Please pray with me.
Creator God: Two thousand years ago, the birth of a child shone a new light in the world, the birth of a man whose life taught that true power rests in love, in justice, in recognizing and respecting the belovedness of every human being. Transform this world through us, that we may inspire and do the work of peace. In your son’s name we pray, Amen.
Today’s Gospel reading and many of our hymns and anthems today make the transition from Christmas to Epiphany – if you get back to the Greek root word, epiphaneia – this is the season of revelation, of Jesus appearing, the Word of God made manifest. We’re at the edge of the season that Christmas leads us into, the season of light that illuminates the story of Christmas, that moves us beyond the manger to the beginnings of world-changing journeys – the journey of the Magi; the journey of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and the journey of all of us – as we all go home by another way.
The story of Christmas, and of Epiphany, is the story of homecomings, whatever the literal destinations are. From the beginning of the story that we’ve been hearing over the last several weeks, everyone’s on the move – Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, the Magi, Caesar Augustus calling all the world to be taxed – everyone’s on the road, displaced from home, from the familiar and the safe – everyone pilgrims and seekers and refugees.
In the end, they, and we, discover that in leaving home, we find home, by another way.
Today’s reading moves from the light of Christmas night to the darkness of first-century Roman politics. The Magi appear on the scene – also known as the Wise Men or Kings – they were likely astrologers, astronomers, men who studied the heavens. They come from somewhere in the East and arrive in the great city of Jerusalem, seeking a newborn king of the Jews, saying: “We have observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.”
The Magi are mysterious, perhaps exotic, unfamiliar to Herod or the religious leaders of the time – they are not Jewish, nor Roman, nor Greek. As Lutheran theologian Susan Hedahl[1] points out, “On the borders and boundaries of Israel and its faith enter… foreigners” – Matthew has brought the “stranger and the alien” into the story, astrologers following a new path, a new star in the sky.
And Herod, hearing about the Magi’s journey and their questions about this king of the Jews, newborn, is “frightened, and all Jerusalem with him,” in our translation. Different versions of the Bible translate this in different ways – the King James and the Common English Bible say that Herod and Jerusalem were “troubled.” The Message describes them as “disturbed” – and the Y’all Version Bible[2], which I didn’t know existed until this week, says they were “stirred up.”
And no wonder. Rumors of the birth of a king would be a threat to people and governments already comfortably in power. But Herod sets aside his fear and sees an opportunity. He sends for the Magi – secretly – and tells them, Go and search for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I can come pay homage to him as well.
The Magi, trusting Herod, continue on their way, and the star leads them to the baby Jesus, young Mary, and Joseph the carpenter, in their home – not a palace, not a fortress, not a castle – they drop to their knees, bringing priceless gifts and worshipping the child – finding home, by another way, in the unlikely presence of a baby, announced by a star and prophesied by scripture, born in a barn to poor, working-class parents. And then, “warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road” – they went home by another way.
As the Reverend Ben DeHart, a priest in Brooklyn, New York, writes[3]:
“…when the star leads [the Magi], not to a palace or a seat of power, not to anything that looks remotely impressive, but to a house, to a child with his mother, Matthew says they rejoice with exceedingly great joy.
“Joy,” DeHart writes, “apparently, does not require grandeur or certainty. It does not wait for everything to make sense. It breaks open in a small room, before a child who has not yet proven anything.
“…Encountering this child,” says DeHart, “does not simply add meaning to [the Magi’s] lives; it changes their direction. Quietly. Without spectacle. Without instructions.
“They do not leave with answers.
“They leave rerouted.”
They go home by another way.
Today, the second Sunday of Christmas, gives us two other options for the Gospel reading besides the one we heard a few minutes ago, and one of those options is the verses that follow that reading in Matthew. I’d like to read from them as well – because they continue this story of unexpected journeys and unexpected homecomings.
You are probably familiar with what happens next. Because the Magi trust the warning sent in a dream, they do not return to Jerusalem. Herod, afraid and furious and desperate to get rid of this threat to his authority, issues the order that all male children under two years of age must be killed. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and so many children, are in danger.
Starting with verse 13:
After the wise men had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod…
When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared again in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned again in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. There he made his home in a town called Nazareth…
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, to save their lives, to save their child, became refugees, fleeing to Egypt, the country which had enslaved their ancestors. For a while, Egypt, which had once been a place of danger and oppression, becomes home by another way. And after another dream tells them Herod is dead, the family travels home again, not to Judea, but to Nazareth in Galilee. And their story – their journey – the journey of Jesus – continues. Home by another way.
Stars and angels. Dreams and prophecies. Warnings and worship. All re-routing them, and us, showing us home by another way.
Two thousand years before GPS, satellite mapping and CNN and social media, human beings from all walks of life were called to a new destination, a new homecoming in God’s love. Every journey was rerouted by this unexpected encounter, this revelation – this epiphany – meeting this small child, the son of God, born to set us free, to transform this world from the moment that the angels sang over Bethlehem, shining a light into darkness and showing us how to do the same.
And every one of those journeys that we’ve heard – the shepherds, the Magi, Joseph, Mary and Jesus – was guided not by maps but by faith, and by a realization that God’s love was for every human being, from shepherd to king, love that took the form of a human being, to be close to us, to teach us, to walk with us, to grieve with us, to be joyful with us. Because joy does not require grandeur or certainty. It does not wait for everything to make sense.
Joy brings us home by another way.
It is significant that Christmas always bridges this space of time from one year to the next, a time of endings and beginnings, moving from the celebration of the Nativity to the precariousness of Epiphany. Many of us make a practice of setting New Year’s resolutions at this time that we start following in January, with various degrees of success (I count myself in that). I would add, or suggest adding to our resolutions: Make room for this journey through Christmas into Epiphany – set aside the certainty of maps and GPS and Google calendars and be open to joy that doesn’t make sense, in all the ways that it appears, in the receiving and in the giving – in forgiveness, in friendship, in family, in birth, in a moment on the street, in kindnesses received, and kindnesses given. In taking ourselves out of the center of things, and putting God and our neighbor there instead. In quieting ourselves, welcoming the foreigner, the stranger, the family far from home, the pilgrim – because we are all those. In praying, in dreaming, in trusting goodness over power – in doing work that builds up, rather than tears down.
When does a baby born in a manger stop us in our tracks? How does the birth and life of Jesus reroute each of us? When do we step away from the familiar road and follow a different path? What draws us close to God? When do we meet Jesus in each other?
Creator God, show us home by another way.
Amen.
[1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/authors/susan-hedahl; commentary in Feasting on the Word
[2] https://yallversion.com/
[3] https://substack.com/home/post/p-182422217
