This sermon was preached in modified form for an online service for the Feast of the Epiphany, Sunday, January 7, 2023 at St. Mark's. The texts for this sermon were: Isaiah 60:1-6, Matthew 2:1-12, and Psalm 72:1-7,10-14.
My late grandfather delighted in asking everyone who came to visit him the same question: “So which route did you take?”
As coats were put away and boots stamped out, the guest would recount to him whatever details of their journey felt relevant or important to share - the sources and maps they used, the delays they encountered, how this street or that neighborhood has changed so much, so fast. Sometimes - and I think this was my grandfather’s favorite - the question would spark some genial, light-hearted debate around this bridge or that turn or when rush hour really is that would carry the guests all the way into a comfortable chair and a welcoming drink.
In the era of GPS apps, of course, this question seems wildly outdated now. My honest answer to my grandfather’s question would be pretty lame most of the time: I plugged an address into my phone. Perhaps route-finding is a bit of a lost art. And yet, every generation, every person, in fact, has had to discern for themselves how to find their way in the world. Which new and ancient tools will they depend on to guide them? Who can they trust to ask for directions? Despite such accurate and responsive technology as GPS, the sense I get is not that we as a species are actually growing toward greater certainty and self-assurance about where we are going and how we are getting there. We are just as lost and unmoored as before, if not more. Still longing for reassurance that the route we’ve found ourselves on is the right one.
So I’ve come to see my grandfather’s question as a timeless one, much more similar to the pastoral check-in question we were taught in seminary. We were trained to open our ministry meetings with some form of the basic question: How are you arriving here today?
This allowed each person to take stock of everything they were carrying into the room, allowed the late-comers to discharge their embarrassment and sense of rush, allowed the stress and busyness of the rest of the day to be acknowledged and set aside. We recount the routes we took to get here, so that each person can transition to being fully present. Here. Arrived.
So let’s take a moment now to give ourselves the gift of that question. How are you arriving here today and not just today, how are you arriving here to 2024? Take one of your sticky notes and write down your answer, or tell it to the person sitting next to you, whichever is more comfortable to you. I’ll give you some time. How are you arriving to the year 2024? What route did you take to get here?
I love that Epiphany occurs when it does, at the beginning of a new year, precisely because the story of the magi invites us so easily into the metaphor of journeys. Today, we retell the epic tale of the majestic wisemen from the east. How they were led in their journey by a mysterious star, how they were guided by the ancient wisdom of Jewish prophecy, how they stopped to ask for directions from local authorities and scholars on how to interpret such scripture and signs. I also love the small aside we get about their journey back: “And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.”
The story of the magi, which is found only in Matthew’s Gospel, underscores the fulfillment of the great prophecy that Jesus is the king foretold to be born in Bethlehem. It also neatly solves the problem of the part of the prophecy that predicted Jesus’ divinity and royalty would be recognized by foreign leaders and dignitaries, alluded to in our passage from the Prophet Isaiah: “The kings of Tarshish and of the isles shall pay tribute, and the kings of Arabia and Saba offer gifts. All kings shall bow down before him, and all the nations do him service.” So, in the Gospel of Matthew at least, here they are, the kings offering gifts to the king of kings. It makes sense then that the Gospel of Matthew is deeply concerned with how these dignitaries found their way to Jesus and their revelation of his true identity.
The how of magi’s journey has much to offer us: the encouragement to not only be guided by scripture, but to lean on others for its interpretation - even those of a different faith or background from us. The willingness to be so transformed by our encounter with Christ that we risk a whole different route from here. What I am particularly drawn to this year, though, is the magi’s reliance on the star.
While the Christmas carol "The First Noel" praises the star for shining both day and night, it’s not part of the Gospel narrative that the star kept on keeping on through the sunshine. That the magi navigated by a star means that they were willing to travel at night, in the darkness. That’s what’s drawing me in. What kind of faith does it take to find your way in the night?
I said all through Advent that my most popular prayer request is for patience, and patience is apt prayer for Advent. My second most requested prayer is for clarity. Clarity is a beautiful prayer for the season after epiphany. Epiphany is all about clarity about who the person of Jesus is, was, and will be, beginning from the witness of the magi.
When I pray for clarity what am I really praying for? In the end, I think it’s the same thing that I’m really praying for when I pray for patience. I’m really praying for more faith. More trust in God and myself. More reassurance that I’m on the right path. That God’s timeline is not my timeline but it is the right timeline.
The journey of the magi offers us the lesson that clarity doesn’t necessarily come from bright floodlights, from everything uncovered and laid bare. Stars, after all, shine only at night. We see and honor their light not because they dispel the darkness but because they co-exist with it. Darkness has its own part to play in revelation. Darkness in that way is holy, too.
For me, clarity often comes when I let all else fall away. Clarity comes only when I let go of the need to know and research and nail down every last statistic, when I give up on the idea that everything is a priority to do perfectly. Clarity comes when I choose one light to focus on, one value to lift up above all others, and I let everything else fade to black. I find I can only step forward onto a path when I cross off all the other possible routes.
We don’t need to have all the answers to have the clarity we need to move forward. We only need the one star and the faith to follow it.
So here’s your second question, for your second post-it note: What do you want to guide you in 2024? Who will you trust to ask for directions? What new and ancient sources of wisdom will you turn to and what will you let fall away? You’ll write this answer on your post-it, and during the offertory, you’ll be invited to place it in the creche. You can place your arrival post-it note in the offertory plate. Don’t worry, I’ll explain it again when the time comes.
For now, take a moment to write your answer to the question: What do you want to guide you in 2024?
I will leave you with this prayer by Thomas Merton.
My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though
I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
Amen.
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| Photo by Steve Medwin on Unsplash |
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