through his actions.

Everything up until this point in the gospel of Matthew has happened to Jesus without needing his consent as a human being. He was born into Joseph’s house and into his lineage as a descendent of David, conceived in Mary by the power of the Holy Spirit. In his infancy or very young childhood, his life was threatened by Herod and he was taken to Egypt. Just like Moses, Jesus’ peers were killed; just like Moses, Jesus’ was called out of Egypt to live in the land God had promised their ancestors. Now, he came to the waters of the Jordan and rose out of them to do God’s work. This is the work, not of Moses, but like that of Joshua, whose name he shared. There and then he chose God and there and then God affirmed his choice.

I know that we can hear this story as something that suddenly occurred to Jesus—and yet according to our understanding of his age, he was about thirty years old. He wasn’t a child or an adolescent when he made this choice. Life had happened to him at this point. He had probably been practicing a trade or traveling and getting an education informally—there are lots of theories. But a few years of his life had passed since the scriptures tell any stories about his life.

And the reason? Well, I think it’s because it was time for him to decide. Some of you have told me you aren’t comfortable with him making this choice—some of you may be—so maybe this is the day or time that he was given a chance to begin the purpose God was giving him. Whether it was a choice to obey or a choice to begin, his baptism is the hinge event when his life was changed or determined, fixed, or defined. John resisted change in his understanding of who God’s Messiah would be—though he did accept Jesus’ request.

As individuals, as I’ve said, we know we’ve had those times of choice. Some of us have more choices than others—for financial reasons or reasons of capability and opportunity. What goes into the choices we make? What do we consider when we make our choices? And how do we make choices as a community of faith?

Jesus was beloved—not just because he was obedient, though that pleased God. And we, too, are beloved children of God. And we have choices to make, too, or, if you will, we have opportunities to begin or continue into the purpose and calling that God gives us. We make choices as individuals and we make choices as communities. And many times our individual choices impact the lives of others. We impact the lives of people in our families, our neighborhood, our city, and we impact the lives of others inside and outside of this congregation.

The turning points, water sheds, where and when we make choices (choices to change or choice to not change) may not have immediate effects for good or for bad. And long-term changes may be different from short-term changes.

Three years after Jesus was baptized by John, he was crucified by Roman authorities. Just days after he was baptized by John he entered the wilderness where he was tempted to abandon the entire purpose that God had meant for his life. In places like Nazareth and in Galilee, he was questioned, threatened, scoffed at, and his teachings were ignored or denied by people within his own religious tradition. He argued with his disciples and people called him evil because he did certain powerful things. His disciples were argumentative and had control issues, wanting to be the best, the first, the inheritor of his power.

And two-thousand and some years later, we proclaim him Son of God and Savior, Messiah/Christ, King of King and Lord of Lords. We proclaim that he is the Lamb of God that takes away the sins of the world. Jesus is brother to all and risen Christ.

The short-term results of Jesus’ obedience might have been judged as failure, but in the long-term?

When we work with people—as God works with people, as Jesus works with us and other people—you never know exactly what’s going to happen. You may never know how a loving word or a kind gesture revealed God’s love to someone, maybe a stranger. You may never see how much a sharp word hurt or a cold shoulder stung. And we may never realize how loving guidance revealed a good way of choosing or how a life revealed God’s power of redemption from mistakes we make and even evil actions we’ve done. Loving doesn’t mean we don’t appraise our choices or the choices of the people we love; God’s love means we are loved unconditionally now and always and so we can love that way—with God’s love surrounding and upholding us.

Jesus’ baptism, though John saw eventually saw its significance or meaning, was probably just another baptism that day in most eyes. John baptized lots of people. (The scripture says, “the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him.”) I don’t know if anyone else saw or heard anything—I’ve always had a feeling it was Jesus’ experience of God’s Holy Spirit power. The Holy Spirit was witnessed to by Jesus’ subsequent life and actions, his teaching and words of power and by his strength during his torture and execution and of course the experience of resurrection.

God gives us decisions to make each day. We can choose to serve and to reveal God’s love in all of our actions. Sometimes it’s easy to know what that choice is and sometimes it’s very hard. God’s intentions for us may not always be obvious in some of the choices we have to make. I believe God works in us when we don’t know exactly what God wants—and God works in us when we do. They are our choices to make. Amen.

“Entering the Story” Sermon January 12, 2014


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.