Receiving Christ (Matthew 2:1-12)

The Wise Men

Have you been watching the wise men in our sanctuary? They’ve been moving the last month, and today they’ve reached the baby Jesus! As you may already know, our nativity scenes are not entirely biblically accurate. They conflate into a single night what happened over the course of months or even years. Our scripture today reminds us that the wise men do not show up on the night of Jesus’ birth. When they see the star that heralds the birth of a new king, they must first make a long journey from the east—probably from the land of Israel’s old foe, Babylon—and then they have to readjust their destination, because they arrive in Jerusalem only to discover the new king is not there. Finally they arrive at Bethlehem—but at a house, not a stable. By this time, Jesus is probably several months old, maybe even a year or two.

Then there’s the number of the wise men. Our nativities usually show three of them, because there are three gifts, but the scripture never mentions their number. Finally, there is the question of their profession. What is a wise man? The Greek word magi comes from the Persian word magos, which originally referred to a sort of priest who served in the royal court. The magi were skilled in interpreting the world, including the stars, which is why we sometimes hear that they were astrologers. The similarity between their name, magi, and our word “magic” is no coincidence. Some magi dabbled in spells and enchantments, which were strictly forbidden in Jewish scripture.

It is not uncommon for the wise men, or magi, to take center stage in our imaginations when we read today’s scripture. We imagine the story according to their perspective: their long journey, their fraught dialogue with king Herod, and finally their kneeling before the child Jesus with their gifts. The song “We Three Kings” perfectly encapsulates our imagination of their experience. “We three kings of Orient are; bearing gifts we traverse afar, field and fountain, moor and mountain, following yonder star.” (Why does the song call them “kings,” we might ask. The answer is found in the Jewish scripture. Isaiah 60 and Psalm 72 each anticipate a future in which kings from all over the world will bring gifts to the king of Israel and bow before him. These strange, noble men from the east, who bear gifts and kneel before Jesus, seem to fit that mold so well, some readers consider them the prophesied kings.)

A Tale of Two Kings

But this morning, I want us to tear our eyes away from the three kings (or however many wise men there were) for just a moment, because the real drama in our scripture is about two kings. Listen to how the story begins and how it immediately opposes one king against another: “In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?’” (Matt 2:1-2). Notice that the wise men do not kneel before King Herod or pay him homage. Notice that, instead, they ask him about another king. Notice, too, that the chief priests and scribes cite a prophecy that confirms the wise men’s intuition: a ruler will be born, they say, in Bethlehem, one who will “shepherd [the] people Israel” (Matt 2:6; Mic 5:2). The arrival of the wise men thus inflames King Herod with fear. He perceives a challenge to his throne, a rival king. So he immediately hatches a plan to eliminate this new enemy. He asks the religious leaders about the messiah—not so that he might welcome this long-awaited savior of the Jewish people, but so that he might find him and kill him.

As a tale of two kings, our scripture today suggests a contrast. On the one hand, there is King Herod, a king of this world, who will do anything to secure his own power. We learn from other historical documents that King Herod executed numerous individuals, including members of his own family, just to protect his throne. He even executed some residents of his own territory when he died, just to ensure that his death would be a time of mourning and sadness. On the other hand, there is the newborn king before whom the wise men kneel with gifts. What kind of king will he be? Well, let’s listen to the prophetic vision of the psalmist: “May all kings fall down before him, all nations give him service. For he delivers the needy when they call, the poor and those who have no helper. He has pity on the weak and needy, and saves the lives of the needy. From oppression and violence he redeems their life; and precious is their blood in his sight” (Psalm 72:11-14). One king cares only about himself and demands subservience. The other king cares about others and serves them selflessly.

Of Insiders and Outsiders

Today the church celebrates Epiphany, which literally means “appearance.” For the church, Epiphany refers to the appearance of Christ to the world. The main story of Epiphany is today’s story of the wise men, because in this story Christ becomes known to others near and far, to strangers from the outer reaches of the East, as well as to the king and chief priests and scribes in Jerusalem.

What fascinates me in today’s story is how people respond differently to Christ’s appearance. On the one hand, the religious insiders in Jerusalem—the king and the chief priests and the scribes—are all “frightened,” Matthew says (Matt 2:3-4). On the other hand, these strangers from the east, who would have worshiped God with different names than the Israelites, who wouldn’t have known how to offer a proper sacrifice at the Temple, are overwhelmed with joy.

Why would the religious insiders be frightened? It seems counterintuitive. Wouldn’t they who hold the prophecies, they who have been waiting for centuries, be the happiest of all?

I don’t know if you heard the story about St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Davidson, North Carolina. In 2014, they installed a statue on the church grounds that depicts a homeless person sleeping on a bench. If you get close enough to the statue, you can see that the homeless person is Jesus—there are the marks of crucifixion on his feet. But the early response was mixed. One woman in the neighborhood called the cops on this homeless person. Others wrote letters to the editor of the local news, expressing displeasure that a homeless person would be memorialized.

I’ve heard that, paradoxically, religion can be one of the best ways to avoid God. For me, this story sheds some light on that curious idea. Some people understand God as a protector of their worldview and their way of doing things.  They use God as a servant of their own interests. God wants what they want, God dislikes what they dislike. God supports the same candidates they do and fights against the same enemies. In the end, God is just their ego writ large, their interests and values crowned as king. Such a God is a formidable defense for people who would prefer to live by their own power, who feel no genuine need for a savior because they already have savings accounts and a secure future and all the amenities they could want. Such a God actually safeguards a person from ever encountering the holy One who is beyond all images, whose love knows no party lines or flags or boundaries, whose glory is in all creation.

Perhaps King Herod and the chief priests and the scribes and “all Jerusalem” are frightened because they are quite content with their present arrangement. Living as an occupied region of the Roman empire might not be the ideal situation, but at least these folks have some leverage as the religious and political insiders of their corner of the world. They would rather not receive Christ because they have already assumed that role themselves. For them, God is just a way to keep things relatively comfortable, to keep things the way they are.

The Invitation of Epiphany

 This story of Epiphany invites me to reflect. Do I see the world through the fearful eyes of King Herod and the religious leaders or through the faithful eyes of the wise men? Epiphany invites me to see the world not as though it were filled with threats to my own way of life but as though it were filled with grace that opens up onto a much larger, richer way of life. The irony of religion is that it can become a very fearful, defensive expression of the self, as it is for King Herod and the religious insiders of Jerusalem. It can become a way to protect my own interests, whether those concern my nation, culture, race, economy, ideology, or whatever else is dear to my way of thinking. But religion can also lead to an open and trusting posture, as it did for the wise men, who find God not in the familiar but in the unfamiliar. They kneel before God in a foreign land, where God has a different name, where people worship in different ways. As Jesus would later say, faith is not so much a matter of getting the name or concept right; it’s not about the people who say, “Lord, lord” (cf. Matt 7:21-23). Rather, it’s about something bigger than words and ideas; it’s about a way of living; it’s about people who trust in God’s love, who look for it in all shapes and sizes, not under names and flags but in forgiveness and generosity and care for others.

Epiphany invites me to reflect on my posture. Are my knuckles white with grasping? Am I always calculating, strategizing, worrying? Or do I ever find myself kneeling before something so filled with grace, so much better than I could have planned or expected, that I am overwhelmed with joy?

Prayer

Holy God,
Your appearance in our world
Can be threatening to our way of life.
Your heart is much bigger
Than our narrow interests
…
Mold our hearts after the magi,
That we might live less in our heads,
Be less concerned about names, ideas, plans;
That we might long for grace
And find it in unexpected places.
In Christ, the king for those who have no helper. Amen.