The Rev. Sara Warfield
Scripture: Matthew 2:1-12
A few notes about the video:
There's a funny little interruption in the middle
Our camera malfunctioned towards the end of the sermon so the video freezes, but the audio is fine
Tomorrow is the liturgical feast day known as the Epiphany, which we’re basically celebrating today. Orthodox Christians actually celebrate Christ’s birth on this day—this is their Christmas. But we western Christians celebrate this as the day when the wise men arrive in Bethlehem to pay homage to Jesus. Epiphany even has its own dedicated hymns, the most popular of which is—and you know it well—We Three Kings.
So We Three Kings is a great tune, truly, but it has perpetuated misinformation for nearly two centuries now. If you pay close attention to today’s gospel, you’ll see first of all that Matthew doesn’t specify that there were three. In fact, there were probably more than three, and they likely traveled with a whole entourage. The assumption of three probably comes from the fact that they have three gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
And the people who come to see Jesus are not kings but, according to our translation, wise men. But even wise men is a generalization on a specific. The original Greek word is magos, or magi in the plural. We’ll get back to that.
There’s another misconception about Epiphany perpetuated not by the song, but by nativity scenes everywhere, including the Kenyan creche that’s still on display next to my Christmas tree right now. (I don’t take my decorations down until after all 12 days of Christmas.) My creche has little straw figures of magi offering gifts right alongside the little straw figures of shepherds who had just arrived for the birth of Jesus, per our Christmas Eve gospel.
But the magi likely arrived months, if not a year or two after Jesus’ birth. That’s why, in what follows our gospel in Matthew today, Herod calls for the slaughter of all male children under two years old. An atrocity I can’t even imagine, and an atrocity Jesus escaped when Mary and Joseph fled to Egypt.
All of this is why we have Christmastide, the 12 Days of Christmas: to remind us that we’re not just remembering and honoring one night but a span of time between Jesus’ birth and the acknowledgement by the magi of who he is: a king.
Epiphany is often celebrated in our Anglican tradition as the first indication that Jesus’ ministry and passion were not meant only for the Jews, but for anyone who might seek him out, in whatever way they might be led to him.
After all, the magi aren’t Jewish. They aren’t from Roman Palestine, where the Holy Family is, or anywhere nearby. They are likely from Persia or Babylon, hundreds of miles of desert from Bethlehem.
But even more interesting is that the magi aren’t just wise men. They most certainly have spent much of their life learning and studying, but their learning was spiritual, esoteric even. The Greek word magos means priest, physician—so far, so good, but then we start getting into weird territory—it also means astrologer, seer, interpreter of dreams, auger, soothsayer.
Which shouldn’t surprise us all that much because it is, in fact, a star in the sky that led the magi to Jesus. These men are most certainly professional astrologers, people who look to the placement of celestial bodies in the sky at a certain moment to make meaning of the world around them, to predict what might happen in the future. A star appears in their western sky that isn’t supposed to be there and, in their learned opinion, that star is pointing them to someone important, the king of the Jews.
If some Christians want to ban Harry Potter, I’m not sure how they reconcile the magi of Matthew. Well, I do actually. By interpreting them as wise men or kings instead of how they were actually known and understood in the time of Jesus, when they were referred to even as sorcerers. In fact later, in the Acts of the Apostles, the word magos is used to refer to a false prophet whom Paul rebukes and makes blind.
But that’s clearly not how Mary and Joseph react to these magi. It’s inferred that they welcome them, accept their gifts, and allow them to pay homage to Jesus. From what I can tell from Matthew’s story, everyone takes the magi and their prophecy very seriously. Especially Herod, who is frightened by it. After all, he is King of Judea, king of the Jews, and he doesn’t want any competition. He takes it so seriously that he asks the magi to return to him after they’ve found Jesus and tell him where the child is.
In this Epiphany story, the magi aren’t sorcerers to be condemned, but people whose presence is a sign of honor, whose words are to be heeded. They are also wise men who are willing to follow a star, even though they have no idea where it will lead—all they know is that it will lead them to a king. And then, when a dream tells them to take another road home, they take that unexpected path.
I go to great lengths to make this point because I think it shows that there are so many different ways people find Jesus—or home. To me, Jesus is my home, the place I seek to find joy, peace, authenticity, and rest.
Now none of this means you need to believe in astrology. It just means that you may want to slow down before judging or condemning people’s different spiritual paths.
It also might mean that you might want to loosen up your understanding of your own path and how it’s supposed to go. I think a lot of us, maybe all of us at different points in our lives, have actively sought out God, hoping to hear God’s voice telling us what to do or how everything will be alright. We try to create a star in the sky to follow rather than waiting for our star to appear.
We might practice what is called spiritual bypassing: when people try to use spiritual explanations to sidestep difficult emotional or psychological issues. We try to apply one spiritual path to one pre-planned solution—we think we know exactly where the star is supposed to lead. For example, if your marriage is struggling, spiritual bypassing might look like reading the Bible or praying feverishly hoping that God will heal your relationship, rather than going to a couples therapist or even your own individual therapist to work on the actual issues.
Yes, sometimes—maybe even often—people find peace, and even home, in therapy. Because God helps us by creating some people to be exceptional emotional and psychological caregivers. The same way God heals our bodies by empowering certain people to create different medicines or perform surgery.
I know that if I hadn’t looked for support for a severe spate of insomnia, I wouldn’t be a Christian, let alone a priest, today. Insomnia led me to, yes, a therapist, who suggested that I try mindfulness meditation, which led me to diving deeply into Buddhist spirituality, which led me to wanting more spiritual community in general, which led me to a Unitarian Universalist community, which led me to seminary, which led me to Christianity and The Episcopal Church.
I never in my life had any intention of becoming an Episcopal priest. But the star led me here, and I have never felt so at home. I have never felt Jesus’ presence in my life like I do now.
That’s all Jesus wants for us: I came that you might have life, and have it abundantly.
So I invite you to let go of your preconceived notions of abundance—or success or happiness. Let go of whatever destination you think you need to get to in order to have those things, and let go of the well-planned path you think will get you there. And instead keep your eyes to the sky for the star that will lead you to Jesus, and to be open to whatever path that star might lead you on.
Amen.
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