“Every Time”
Isaiah 60:1-6
Matthew 2:1-12
The story we love to love—a story of faith, trust, adventure, wonder, mystery, and what sometimes feels like magic—comes wrapped in a story of corrupt ambition, tyranny, and horror.
It’s no wonder that our hunger for mystery and magic leads us to focus on the amazing journey of the magi and to the almost total exclusion of the horror that was unfolding at the very same time. That horror was driven by a paranoia so deep, a delusion of self-importance so blinding, and a lust for power so overwhelming that Herod would order the slaughter of every male infant in the Bethlehem region—just so he could continue to be the emperor’s puppet king.
We want to ignore that part—the same way we want to ignore Israel’s genocide of Palestinian children in Gaza—but we cannot.
Once Jesus is born, once the Word takes on flesh and enters our broken world—it is no longer possible to separate divine mystery from the human capacity for inhumanity. It’s impossible to separate them not because the worst of our humanity has a way of ruining God’s beautiful gifts, but because God’s love chooses again and again and again to show up right in the middle of our self-destructive violence.
Just as there is nothing we have done or will do or can do that will keep God’s love from finding its way to us, sometimes it feels as though there is nothing God’s love can do that will deliver humanity from its worst impulses.
(And if that sounds way too discouraging for the twelfth day of Christmas, I ask you to bear with me. It will get better.)
But before it gets better . . .
[pause]
. . . I will mention just one more disheartening example of how hard—if not, impossible—it can be to separate holy mystery from holy terror or, if you prefer, human weakness from manifestations of divine power.
The violent storming of the U.S. Capitol in 2021 occurred on January 6, which is for Christians the Feast of the Epiphany.
On that day, even as Christians and churches across our country and the world marked the beginning of the season of light and revelation, the attack on the Capitol revealed a violent hatred, a lust for power, the cynical manipulation of tens of millions of Americans with disinformation, and the vulnerability of our democracy.
Never again, at least in our country, can we separate the glorious gifts of Epiphany from the unimaginable horrors of January 6 and a new awareness—a revelation, if you will—of how much inhumanity can come from fear, ambition, and blind allegiance.
And yet the story of the magi puts the emphasis where it should be: on the beautiful, mysterious, light-filled and holy side of the inseparable human-divine combination.
More even than that, the story of the magi and their fantastic journey tells us that the way to protect beauty, light, life, light, and divine mystery is to stay true to the divine within us by going home by another road, by traveling our own fantastic journeys on a path different from the ones established and controlled by the political and economic powers. The story of the magi tells us that faithfulness, humility, love, and a willingness to listen and follow God’s direction can undermine evil and subvert the violent power of corrupt rulers.
It is a delicate and often difficult dance, and yet the story of the magi inspires us to stick with it.
Or, as the poet Mary Oliver said, “Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.”
Or, as the Buddha said, “Make of yourself a light.”
Or, as Jesus said, “You are the light of the world.” Shine on.
So let us turn more directly to the story of the magi.
We have a tendency to romanticize and glorify this story. We praise the faith of the astrologers who saw a new star and, without knowing what it meant, decided it must mean something, and so resolved to follow it. We praise the courage of the magi who, without knowing where this star would lead them, stayed on the path, apparently traveling in darkness much of the time. We praise the persistence of these wise ones who, not knowing how long the journey would take, did not give up, finally arriving at their destination—perhaps as late as two years after Jesus was born.
The magi are, of course, worthy of our praise. They were humble enough to know what they didn’t know and wise enough to never stop seeking meaning, hope, peace, and the source of all good things. They had faith enough to believe they might find what they were seeking, and they were devoted enough to put in the work.
The magi refused to give up, even asking for help when they got lost. They were generous, offering valuable gifts to the baby and his parents. And, perhaps most important of all, they listened to the voice of Spirit and did not report back to Herod but went home by a different way.
Most often, our praise of the magi is mixed with wonder and awe. As inspiring as the magi are and as much as we might like to set out on our own epic quest, go on pilgrimage, or have a great adventure, we most often end up saying, “Good for them! I could never do that.”
But friends, what I want to say to you this morning is that you—that we—do it all the time.
Every morning that you choose to get out of bed and face the day—not knowing what joys and sorrows will visit you. (Oh, you may think you know what a certain day holds in store, you may have a general idea, but you do not truly know. And still, without knowing all that is in store, you choose to greet the day as gift and you resolve—often without even thinking about it—to meet the day with the best you have to give.
Every time you bring a child into the world or consent to becoming family or community to a child, you are setting out on a rewarding and painful adventure without counting the cost, because you have chosen to follow the way of love.
Every time you commit to loving another person or creature of any age or species or capacity, you are beginning a journey whose length and end you cannot know, and you are giving your whole heart.
Every time you leave your comfort zone to seek out what is true and real and life-giving for yourself and for the world, you are just as worthy of praise as the magi.
Every time you choose to pray or come to worship or do spiritual reading or become more involved with our church you are honoring the Spirit within you and choosing to find your true home by traveling on a different road.
Every time you are faithful to any kind of spiritual practice you are following the star that God implanted in your heart.
Every time you decide to keep on loving—even when it’s hard—to reach out when its scary, to welcome the stranger, to give instead of hoard, and to ignore the false promises of wealth and power, you are opening the treasure chest that is your heart and offering the best of yourself to the world.
Every time you connect to a church, do something that builds community, give of your time and talents, love your neighbor instead of belittling or condemning them, and consciously try to follow the life-giving but sometimes difficult ways of Jesus, you are traveling through this world by another road and thus subverting the powers and protecting the vulnerable.
Every time you resist what is wrong, stand up for what is right, and stand with the powerless and vulnerable, you help to make a new world possible.
I know something of your stories and, trust me, your journeys are just as inspiring as the magi’s. I know something of the struggles you have endured to become who you are and, trust me, the magi have nothing on you. I know something of your generosity, courage, and open hearst, and, trust me, both you and the love-star you are following shine brightly amid the world’s darkness.
We, too, are magi on a journey. So may we all, just like the magi, be overwhelmed with joy at every glimpse of God’s healing, hope, and peace. May we, too, also find what we are seeking. May we know our hallowed places in the holy design of all creation. May we follow another road. May we all know the wonder that is our life, and may we never, ever stop following Christ’s starlight.
Happy Epiphany.
