Sermon preached by The Rev'd Nicholas Lang

St. Paul’s on the Green, Norwalk, Connecticut

The Feast of the Epiphany - January 6, 2008

In the name of the One who is at the author of each and every epiphany in our lives: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen..

Once upon a time there were three very wise men sitting at their respective astronomer stations, minding their own business, when they caught sight of one of the largest, brightest, most glorious stars they had ever seen. Well-read as they were and familiar with the Hebrew prophecies about a promised Messiah, each of them knew immediately that something powerful was calling, inviting them to begin an adventure that would dramatically change their lives. So they each packed provisions, left their homes, and mounted their camels for the long journey. And, not knowing who or what might be at the end of it, each selected a gift of great value just in case it might come in handy. Their pilgrimage would lead them, by way of that brilliant star, to Jerusalem—the location they believed the Messianic prophecies identified—where they would make a pit stop at the palace of King Herod to inquire about this newborn king of the Jews. Full of jealousy and greed, the wicked king would plot to kill the baby, pretending that he, too, would pay him homage if the wise men would just let him know on their return journey. By hitting the fast-forward button on our remote, we learn that the wise men did, indeed, find the child Jesus and his parents, presented him with the precious gifts they had brought with them, and, warned in a dream of Herod’s evil intentions, took back roads on their return trip. And they lived happily ever after.

Like the Christmas story in Luke’s Gospel, we tend to romanticize this other favorite narrative relating to the birth of Jesus. It is Matthew’s version of the Nativity account, missing the familiar stable, animals, shepherds, and angels. It is a very different kind of Christmas story, isn’t it? It has all the ingredients of a thriller: the mysterious star, an ancient prophecy, heroes, a villain, and an intriguing plot.

Perhaps what is most interesting and even captivating about these twelve verses in the second chapter of Matthew’s Gospel is some of the facts that are not that well known and the details we believe to be fact that are not mentioned at all. For example, we typically think of “Three Wise Men,” yet Matthew never put a number into the story. There may have been two, four, or a hundred of them. It was the poet Longfellow who gave them names: Melchior, Gaspar, and Balthasar and legend, inspired by such lovely paintings of the scene by Botticelli and Fra Angelico, settled on this idea of a trinity of kings.

Actually, these exotic travelers—a feature portrayed in the lovely operetta Amahl and the Night Visitors, aren’t called wise men or kings in the Scripture. They are called magi—that is magicians- and were not only involved with watching stars but in making astrological predictions, reading omens, maybe even telling fortunes. Some think the gifts they brought were things they used in their incantations. They were well read and well bred but they were not Jews, had no affiliation with that religion, dealt in alchemy and magic, and may well have been agnostic—are very curious pagans. Here in the earliest chapters of Matthew’s Gospel we have a profound example of God’s openness to the far-flung and unlikely, a solid case for the doctrine of radical welcome—God’s invitation, God’s grace extended to the outsider—even the non-believer and one-time dabbler in the black arts.

Jesus, still a little child who has yet to begin his ministry of healing and ingathering of people from all walks of life, becomes the instrument by which God’s favor extended beyond the boundaries of those whom the world might expect to be the principal characters in this Christmas story, one that would be told over and over for ages to come.

Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann tells us that Matthew borrowed his idea that rich people, seeing the birth of a Messiah as such a grand event, would journey all the way from the Orient to Jerusalem from the Isaiah passage we also read this morning. It is a very old prophecy, dating back 580 years before the birth of Jesus. But the prospect that such a new born king was to be discovered in Jerusalem—a source of great excitement and joy for the magi—was at the same time the source of homicidal panic for King Herod. Matthew does not say much about this character here. A ruthless ruler who was appointed King of the Jews by the Romans, Herod murdered most of his good friends, his wife, and three of his sons. He was hugely paranoid and was threatened by everything—especially any hint that another would take his crown. People of the time said that the pigs in his sty had a better chance of survival than his family.

So you can imagine his reaction when these odd foreigners appeared at his doorstep asking about a child born king of the Jews and sporting such luxurious gifts to give him. Herod instantly asked for a side bar, told the magi to “talk among themselves,” and summoned the Old Testament scholars, ordering them to tell him everything they knew about Isaiah, chapter 60—about these camels and the gold and frankincense and myrrh.

But, by surprise, these sages reported something most unexpected: the answer to his query was not to be found in the Book of Isaiah, but rather in the fifth chapter of Micah. “Your majesty,” they explained, “the Isaiah text says that Jerusalem will be powerful and prosperous, but you know well that we are but a shabby city under the subjugation of Rome. Jerusalem can’t be the right location.” Not being much versed in the Bible, Herod pressed them for details. So they gave him the lowdown on Micah’s prophecy: “But you, oh Bethlehem, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule Israel…” O Little town of Bethlehem.

Herod returns to the magi with a scheme: “I think you have miscalculated your destination point. Why don’t you fellows go over to that little known excuse of a town and see if you find the new king. Then, please, please do come back and tell me so that I may lavish him with gifts as well.”

So they did, indeed, head for this little town, what had been the home of King David, the tiny village that the Prophet Micah said would one day have an importance well beyond its size. There they found the child and his mother, paid him homage, left their gifts, took a snooze before they began the long journey home and, in their dream state, were warned to return by another way.

Let’s not miss this important fact: the wise men, well-informed as they were about the stars and about travel, nearly missed their quest to find the Messiah by nine miles—the distance between Jerusalem and Bethlehem. That may not seem all that far to us who can do by car in ten minutes, but it sure was a big deal for people bouncing on the back of a camel on dirt roads in the dark, back hills of first century Palestine.

What matters about their story is not so much the facts—whether there were three or thirty wise men or women; what matters is how the story can come to life in us, how this story can be true for us. This is the time of year when people typically make all kinds of New Year’s resolutions. I wonder if, in the deepest part of our heart and soul, we don’t all want to be resolute in one common aspiration: to come closer to the One who is calling us, inviting us to begin an adventure that will dramatically change our lives.

Stepping out of the story and facing this New Year, how far off the course do we think we may be right now? Have we miscalculated the places where God appears in our lives, at least by nine miles? What hidden, precious gifts might we discover within ourselves that will bring joy to others and to us? Will we let the Herods on the way try to discourage or manipulate us, or will we trudge on with hope and anticipation and keep searching for the light of Christ waiting to break through our darkness and illuminate our path? Maybe, just maybe our old maps don’t work for us anymore and we need to follow a different star and take a new way home.

An epiphany is the sudden intuitive perception of something, the realization of the reality, a flash of insight, a moment of vision—all the stuff of God. The magi’s journey led them to a revelation, to find something, Someone, who was at the end of a quest they had been on all their lives. What about us? Will we also move forward in this New Year of life, take the risk to search for something better in life, something more?

Episcopal priest Elizabeth Keaton writes that “when we allow ourselves to trust…and follow where it leads, we may find ourselves smack in the presence of God. It certainly worked for the wise men. Is there any reason to doubt it won’t work for us?