Preached by Winton Boyd on Sunday, January 3
This story of the three kings, or magi, fascinates us as it winds up the Christmas season. One of the websites I check when preparing sermons is TextWeek.com, which offers commentaries and other ideas for preaching – including links to artwork about the passage in question. This story has more art links than any other story I have check in the years I have been using the site – from ancient art to modern art – showing that we have always been captivated by this visit from the travelers from the east.
The story pulls us in through the exotic –we enjoy these foreigners from afar. They’re different, they are regal in some sense, they hint of a world beyond the known world. Because of this, they fuel our imagination. In addition to all the art I mentioned, Amal and the Night Visitors and The Little Drummer Boy are just two works inspired by this story.
The story excites us because it’s inclusive – the arrival of these visitors has always been a symbol that God’s circle of love and grace is larger than we expect. Of course, how we have defined inclusion has evolved over the generations, but this is a story that suggests if the alien wanderers – people outside the known Jewish world – were welcomed into the sacredness of the holy family, then it behooves us to be careful about leaving others out.
It grabs us through its tension – this secrecy and subterfuge with Herod and the Kings is the stuff of courage, daring, determination, faithfulness. While we appreciate that the nativity visit by the shepherds highlights God’s coming to the poor and outcast, this story goes even further – God’s coming is out of the reach of the high and mighty. Faithfulness sometimes involves cunning and “going home by another road.”
But what draws me into this story today is the element of fear. While overcoming fear is not a new idea, and is present throughout the gospels, and even the other birth narrative (Mary was ‘sore afraid’) – what draws me about this story is that it ends in fear. After the traveling, after the giving of gifts, after the encounter with Herod; the magi leave by another road in the knowledge that their lives are at risk. In addition, as readers, we discover immediately following this story that Joseph, Mary and Jesus’ lives are also at risk. They too flee – in their case to Egypt. While the text doesn’t actually say any of these folks (magi or holy family) were afraid, one can read into the story that they were probably looking over their shoulder the whole way – easily aware of the carnage Herod could do (and did in killing the newborns).
Even if we don’t believe they are historical narratives, but truth telling myths about the beginning of Jesus’ life, they are still compelling spiritually. Ending as it does with the magi taking a different route, the story really has no ending. It reminds me of another seminal story in the gospel of Mark – the resurrection – which ends with the women running from the empty tomb afraid. It amazing and intriguing that these key stories in our faith tradition are so unresolved, so incomplete. Indeed, if they were blockbuster movies, they would be set up perfectly for a sequel.
In fact, we know that these stories were written in the decades after Jesus’ death, and their unfinished and fearful nature suggests that those writing the stories continued to know and understand fear in very real ways. They suggest that even as these stories of a remarkable beginning were being written down for the first time – to be a follower of Jesus still involved living in fear. It is here that they connect with our lives.
The life well lived, the life of faith, is living through our fears, living with our fears, facing and befriending our fears for the greater good of our lives and the lives of others.
Danaan Perry in the The Essene Book uses the image of a trapeze act to delve into this idea of fear.
“Sometimes I feel that my life is a series of trapeze swings. I am either hanging on to a trapeze bar swinging along or for a few moments in my life, I am hurtling across space in between trapeze bars. Most of the time, I spend my life hanging on for dear life to my trapeze-bar-of-the-moment. It carries me along at a certain steady rate of swing and I have the feeling that I’m in control of my life. I know most of the right questions and even some of the right answers. But once in a while, as I’m merrily (or not-so-merrily) swinging along, I look out ahead of me into the distance and what do I see? I see another trapeze bar swinging towards me. It’s empty, and I know in that place in me that knows, that this “new trapeze bar” has my name on it. It is my next step, my growth, my aliveness coming to get me. In my heart-of-hearts I know that for me to grow, I have to release my grip on the present, well-known bar to move to the new one.
Each time it … I know that I must totally release my grasp on my old bar and for some moment in time I must hurtle across space before I can grab onto the new bar. Each time I am filled with terror. It doesn’t matter that in all my previous hurtles across the void of knowing I have always made it. Each time I am afraid that I will miss, that I will be crushed on unseen rocks in the bottomless chasm between the bars. … Maybe this is the essence of what the mystics call the faith (in God). No guarantees, no net, no insurance policy, but you do it anyway because somehow to keep hanging on to that old bar is no longer on the list of alternatives” (and you trust that the God who called you forth will be there in the void and on the other side).
I find this image of a transition zone helpful. As the magi find another way they understand acutely that their life will never be the same. They came to the place where the star stood still and where changed. Secretly moving through an enemy land, overcoming their fear and the danger inherent in their visit, they are transitioning to something unknown. No matter how scared they may be, they cannot turn back. They must journey with and through fear.
Joseph and his wife and son have been the recipients of something amazing and powerful in the visits. Even if they didn’t initiate all that was happening in their lives, in fleeing to Egypt, they cannot turn back. They too must travel with and through their fear.
In almost every significant period of growth in our lives, the move from where we are to where we need to be involves facing a period of no guarantees, no net, no insurance policy – living through fear. Living with faith.
We experience this truth in mundane ways, such as when we learn new skills or try new activities. As a kid, I experienced it learning to waterski on one ski. Comfortably skiing on two skis, you would lift one ski and see how it felt. After doing that a couple of times, you had to gently pull our foot out of the ski, feeling the awkwardness, the vulnerability, the precariousness of balancing on one ski instead of two. You would then gently pull the free foot back to find the foot hold on the single ski. All the while shaking, swerving, aware that at a moment’s notice we could be tumbling across the top of the water. To get to the point of strength and comfort with two feet on the one ski – we had to live through and with fear.
We experience this on a global scale. Nelson Mandela, Madiba to his tribe, is inspiring for many reasons. Some of you may have seen the current movie Invictus (meaning unconquered) . It’s the story of the World Cup Rugby tournament in 1995, held in South Africa shortly after Mandela was elected president. One of his challenges was to help the country balance black aspirations with white and black fears. Based on his years of studying Afrikaners while in prison, Mandela realized that to forge a new vision for South Africa people of all races needed something to “call them to greatness.” It was his belief that this world class rugby tournament, an event cherished more by Afrikaner South Africa, could be such a thing. It chronicles his deep belief that for a people to rise above revenge, to learn forgiveness, to see a new day – they needed to live through their fears. He makes it his own personal and political mission to help people of all races unite around the Springboks rugby team as it moves through qualifying matches to the eventual championship match. He enlists the allegiance and help of the captain of the team, Francois Pienaar (played by Matt Damon) – inviting them to work together so that they may have a chance at helping others live through the challenges, concerns and disappointment. To help one another – in the words of Mandela – to “stand when all (they)wanted to do was lie down”. With his own personal example of embracing white Rugby players, honoring their desire to win, learning both their names and the rules of their sport, he leads many of his black and white comrades to do the same. Likewise Peinaar encourages his white teammates to learn the new black South African anthem, so they were no longer just pretending they knew the words. As these to lead the way in helping a mixed nation unite around a New South African rugby team, they begin to experience one another in new ways, learning ever so slightly to trust each other, and to live through their vulnerability and uncertainty
We too are called to personal greatness. Howard Thurman once wrote that “the movement of the Spirit of God in the hearts of (humanity) often calls us to act against the spirit of our times or causes us to anticipate a spirit which is yet in the making. In a moment of dedication, we are given wisdom and courage to dare a deed that challenges and to kindle a hope that inspires.”
While it is easy to lose sight of our courage and our hope, while its easy to forget that these fear laden transition times are incredibly rich periods of our lives – the story of the magi calls us to remember. While we recognize there may have been times when we felt out of control (even if we weren’t), the secret route taken to avoid Herod reminds us that such times can be among the most alive, growth filled, enlightening, faith building times of our lives.
Jesus understood that his followers would take this unfinished story and make it their own even as they passed in on to others. He understood that they would carry on through the fear as an act of faith, and that in sharing this meal together they would gain strength from their shared hope and trust. He depended then, and now, on the same strength and courage Thurman noted. As we gather around this table – we do so not because it’s a rote activity – but because it is a living sacrament – a living and tangible reminder of the way God honors all aspects of our journey – and calls us to personal greatness and faithful living; daring to hope when others are discouraged; daring to dream when others feel defeated. Amen
Matthew 2:1-12
2In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, 2asking, “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.” 3When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; 4and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. 5They 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.’” 7Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. 8Then 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.”
9When 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. 10When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. 11On 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. 12And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
This story of the three kings, or magi, fascinates us as it winds up the Christmas season. One of the websites I check when preparing sermons is TextWeek.com, which offers commentaries and other ideas for preaching – including links to artwork about the passage in question. This story has more art links than any other story I have check in the years I have been using the site – from ancient art to modern art – showing that we have always been captivated by this visit from the travelers from the east.
The story pulls us in through the exotic –we enjoy these foreigners from afar. They’re different, they are regal in some sense, they hint of a world beyond the known world. Because of this, they fuel our imagination. In addition to all the art I mentioned, Amal and the Night Visitors and The Little Drummer Boy are just two works inspired by this story.
The story excites us because it’s inclusive – the arrival of these visitors has always been a symbol that God’s circle of love and grace is larger than we expect. Of course, how we have defined inclusion has evolved over the generations, but this is a story that suggests if the alien wanderers – people outside the known Jewish world – were welcomed into the sacredness of the holy family, then it behooves us to be careful about leaving others out.
It grabs us through its tension – this secrecy and subterfuge with Herod and the Kings is the stuff of courage, daring, determination, faithfulness. While we appreciate that the nativity visit by the shepherds highlights God’s coming to the poor and outcast, this story goes even further – God’s coming is out of the reach of the high and mighty. Faithfulness sometimes involves cunning and “going home by another road.”
