January 3, 2010 - Christmas 2, Year C (RCL)
They heard them
well before
they actually showed up.
The shuffling clod
of camel feet,
the sharp orders
of men expecting to be instantly obeyed
and babble of unfamiliar language and voices.
Bethlehem
was not on
the normal route
for traders,
especially not traders
for far to the east,
camel train laden
with riches
and at its head
men in costly silks.
In Bethlehem, they were more used
to donkeys
and men in dusty homespun
bringing dried fish
or, on an especially good day, dates and palm oil.
Pilgrims weren’t unknown, coming to pay homage in the hometown
of the ancient king David,
but he was a Jewish king,
and under Roman rule,
it was safer not to make a big production of your visit
lest the Roman overlords
suspected you of nationalistic plotting.
It was unlikely
that these visitors
had come for that reason;
more likely that they
had got lost on the road to Jerusalem,
though how anyone could get lost
when the holy city was just six miles north
was beyond their understanding.
But no, it seemed they weren’t lost,
at least they
didn’t think so.
They seemed to be looking for someone,
though it was unclear exactly who.
They had no name, no address,
just a lot of loud talking in some language no one understood.
And then someone made out a few words;
king, king, baby.
King? There were no kings in Bethlehem,
not since King David,
and there were half a dozen babies,
but why would wealthy strangers
want to see their babies?
But the visitors insisted,
and one by one they brought the babies out,
and one by one
the visitors shook their heads.
And then someone remembered that other baby,
the one born
at the time of the census,
from Nazareth the parents were, weren’t they,
and hadn’t they stayed in town,
taking over the empty house
out by the Hebron Road.
And they’d had strange visitors before,
shepherds driving their flocks through town,
all to see this baby
though no one knew why. He was just a baby, like any other.
But they pointed the visitors
off that way,
and one of the boys
ran ahead to tell Joseph
who stood uncertainly in the door
wondering who was coming
and why.
And the visitors arrived
with their silk robes and camels and servants,
“Baby? baby?”
And trusting
that this was another of God’s strange plans,
Joseph invited them in
and they found Mary and the baby,
and knelt
and offered him treasure
gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.
As the hours passed
and the excitement died down
they’d found enough words in common
to tell their story.
They were searchers,
searchers by profession.
They’d made their life’s work
out of reading the stars,
mapping their movements through the skies,
tracing their conjunctions with the planets,
drawing on ancient writings
to discern their meaning.
Always in search
of some great
revelation.
But mostly
it was routine work,
determining when best to plant crops,
the auspicious date
for a wedding,
the likely term
of a local leader’s reign.
Until they saw the star.
A new star, one they had never seen before.
They’d consulted their charts,
searched their scrolls,
and all they could work out
is that this star meant
a king,
and they would have left it at that,
except the star seemed to call to them, even pull them,
so it seemed that they had no choice
but to pack up their riches
and begin a journey
to a place unknown.
And the star led them
to the land of Israel
and because it was the sign of a king
they went straight to the palace in Jerusalem
expecting to find
a royal prince,
but there was no child.
Only Herod,
grasping desperately his power
and clearly unnerved
by the suggestion of an heir.
But sly too,
enlisting them as spies,
sending them on
to the age old kingly village of Bethlehem
to bring back news of the child.
And so they had set out,
and not quite a day’s walk
had bought them here,
and yes,
this was the child
whose star they had seen rise.
Not the royal prince they had expected
but the one they had been searching for.
And three days later
they set off again,
carrying the image of that precious child,
traveling due east and avoiding Jerusalem,
being warned in a dream
not to return
to Herod.
They are unlikely worshippers, the magi.
Astrologers, men who searched for wisdom
not through the revelation of God
but through stars and writings.
They were anathema to the people of God,
who from the time they had settled the land
had been commanded
to have nothing to do with such men.
The book of Deuteronomy was clear,
“When you come into the land,” it said,
“When you come into the land that the Lord your God is giving you, you must not learn to imitate the abhorrent practices of those nations. No one shall be found among you who makes a son or daughter pass through fire, or who practices divination, or is a soothsayer, or an augur, or a sorcerer, or one who casts spells, or who consults ghosts or spirits, or who seeks oracles from the dead. For whoever does these things is abhorrent to the Lord.”
Have nothing
to do with them.
Which means you would expect
that when the magi showed up,
Joseph would slam the door
in their faces.
But somehow he knew,
perhaps because so many rules
had already been broken,
somehow Joseph knew
that these men needed
to see the child,
that these men had been drawn
by something greater than the rules.
Somehow Joseph knew
that what mattered
was not who these men were
or how they came
to be there,
but that they had come
had come to worship
baby Jesus,
Emmanuel, God with us.
When Jesus was born
the rules were changed
once and for all.
You don’t have to qualify
by reason
of your birth.
You don’t have to qualify
by reason
of your faith.
All you have to do
is come, seeking to see the savior.
And I suspect that all of us, deep down
are seeking the savior,
as Saint Augustine said,
“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”
We know that feeling
of having a restless heart,
that feeling
that there must be something more to life,
that there must be something
that will make our lives fuller, more complete.
Sometimes we squash it down, hoping it will go away.
Other times
we try anything and everything
to fill it.
Christian tradition, of course, suggests that some ways of seeking
are better than others, some ways
are more likely to help you find
what you are seeking,
some ways
make it easier to recognize the savior
when you come across him.
Reading the bible,
praying, joining a church, spending time with people of faith,
all of these are ways
that we can come across God.
But in the end,
the story of the magi reminds us
that however it is
that we come across God,
however we meet the savior,
God welcomes us
and blesses us.
Because it’s not the energy of the search that saves us
but the loving arms of God.
Today
we will baptize
Maggie and Keira.
They are baptized,
they are forgiven,
they receive new life,
they are welcomed into the body of Christ
not because of anything they have done,
not even because anything their parents have done,
but because they, thanks to their parents,
have come across the savior.
And we pray that they will grow
to know and love the God
who has welcomed us, and welcomes them as well.
© Raewynne J. Whiteley 2010