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| Waldmar Flaig (1892-1932), Der Stern von Bethlehem (1920) |
Matthew 2:1-12
Epiphany
Sunday
3rd January 2016
This
is a brilliant story that we have here in Matthew’s Gospel. There’s so much
going on in twelve verses. Drama and
danger. Mystery, suspense, and intrigue.
We
have a frightened, insecure despot in King Herod (d. 4BC), who was actually King
of Jews, declared king by the Roman Senate (in 37 BC), who ruled at the will
and pleasure of Caesar Augustus (63BC-19AD).
We
have magi or magicians or astrologers from some exotic place in the Orient.
They show up from nowhere searching for a “child who has been born king of the
Jews” (Matthew 2:2), which is why Herod is so scared by their arrival because he’s supposed to be King of the Jews.
We
really don’t know much about the magi, who they were or where they were
from. We suspect they were from
Persia. They certainly weren’t
kings. We don’t know how many made the
journey to Jerusalem. The old carol
tells of “We Three Kings of Orient Are,” but the text doesn’t say this. And we
don’t know their names. What we do know is that they’re “wise." They were priests. They definitely weren’t Jewish. They were Gentiles.
We
have an entire city set on edge by their appearance. And we have chief priests and scribes of
Israel, the religious authorities, scrambling, searching through their ancient
texts to find a reference as to where the Messiah would be born. They remember: “Bethlehem, in the land of
Judea.” Then Herod “secretly” (Mt 2:7),
the text says, summons the wise men to discover the exact time the star
appeared.
And
then you have Mary, with the child Jesus (probably two years of age), with no
mention of Joseph. The magi’s arrival at
the home of Jesus called forth from within them worship, homage; “they knelt
down,” and opened their “treasure chests” and offered him “gifts of gold,
frankincense, and myrrh” (Mt. 2:11). Then,
being warned in a dream, they left by another road. Joseph, too, had a dream and was warned to
flee, to seek refuge in Egypt (Mt. 2:13-15).
When Herod discovered that these wise guys pulled a fast one on him, he
was furious, and unleashed his fury on children and their families (Mt.
2:16-18). All because of the birth of a baby whose name means “God is with us.”
And
there’s one other character in this story, something that moves the narrative
along and it’s the star. It’s the
brilliance of a star that weaves its way through the narrative. This is a star that moves. It’s a star that
summons them to move. It’s a star that
seems to be alive, intent on communicating with them. This star knows something that the wise men don't. This star is wise.
The
seventeenth century scientist and theologian Thomas Browne (1605-1682) once
wrote, “Ice splits starwise.”[1] This is where the sermon title comes
from. But I’m using this wonderful word, starwise, in a different way to talk
about the wisdom of the star, a wisdom that captures the attention of people
who are wise, wise enough to trust the wisdom of this star and go wherever it
leads them, to destinations unknown.
Scholars and contemporary
astronomers love to guess about the nature of this star. It fascinates us. But we don’t know what it was. Whatever it was it was no ordinary star. It was more like an ancient GPS system than
an astronomical event.[2]
It moved for a period of time. It rose
in the East and led them to Jerusalem.
Then from Jerusalem they set out for Bethlehem, about seven miles away,
“and there, ahead of them, went the star” (Mt. 2:9). And then the star “stopped” because they had arrived at the home (not a manger, but
the home) of Mary and Joseph and Jesus.
And, in a sense, the magi arrived home, although they had never been
there before.
For
the wise men, it’s all because of a star.
But for the star they would never have left home. They had to leave home in order to discover
what the star knew. And as they came to
know, the brilliance of that star among stars mirrors and reflects the
brilliance of God’s glory that was born in Bethlehem. Jesus’ appearance, the fullest manifestation
of God’s glory and light in this child, is an epiphany—a manifestation of God’s glory, a light for the entire world
to see, not only for backwater Bethlehem, but also for all the nations of the
world. Gentiles, meaning the nations,
will see in Jesus the glory of God.
_________________
In
a remarkable section of Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians we have these
words, which describe the meaning of Jesus’ birth. They’re written by someone who never read
Matthew’s Gospel or Mark’s or Luke’s or John’s, who knew nothing of magi or
shepherds or mangers, yet could write: “For it is the God who said, ‘Let light
shine out of darkness,’ who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the
knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Cor. 4:6).
It
is no wonder that when the magi saw “that the star had stopped, they were
overwhelmed with joy” (Mt 2:10).
Overwhelmed with joy. Joy overwhelms them. Joy knocks them off
their feet. Joy causes them to kneel. The
star did not fail them.
On this Sunday we celebrate the
birth of Jesus, the birth of light, light that is all the more brilliant when
it shines in darkness. The brilliance of the star is best revealed
at night. The magi, seemingly, arrive at
their destination at night.
The magi trust the wisdom of the star
and are willing to go where it leads, leading them through the night, through
the darkness. They place their trust in
nature and the movement of the stars, this cosmos, to guide them. They assume
that the cosmos, the universe, that God is on their side, working with them and
for them. They have enormous trust,
going off on this hard journey to a foreign land to find a baby. They have trust in Divine Providence leading
the way. They must have second-guessed
themselves countless times, thought themselves foolish, not wise, and yet they
ventured forth into the unknown. They
went.
Something
of the same is asked of us. Trusting the
providential care of God, we too are summoned forth on the journey of our
lives, to follow the star that leads to the place of joy. Where is that place
for you? What is the source of your deep
joy? What star are you following? Is it the star of Bethlehem leading you to
the Christ child? Will the star you’re
following lead you to a similar place of joy? Or is the star your following
leading you astray? These are good
questions to ask here at the “gate of the year.”
Sometimes
it’s tough to see the star. Sometime
it’s tough to see the light that shows the way.
But, like the wise men, we are called to trust. Sometimes, in order to discover the star, we have
to go out into the night, enter into the darkness, and then wait for the star
to appear.
Years ago, way up in a remote corner
of the Isle of Skye in Scotland, I came across a poem by Minnie Louise Haskins
(1875-1957), called God Knows,
written in 1908. It was on a plaque on
the wall of an old crofter’s cottage.
One day Princess (now Queen) Elizabeth gave a copy of the poem to her
father King George VI (1894-1952). He
was so moved by the poem that he included it in his Christmas Day broadcast to
the British Empire in the dark days of 1939.
“And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
‘Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.’
And he replied: ‘Go out into the darkness and put your hand into
the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known
way.’
Many think the poem ends here because this is the section most
often cited, but it continues.
“So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into
the night.
And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the
lone East.”[3]
The
star of Bethlehem emerges in the dark.
This is the star that leads us to daybreak,
that leads us to the dawn,
the
star that leads us to new light.
May it be so.
[1] Thomas Brown, The Works of Sir Thomas Browne, Vol. III
(London: George Bell & Sons, 1889), 378.
[2] Marcus J. Borg &
John Dominic Crossan, The First
Christmas: What the Gospels Really Teach about Jesus’s Birth (Harper One,
2007), 143ff.
[3] Minnie Louise Haskins,
“God Knows,” The Desert (London,
1908). The poem also known as “The Gate
of the Year.”
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