"Star-Struck"

Matthew 2:1-12

Today is Epiphany Sunday.  Welcome to that.  Welcome to this day of epiphany—literally this “sudden moment of intuitive understanding” Sunday. A day for Epiphany is a nice way to begin our calendar year.  With that in mind, let us pray. 

Loving God, may these moments and the moments and days to follow bring us epiphany as we learn to listen and worship and love more fluently.  Amen.

For the past two weeks the camera has been slowly pulling back from the manger scene.  But today, Epiphany zooms us in for one final close-up.  Once more, before we pack up the boxes, before the Christmastide’s gone completely back out for another year, the crèche comes back into view as we add the final characters to Jesus’ birth story. 

And maybe it’s because Christmas is so “last year” that we’re able to approach the manger a bit differently.  I don’t know about you, but this year I’ve found myself flinching a bit as the colors come back into focus.  On Christmas Eve, perhaps the scene was a tad too idyllic anyway, wasn’t it?  That silent, holy night with the swaddling clothes and the cute, fuzzy sheep?  In the light of another year, the details are a bit more harsh:

            an infant born to a virtually homeless teenage parents

            sheltered in a barn

            sheep bleating and cattle lowing

            strange men giving gifts?

The wise men play an interesting role in our annual pageant, don’t they?  They come in and appear stately, reserved, dignified.  They’re actually astrologists whose motives seem innocent enough:  follow the star, find the newborn king, and pay him homage. 

Two weeks and one Bible commentary after Christmas, however, bring us to a much different realization about these characters.  And the truth is that most of our manger scenes operate pretty much like greatest hits albums, folding together stories from Matthew and Luke and various Christmas carols to make one, nice work of art.  So then our first step in understanding these stories is not to try and harmonize them as we often do, but rather to tease them out and see how they stand on their own feet.

In this light, I think we can we begin to wonder just how wise the wise men really are.  Are they wise enough to track heavenly stars?  Yes.  Wise and well-known enough to attract the attention of King Herod?  Yes.  Wise enough to sift through Herod’s designs and throw him off the newborn king’s trail?  Apparently not.  Just because they’re wise doesn’t mean they’re necessarily smart or even savvy when it comes to politics, and so our start-struck kings become pawns in King Herod’s scheme to destroy a child.  And by the time they get the dream right, it’s too late for all the baby boys in Bethlehem and our young family has to go into hiding.

Bringing back the pageant, then, with a little hindsight, I wonder if we might rewrite the “wise men scene,” maybe with a little dialog for Mary:  “Thanks for the myrrh, guys, and thanks for tipping off King Herod and the feds!  'Cause you know, Joseph, the baby and I - we really like the idea of starting things out running for our lives!"

The wise men, of course, aren’t the only ones drawn into Herod’s dysfunction in this story.  The chief priests and scribes, too, play into Herod’s hand when they interpret for him the Hebrew scriptures.  I suppose they thought they were just being helpful, too, when in fact they helped direct Herod’s murderous rage.

So what do we do with this story of the wise/maybe-not-so-wise men?  Matthew’s wanderers who had their eye on the stars and their head in the clouds?

Well, if we take the story at face value, one thing’s for sure.  There’s at least one pretty stark difference between the wise men and us.  The wise men in Matthew could count on one thing when they found this new royal family:  a baby.  Or, if we want to be sticklers about Matthew’s timetable, a toddler.  Granted, their choice of gifts doesn’t seem particularly appropriate for one who’s just as likely to eat frankincense as anything else, but that’s beside the point.  Their appointment was with a baby. 

What about us?  Well, the truth is that we know the rest of the story.  And so no matter how star-struck we may find ourselves from time to time, we know what we’ll find if we follow that star.  No quiet manger, no cute baby asleep on the hay.  We will find Jesus—the one who will challenge our status quo.  The one who just might shake the foundations of our privilege.  The one who could ask us what we’ve done for the least of these, the poor, the hungry.  The one who will say “Follow me.  Now.  Not later.  Now.  Not when you’ve got your act together.  Now.  Follow me.”  We’ll find Jesus, the one who might heal us, the one who might help us find those places where we need healing.

That’s who we’ll find if we follow that star.  And if we’re honest—if I’m honest—then we have to say that we often leave it shining there in the western sky.  Sometimes it’s prettier and easier there.

But in 2008, could we truly be a star-struck people?  In our families, in our work, in our relationships?  Could we be star-struck in our striving to be church, in our worship, in our yearning for justice, in our willingness to dream?  Could we be so star-struck that despite our run-ins with the Herods of this world, we still live each moment as though we expect the star to shine more brightly with each step we take?  That at any moment we might just stumble upon it—the living Christ— Emmanuel, God with us? 

This involves our being intentional about what it means to be church:

            It means that we’re not here because we like the way UPC does worship, but because we’re star-struck and worship we must!  And when we follow the star, we just might find Christ in a moment of silence, or in a musical phrase.

            It means that we serve in mission not because it feels good or because there are lots of opportunities to serve, but because we’re star-struck and serve we must!  And when we follow the star, we just might find Christ in the Fellowship Hall on Tuesday morning.

            It means that we don’t go to Sunday school because we like the coffee and we find the classes intellectually stimulating, but because we’re star-struck and learn we must!  And the coffee is good.  And when we follow the star, we just might find Christ in a good conversation.

            It means that we don’t cultivate friendships and relationships and care deeply for one another because it’s right or good or even necessary, but because we’re star-struck!  And when we follow the star we find Christ in all sorts of places—in mangers, in hospital beds, in our homes…  In tears and in laughter, in all the places where we grieve or celebrate or tell the truth…

Could we be a star-struck people this year?  And then, in all those places where we find Christ, could we bow and worship?