Another Road

Matthew 2:1-12

Sunday, January 7, 2007

The Rev. Dr. David A. Van Dyke

Epiphany of the Lord  

Prayer: Holy God we come before you with awe, for you are great in love and power. We acknowledge, however, that some of us come with reluctance and some with joy, some come with sadness and others full of fear.  In the quietness of these moments and as we open your word, touch each of us, O God with your powerful, healing presence—for that is why we’ve come today.  We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

This Epiphany text calls attention to the fact that the way we do our annual Christmas pageants isn’t very accurate—and I don’t mean the part about five-year-old shepherds running around in their fathers’ bathrobes.  What I mean is that on the night Christ was born, the wise men were not at the manger the way we’ve grown accustomed to thinking about it—even singing about the way we did a moment ago.  They arrived some time later—when they received a sign, which happened to be a star appearing in the sky telling them they needed to go find the place. 

Wise men scripture calls them.  Astrologers or sages from the east—readers of the stars in their courses, perhaps?  Legend, and of course church Christmas pageants have made them kings with bejeweled treasure chests and crowns on their heads. 

Whoever they were, they were not Jews and yet they see the sign and feel compelled to come to the one who was born king of the Jews.  It’s curious, don’t you think?  How far they traveled we do not know.  Where in the “east” they came from the text doesn’t say.  All it really does say is that when they arrived in Bethlehem, Jesus was no longer in a manger but a house.  And the wise men went inside, bowed down and paid him homage. 

Epiphany it’s called, and actually, it was yesterday, January 6, a date most likely selected because that was the original date of the winter solstice. For all the talk about the secularization of our Christian traditions and our high holy days, let’s not forget that we Christians did that largely to ourselves.  It was the early church that appropriated dates around which to celebrate our most sacred mysteries, and they intentionally selected dates of already established festivals and feasts, many of which were pagan in origin and therefore, honest to goodness parties.  They were parties so good in fact, that the Christians were tempted to join in the fun, so the intent was to distract them by giving them something else to celebrate.   

So with that by way of background, Epiphany was set for January 6 and it intends to celebrate the revelation of God to the world in Jesus Christ.  It’s the revelation of God to those wise men from the east—those non Jews who came seeking him, and it tends to get lost in the aftermath of Christmas.   

So let’s think about it a bit.  For all their supposed wisdom, they apparently weren’t wise enough to realize that inquiring directions from Herod, the current king, as to where they might find the other king of the Jews—they hadn’t considered just how unsettling that might be to Herod.   

Their request causes Herod to inquire of the chief priests and scribes about this “other” king for whom they’re searching.  And they quote the prophet Jeremiah who centuries earlier had said that the one to shepherd Israel would come from that very region in Judea. Understandably, the notion of another king makes Herod nervous.    

But he at least plays it cool and in a deceptive manner, asks those wise men to go and locate this newborn king and then return to him in order to let him know where he is so that he too may go and pay homage.  Peter Gomes says that insincerity is the surest sign that a politician is in trouble.    

And so they set out for Bethlehem and found the house where he was and they knelt down and paid him homage and opened up their treasure chests.  Whatever that experience was like, the telling of it is a bit anticlimactic given the buildup.  We don’t know how they knew or what they saw in that child.  Somehow, they just knew that he was the one. 

Which is how those moments occur, I think.  I’ve heard, as I’m sure you have, how people sometimes struggle and struggle with certain decisions, praying and weighing all their options, and how the experience is just gut-wrenching.  And then all of a sudden, they know what it is they need to do—like a weight has been lifted.  The way that had once been murky becomes clear and a sense of calm accompanies it—like a peace that passes all understanding. 

And it’s such a mystery when things like that happen that you know it can only be from God. 

So whatever it was that caused those wise men from the east to kneel down, or whatever it is that causes the wise in this world to bow before the Truth wrapped in swaddling clothes—whatever it is that causes kings to bow or the wise to profess a greatness beyond themselves, it can only be an awareness of the power beyond them, like the power and presence of God. 

And might I suggest that it really doesn’t matter who they were—wise men or sages or kings or queens for that mater—it doesn’t matter because in every age down through the centuries, people have asked in one way or another, the same question they asked,

“Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” 

Where is the one who has come to us from God?  In a complex world that doesn’t always make sense or that seems all too often to be left to its own demise—in a world like ours, where is the one who can make sense of it?  Where is the one in whom the hopes and fears of all our years can be met? 

Are you the one who is to come or are we to wait for another? 

How can we know the way? 

It’s essentially the same question asked by those wise men and it’s ultimately the question on the hearts and minds of people in all times and in all places. 

Where can we find the one?

And after they have discovered the Christ, they are warned in a dream not to return to Herod, and the danger lurking in this story at its beginning is still present.  So they go home not by way of Herod, but by way of another road. 

It’s a stark reminder, in a way, that the world on that night Christ was born wasn’t the way we like to imagine it.  Despite the reality of the situation, despite the awkward realities of the way in which that child came into the world, despite the questions over paternity and the scandalous tension over what to do with Mary given her condition, despite there being no room in the inn, despite the fact that shortly after the baby is born his life is threatened—despite all of those realities we prefer the more sanitized version of the story, without all the rough edges.    

We want to protect the sacred season from the hard realities of the world into which Christ was born.  We want to protect that baby—we want to keep that baby young and sweet and innocent.  We’d like to but we can’t, because he grew up and spoke the truth and was hunted and hounded to his death, and somehow the reality of what his life would be like is found in his birth and you wonder if those visitors from the east were somehow wise enough to at least sense that about him?     

The line in the hymn What Child Is This?—the line about shepherds guarding while angels are singing, has always struck me as rather poignant, because there is an element of danger lurking in this story.  

And similarly, there are risk involved in acknowledging the Christ.   

However it happened, whenever it happened, something happened.  Kings recognized another king?  Busy people acknowledged that their lives were empty.  Sovereigns acknowledged the sovereignty of another?  Something happened in that house and it’s been happening ever since, and it has caused inspired people to write about it and needy people to gravitate toward it and generations of faithful to live into it. 

And it happens still, as each year we celebrate a power in this world that is different from all other powers—a power that by claiming it and allowing it to claim us, has a way of lifting us above ourselves and showing us a far more excellent way.

Another road, if you will.   

So how do we sing with the angels without forgetting what this story entails?  We do it, I think, by recognizing that a journey has begun.   A journey away from darkness toward the light of day.   A journey that leads us, like the truly wise, home by another road. 

And doesn’t that make sense?  Isn’t that a perfect ending to this Epiphany text?   Because when you encounter this Christ, you will walk a different road than the one you’ve walked to find him—you will not go home the way you came.   

When you encounter this Christ, you will not retrace the same worn and tired path on which you’ve trodden, you will discover a whole new route.  You will see new vistas before you and encounter that which you didn’t even know was possible.  When you encounter this Christ, you will travel along a road that doesn’t avoid the suffering of this world but takes you to it, and to them. 

When God in Christ becomes real to you, you will know that it’s true because you’ll discover yourself traveling along another road that tends to be a different road from the ones others walk—a road that isn’t always easy and doesn’t always make sense to many. Some might even think you’re downright foolish for taking that road.  

Don’t despair, however—you will recognize fellow travelers because this other road isn’t very crowded most of the time.  In that sense it is the road less-traveled. 

So in the aftermath of the Christmas season, and not unlike those wise visitors from the east, may you find what it is you’re looking for—whoever you are—perhaps even your way home. 

And may you find it by taking another road.

Amen. 

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