“Our Journey to God”
Isaiah 60:1-6
Matthew 2:1-12
As Christmastide comes to an end and we begin the season of Epiphany, a time of noticing and celebrating the many manifestations and revelations of God’s love, I want to bring us back for a moment to the first Sunday of Advent.
Back then, I reminded us that the gospel writers went out of their way to locate the birth of Jesus in its socio-political context. I said it was important for us to understand that the Word became flesh among a particular people at a particularly difficult time.
In the time of King Herod, the gospel writers said, their way of telegraphing a life lived under oppression, injustice, and empire.
And in our time of suffering under a would-be king and dictator, a time of illegal military intervention designed to build wealth for the very few, a time of government-sanctioned cruelty and crass efforts by the powerful to further divide and control the powerless, Christ comes again.
Another point I tried to make on that first Sunday of Advent was that, as delightful and awe-inspiring as the details of the Christmas story are, the details are not the point. And the same is true of the story of the magi—wise people from the east who followed a star through dangerous territory for maybe as long as two years in search of meaning, hope, and a very special baby.
This, too, is our story, and the details here are also magical. Think stars and camels and gifts and a vision quest like no other.
Especially when times are hard, especially when the world is a dangerous and scary place, we may be tempted to limit our attention to the delightful details. But when we do that we are likely to go away with nothing more than a warm, fuzzy feeling that will fade at our first encounter with the harshness of reality.
The real, life-changing, world-turning meaning of the Christmas story is not found in its heartwarming details. The good news of Christmas is that God is with us. And, more than that, that God loves us so much that they are forever showing up, to live among us and for us and reveal to us the path to life.
That is our foundational story as Christians—not a virgin birth, a Good Friday execution, or even an Easter Sunday resurrection—but this:
God so loves the world that God will give us everything—even God’s very self—so that we, all people, and all creation might know the fullness of life in and through the Spirit of Love.
And yet the world remains a dangerous place. Still, the rich and powerful use and abuse peoples, governments, nations, and natural resources to get more, always more. Still, the power of love plays underdog to the power of death. Still, the darkness works to extinguish the light.
But the story isn’t over; Easter reminds us that love wins in the end, and even the Christmas story has something of a sequel. The story of the magi is also our story, and it, too, conveys real truth and very good news.
If the meaning of the Christmas story is that God longs for us so deeply that they will do almost anything to be with us, at least one meaning of the story of the magi is that we, beloved beings made in the very image of the God who is love, long for God.
Oh, we may not think of it that way. But surely we and all people long for love, and surely everyone—well, almost everyone—longs for hope and joy, justice and peace, unity among nations, races, and religions, and harmony between humanity and creation.
And since all those things are gifts of the Spirit and aspects of the Holy, I think it’s fair to say that—whether we realize it or not, whether we are willing to acknowledge it or not—all of us long for some form of connection to and experience of the God of Many Names.
Why else would people of wealth and status undertake a long and dangerous journey to a foreign land? Why else would Gentiles follow a star to find the child born king of the Jews?
Why else would seemingly reasonable people risk devastating heartbreak for a chance at love and partnership? Why would couples with perfectly good lives sacrifice sleep, order, finances, some degree of sanity, and their very hearts to have and raise children?
Why else would people of privilege forsake the making-a-living path for the less-traveled path of service and solidarity? Why else would queer people risk family rejection and societal and governmental persecution to become who they really are and love who they really love?
Why else would we risk failure and stability to pursue our passions?
Why else would we leave our comfortable homes to go out into the cold and stand up for the welfare of people we have never met and the survival of a democracy that has failed us time and again?
Why? Because, whether we realize it or not, we are searching for something. Because, whether we acknowledge it consciously or not, unconsciously at least, we know that something is missing. And so we go after it.
“You have made us for yourself, O God,” said St. Augustine, “and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”
The story of the magi tells us that the deepest desires of our hearts come from God and are of God. The story of the magi tells us that people of all faiths, no faith, and maybe not even the awareness or the language to name their longings, share these fundamental human desires. While the systems of the world appeal to our greatest fears and our basest desires, the love of the Holy One invites us to awaken to and pursue our deepest longings—even if we have no idea where they will lead us, what obstacles we’ll encounter, or what trials we’ll have to endure.
We can begin the journey, we can take the risk—because the impulse comes from God. We can follow something as strong as our hearts, as bright as a star, as nagging as a sense of restlessness, or as wild and reckless as the way of Jesus—because God is with us.
Chances are that there will be twists and turns and bumps in the road. Our path may take us places we never imagined. The journey may lead us to what seems like a dead end but is really just a detour. We may encounter any number of circumstances—political oppression, economic hardship, family tragedy, health issues, or despair, to name a few—that tempt us to abandon the path altogether.
But God will always be with us, within us, and among us.
And one thing is certain: If we stay true to the journey, if we approach life with all the gifts of who we are, whether or not we ever feel that we have “arrived,” we will be changed. Over time our hearts will be opened and softened by grace. Over time we will be tried and transformed by love. Time and again, we will be brought to our knees in awe by the wonders we see, the forgiveness we experience, the longings that drive us, and the relationships that shape and steady us.
And we will go home by another road, the road within us that leads us to partnership and union with God. We will arise and shine and sing our way home.
May it be so.
