Epiphany Sunday
Alice M.C. Ling, Senior Pastor
Isaiah 60:1-6, Matthew 2:1-12
There’s no way of knowing, so I suppose it’s pointless speculation, but I have to wonder if they were restless and looking for something new and exciting to break the monotony, or if they’d just settled in for a long winter’s nap. Was it a delightful 75 degrees, cool breeze, gentle sun, and the perfect day to set out on an adventure? Or was it the coldest night of the year, winds howling, snow blowing, not fit for man nor beast, with every weather person in the country advising no one to go out regardless of the emergency? Were they deeply in love with each and every person who shared their houses and lives, still basking in the joy of a new marriage or reveling in the delight of a new baby? Or were they more than grateful for a chance to get away and the gift of a moment’s peace? Were they looking for a life-changing, world-rearranging journey that would finally help them make sense of their existence, or desperate for a quiet corner there they could crawl up in a ball and try to recover from the rat race that had left them utterly and completely depleted? Just who were those wise guys anyway, and what in the world compelled them to pack some treasures in a saddlebag and head out across the desert with nothing more than a flickering strand of light to point the way?
It was an amazing journey that led them to King Herod’s door asking the whereabouts of the child who had been born king of the Jews. We don’t know much about them – even less than we’re inclined to think we know. Regardless of what the old carol says, they weren’t kings. They were magi, which means their work was a combination of astrology, astronomy and dreams. We don’t know how many of them there were. Sure, they gave three gifts, so we seem to have latched on to that number, but Matthew didn’t think the count was significant enough to pass along. They came from the East, probably from Persia or Babylon, which was a long way from Jerusalem, so without a doubt they’d been on the road a long time. This was no idle Sunday afternoon meandering for lack of anything better to do; this was a major commitment and investment of time and resources. They’d come from the East, which means they were Gentiles and not Jews. And yet they’d come in search of the newborn king of the Jews. It’s all really quite odd, don’t you think?
Sure, maybe we can write it off to the astronomy thing. A new and intriguing star in the sky would get to folks who spent their lives watching the stars, and would be bound to tug at their curiosity and lead them outside. But these days, that would mean outside to set up a telescope, to find the best vantage point for viewing and studying. No need to leave home for that. And yes, Jews had been in exile in Babylon, so maybe these folks had bumped up against some of them and knew about their hopes and longings and the ancient promises about a king who was to come and make everything right. But that was a king for others – not them. What sort of curiosity could possibly stir them deeply enough to propel them out of their living rooms or off their observation decks and send them out to trudge across the desert for a year or two? What sort of longing and desire that attached itself to them so deeply that they were wiling to invest so much in such an odd journey?
From what I can find in the text, it was something about the newborn king of the Jews. It wasn’t just a star they were following. It was a king they were seeking. And not just out of curiosity, but so that they could pay him homage, so they could give rich and extravagant gifts, so they could fall at his feet and worship him, show him their hearts’ devotion, welcome him to the world and seek his wisdom – perhaps for their lives and everyone else’s at the same time.
I marvel at their openness and their longing. Something latched on to them in such a way that they couldn’t ignore it, whether they wanted to or not, and so they set out. They were open to more than what they already knew, more than they’d experienced, more than they could understand or explain, and so they followed it. Followed the star, followed their intuition, followed the longing that refused to give them a moment’s rest or peace. And while I don’t know what they expected to find once they found this child that had been born king of the Jews, I’m fairly sure it wasn’t a carpenter’s son, born to a peasant woman, with some strange sort of scandal circling around about when and how he had been conceived and where he had come from. And still, none of that stopped them. None of that appeared to matter to them. They recognized him for who he was, they worshipped him, they praised God for the ways in which God was working and moving in the world, they offered their gifts and they offered themselves to this child, and to the God who had sent him in to the world.
Perhaps there’s been a time or two in your life when something latched on to you and wouldn’t let go until you gave in to it, followed where it was leading, and gave yourself over to something you couldn’t begin to understand or explain. I hope so. But I also know it’s not the way we’re apt to do things – individually or as a congregation. We’re much more rational than that. And logical. And predisposed to assuming we know the answer before a question is even asked. We’re cautious and reserved, measured and intentional. But if that’s the only way we ever work or move or live in the world, we just may miss the miracle of new life and new possibility that is being born in our midst. We just may miss out on the presence and miracle and gift of a new born child who has been born to lead us, has come to save us from ourselves and all that threatens to harm us, has come to lead us to God and one another.
I pray these words by Kate Compston will become our words and our prayer for the journey that lies ahead.
There’s no way of knowing, so I suppose it’s pointless speculation, but I have to wonder if they were restless and looking for something new and exciting to break the monotony, or if they’d just settled in for a long winter’s nap. Was it a delightful 75 degrees, cool breeze, gentle sun, and the perfect day to set out on an adventure? Or was it the coldest night of the year, winds howling, snow blowing, not fit for man nor beast, with every weather person in the country advising no one to go out regardless of the emergency? Were they deeply in love with each and every person who shared their houses and lives, still basking in the joy of a new marriage or reveling in the delight of a new baby? Or were they more than grateful for a chance to get away and the gift of a moment’s peace? Were they looking for a life-changing, world-rearranging journey that would finally help them make sense of their existence, or desperate for a quiet corner there they could crawl up in a ball and try to recover from the rat race that had left them utterly and completely depleted? Just who were those wise guys anyway, and what in the world compelled them to pack some treasures in a saddlebag and head out across the desert with nothing more than a flickering strand of light to point the way?
It was an amazing journey that led them to King Herod’s door asking the whereabouts of the child who had been born king of the Jews. We don’t know much about them – even less than we’re inclined to think we know. Regardless of what the old carol says, they weren’t kings. They were magi, which means their work was a combination of astrology, astronomy and dreams. We don’t know how many of them there were. Sure, they gave three gifts, so we seem to have latched on to that number, but Matthew didn’t think the count was significant enough to pass along. They came from the East, probably from Persia or Babylon, which was a long way from Jerusalem, so without a doubt they’d been on the road a long time. This was no idle Sunday afternoon meandering for lack of anything better to do; this was a major commitment and investment of time and resources. They’d come from the East, which means they were Gentiles and not Jews. And yet they’d come in search of the newborn king of the Jews. It’s all really quite odd, don’t you think?
Sure, maybe we can write it off to the astronomy thing. A new and intriguing star in the sky would get to folks who spent their lives watching the stars, and would be bound to tug at their curiosity and lead them outside. But these days, that would mean outside to set up a telescope, to find the best vantage point for viewing and studying. No need to leave home for that. And yes, Jews had been in exile in Babylon, so maybe these folks had bumped up against some of them and knew about their hopes and longings and the ancient promises about a king who was to come and make everything right. But that was a king for others – not them. What sort of curiosity could possibly stir them deeply enough to propel them out of their living rooms or off their observation decks and send them out to trudge across the desert for a year or two? What sort of longing and desire that attached itself to them so deeply that they were wiling to invest so much in such an odd journey?
From what I can find in the text, it was something about the newborn king of the Jews. It wasn’t just a star they were following. It was a king they were seeking. And not just out of curiosity, but so that they could pay him homage, so they could give rich and extravagant gifts, so they could fall at his feet and worship him, show him their hearts’ devotion, welcome him to the world and seek his wisdom – perhaps for their lives and everyone else’s at the same time.
I marvel at their openness and their longing. Something latched on to them in such a way that they couldn’t ignore it, whether they wanted to or not, and so they set out. They were open to more than what they already knew, more than they’d experienced, more than they could understand or explain, and so they followed it. Followed the star, followed their intuition, followed the longing that refused to give them a moment’s rest or peace. And while I don’t know what they expected to find once they found this child that had been born king of the Jews, I’m fairly sure it wasn’t a carpenter’s son, born to a peasant woman, with some strange sort of scandal circling around about when and how he had been conceived and where he had come from. And still, none of that stopped them. None of that appeared to matter to them. They recognized him for who he was, they worshipped him, they praised God for the ways in which God was working and moving in the world, they offered their gifts and they offered themselves to this child, and to the God who had sent him in to the world.
Perhaps there’s been a time or two in your life when something latched on to you and wouldn’t let go until you gave in to it, followed where it was leading, and gave yourself over to something you couldn’t begin to understand or explain. I hope so. But I also know it’s not the way we’re apt to do things – individually or as a congregation. We’re much more rational than that. And logical. And predisposed to assuming we know the answer before a question is even asked. We’re cautious and reserved, measured and intentional. But if that’s the only way we ever work or move or live in the world, we just may miss the miracle of new life and new possibility that is being born in our midst. We just may miss out on the presence and miracle and gift of a new born child who has been born to lead us, has come to save us from ourselves and all that threatens to harm us, has come to lead us to God and one another.
I pray these words by Kate Compston will become our words and our prayer for the journey that lies ahead.
Beckoning God –
who called the rich to travel toward poverty,
the wise to embrace your folly,
the powerful to know their own frailty;
who gave to strangers
a sense of homecoming in an alien land
and to stargazers
true light and vision as they bowed to earth –
we lay ourselves open to your signs for us.
Stir us with holy discontent over a world
which gives its gifts to those
who have plenty already
whose talents are obvious
whose power is recognized;
and help us
both to share our resources with those who have little
and to receive with humility the gifts they bring to us.
Rise within us, like a star;
and make us restless
till we journey forth
to seek our rest in you.
(Kate Compston, in Resources for Preaching and Worship, Year A, page 44)
Labels: Alice
posted by FPC Webmaster at
10:00 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home