Epiphany Of Our Lord
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VIII, Cycle A
Object:
Theme For The Day
We can look on Jesus and see the light of God that would otherwise dazzle us.
The readings for this day occur in all three cycles of the lectionary.
Old Testament Lesson
Isaiah 60:1-6
The Brightness Of Israel's Dawn
In chapters 60-62 of Isaiah, the prophet sets aside the theme of judgment and speaks, instead, in a comforting way, of the future glory that awaits a redeemed Israel. The theme of light breaking into darkness, which we have seen in chapter 9 and elsewhere, is reprised here. Verse 3, "Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn," is the likely reason this passage was selected for an Epiphany reading. The early church read the presence of the Magi at the Nativity into this verse and imagined they saw evidence that these visitors were not only wise, but also royal -- although this is the most doubtful of conjectures. The "gold and frankincense" of verse 6 are part of the reasoning, too -- although one may well ask what happened to the myrrh. The kings Isaiah has in mind are the defeated enemies of Israel, who will one day reluctantly ascend Mount Zion, bringing camels and gold in tribute as they are forced to acknowledge that their gods are as nothing and the God of Israel is all in all.
New Testament Lesson
Ephesians 3:1-12
A Gospel For All People
"Listen! I will tell you a mystery," writes Paul in 1 Corinthians 15:51, going on to tell of the good news of new life in Christ. Here, at the beginning of the third chapter of Ephesians, Paul (or perhaps his pseudonymous disciple, depending on one's view of the authorship of this letter) likewise deals in mysteries. The Greco-Roman world was permeated by "mystery religions," which sought to supply their adherents with esoteric knowledge of life and death. Here, the author speaks of another great mystery: which is that all people -- even Gentiles -- may become heirs of Christ, and "sharers in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel" (v. 6). The Greco-Roman world was shot through with divisions of nation, ethnicity, wealth, gender, slavery. Jesus Christ has the power to transcend all such boundary lines. It is perhaps this aspect of the text that is the reason for its selection as a lectionary passage for Epiphany. The Magi, as Gentiles, symbolize the universal character of the Christian gospel. There is a difference, however, between the universal call of Christ here in Ephesians and the coming of the Gentile kings to Mount Zion in Isaiah 60. Here, the Gentiles come to Christ not by way of the rites and practices of Israel, but simply as themselves: as Gentiles. They have been adopted into God's family, and so they have been accepted as heirs, just as any natural-born children are accepted.
The Gospel
Matthew 2:1-12
The Visit Of The Magi
How many Christmas pageants have depicted the three kings -- that trio of solemn personages named Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar, clad in bathrobes and cardboard crowns, holding mysterious parcels wrapped in gold or silver foil! There they stand, off to one side, mute witnesses to the proceedings in the stable. What is wrong with this picture? Lots of things. First of all, Matthew gives us no indication that the Magi ever came to the stable, nor that they arrived on the day of Jesus' birth (he speaks only of a "the place where the child was"). Second, he makes no mention of their number -- whether they were three or thirty. (Given the hazards of long-distance travel in that day and age, thirty would have been a more reasonable number than three.) Third, the idea that they were kings comes from a misinterpretation of Isaiah 60 (see above). Fourth, nowhere in the Bible are the Magi named: those exotic monikers derive from later church tradition. There's something in us that wants to know more about the Magi -- but to us, they will always be figures swathed in mystery. The Magi are, and will always be, strangers. They are the people of every race and nation different from us; yet, like us, they are just as surely people for whom Christ was born, died, and was raised. We yearn to make them into people much like us -- to transform them into the older brother or uncle who cheerfully accepts a walk-on role in the Christmas pageant. Yet, this is impossible: for these people are wise -- and true wisdom, by its very nature, is nearly always just out of reach.
Preaching Possibilities
Imagine sitting in a darkened theater. Nothing seems so dark as a theater with the lights out. They build them that way, at least the good theaters. Not a chink of light can get in.
There's the audience, chattering, grumbling, fidgeting -- and then, it happens. The lights blink on and off a few times, and then go down for good. Conversations break off in mid-sentence. All eyes gaze ahead, straining into the blackness, trying to discern something on the stage. There is hushed silence, expectation.
Far up in one of the distant galleries, a technician throws a switch, sending thousands of watts surging through a light-bulb filament. Instantly, a beam of light leaps forward, illuminating a circle of space on the stage. Inside the circle is an actor, who a moment before had been silently anonymous. Now, every eye in the house is focused on that figure on the stage.
The spotlight did it all. Before the switch was thrown, darkness was everywhere. An instant later, brilliant illumination.
That vision of a spotlight piercing the darkness is a good one for this day of the Christian year. Today is Epiphany. As of yesterday, the twelve days of Christmas are past. Something entirely new has arrived.
"Epiphany" literally means "to appear out of." This day is one for remembering the ways God appears to us, suddenly and without warning, piercing the darkness of our lives. Epiphany is a day of revelation. Today, we focus our attention on the life of Christ, a life that has indeed given light to our darkness.
One of the first episodes of that life is the story we read this morning of the wise men from the east. We usually think of the Magi as belonging to the Christmas story, but the church has traditionally placed their visit on Epiphany. In some cultures, Epiphany, rather than Christmas, is the day for gift-giving -- for it was the Magi, after all, who brought the first presents to Jesus.
There is nothing in the Bible to place the Magi at the manger. Matthew tells us only that the star directed the travelers to "the place where the child was." There is no mention in that gospel of the innkeeper's stable. There is no mention of how many Magi there were, either; it's church tradition that says there were three.
Wherever Jesus was, and however many visitors he received, the important fact is that wise scholars journeyed many miles to seek him. The Magi were not Jews, but practitioners of an eastern religion. Some think they followed the ancient faith called Zoroastrianism.
If that's true, it makes this story even more of an Epiphany tale, a story of light breaking through. Few people have ever heard of Zoroastrianism; it is one of the great religions of the world, but the number of its adherents have been so diminished by the march of Islam that they are now numbered in thousands rather than millions. The Zoroastrians' fundamental belief is that the universe is divided between two powers: the kingdom of light and the kingdom of darkness. The two forces are locked in equal combat. Their struggle is long and intense, but neither side -- neither light nor darkness -- is winning. Human beings have to choose which side to join. Each human decision, for light or for darkness, adds an incremental weight to one side or the other. If enough people come to the light, goodness will win out. Yet if too many choose the dark side, evil will triumph -- and will swallow up the world forever.
Sound familiar? Oddly enough, it's rather like the philosophical underpinnings of the Star Wars movies. (May the Force be with you!)
These learned priests of that most ancient religion see in the night sky a sign. The star of Bethlehem signals the birth of a powerful warrior for the forces of light. And so, they journey for many weeks -- maybe even months -- to see him. They come to the bedside of the child Jesus, to worship this one who will bring the world more light than anyone yet born.
We Christians do not believe, as the Zoroastrians do, that evil is the equal of good. We believe that God's ultimate triumph is assured -- that creation will not fall apart in aimless annihilation but will one day be fulfilled under the guidance of a loving God. Yet, still, we can marvel that these light-seekers from an alien faith would come so far to see Jesus.
They aren't the only ones. Mahatma Gandhi was one of the most moral people of our century, but he was not a Christian. Even so, Gandhi once said, "Without needing to be a Christian I can still testify to what this Jesus means in my life."
There is something in this Jesus that speaks to many in our world, even many who do not confess him as Lord. Jesus is a great light for humanity's darkness.
Darkness is certainly a subject we know about. Darkness is the reason we begin our worship every Sunday with a prayer of confession. Although we claim Jesus as Lord and seek to follow him, still we dwell in darkness. We sin. We need forgiveness.
There is something in each of us that loves darkness more than light. Sin draws us on, entices us into exploring the dark places -- within our world, within our very souls. The poet, John Milton, was very aware of this dark side of our character, and writes about it in these words:
"He that has light within his own clear breast
May sit i' the centre, and enjoy bright day:
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;
Himself is his own dungeon."
At times, we are indeed our own dungeons. Our desires imprison us: desires for pleasure at any cost, for wealth, for fame, for things to which we are addicted. Outside is the bright midday sun of God's love, but so often we choose to live in the murky gloom of a dungeon cell. It is a cell of our own making. The prison is not locked. The choice is always before us to get up, open the door, and ascend the stairs into brilliant light.
We very much want to do that. We want the light so very badly. As with the audience in a darkened theater, the spotlight draws us on. We feel a curious urge to bound up on stage, step into the light, and see what life in that circular, white-illumined world feels like.
The Magi have that desire. They, too, are seekers after light. Far from home, in the city of David, they are outsiders -- outsiders looking in. Yet, Jesus' parents accept them. They receive the gifts they bring -- as wildly impractical as gold, frankincense, and myrrh are to a young child.
In chapter 33 of Exodus, Moses is given the opportunity to see God. The glory of the Lord would have blinded him, so Moses hides in a cleft of the rock as the Lord passes by. To look upon the Lord directly would have been something like gazing into a thousand spotlights, dazzling but deadly.
Yet, none of us needs to look directly at God. We can look, instead, at Jesus Christ. He is that man whom God's Spirit illumines, as a spotlight brightens a stage -- allowing us to see there the true humanity that God intends for each one of us.
Come to the light. Come today.
Prayer For The Day
Hail, O heaven-born Prince of Peace!
Hail, the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all you bring,
risen with healing in your wings.
We admit, O Christ, that we dwell in darkness.
It is our own choice to do so.
Today, we choose another way.
Shine the light of your love
into even the darkest corners of our lives.
Fill our hearts with your fullness.
Make us whole. Amen.
To Illustrate
Underneath the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem -- an ancient church, built over the legendary site of Jesus' birth -- there is a cave. Visitors to the church climb down underneath and enter. In the cave they find lamps perpetually burning, filling the cavern with light.
Pilgrims cannot walk upright into this cave. The doorway is too small. To enter the cave of the nativity, you must bend almost to the waist. It's a fitting symbol: Christians must bow in humility if we are to come to Jesus. We need that prayer of confession, the admission that we cannot defeat the darkness.
When we come in such a way, we do not find condemnation. God ushers us in, to the place where we can meet the divine Son, and worship the Christ with our very lives.
***
When we come to the Lord's table, we come to the light. Here we see common, ordinary things: bread and wine. Yet, the light of God's Spirit is shining upon them, making them mystically real to us.
John Calvin was thinking of a sort of epiphany when, in the midst of a lengthy theological discourse on the sacraments, he writes: "If the Spirit be lacking, the sacraments can accomplish nothing more in our minds than the splendor of the sun shining upon blind eyes...."
-- Institutes IV.xiv.9
***
We Americans pride ourselves on being a classless nation. Our government bestows no orders of knighthood. When distinguished Senators and Supreme Court Justices retire, they are not named Earl of Minneapolis or Duke of Buffalo (unless their name happens to be "Earl" or "Duke" to begin with). America's the place where -- at least in theory -- it's still possible to rise from rags to riches.
At least in theory. Yet don't we find a way of grasping for those class distinctions, all the same? We have no royalty in America, but haven't we created our own: our glittering pantheon of Hollywood movie stars? We have no class distinctions, but don't we believe, in our heart of hearts, there's a certain nobility that comes of cruising around in a limousine behind tinted windows or stepping into the platinum frequent-flyer check-in line at the airport? Privilege may not be a legally recognized category in our constitutional democracy but haven't we found ways to bring it into our lives all the same? It's just as it was in the barnyard of George Orwell's novel, Animal Farm: all animals are created equal, but some are more equal than others.
Yes, we are fascinated with royalty.
***
There are two inescapable facts in Jesus' life-story. Those facts are: Jesus' cradle and Jesus' cross. His birth and his death display for us, once and for all, the truth that here was a king who would be man. He didn't just pull on a costume. He was human, through and through. And because his circumstances were so ordinary -- because he was born in a stable, not a palace -- he calls us to care for this world he loved so much, and he was willing to be born into it.
***
"What if God were one of us?" asks a pop song of a few years back, "just like one of us?" That song by Joan Osborne stirred up a tempest of criticism, because some people thought it was disrespecting God. Well, all the song is saying is exactly what the gospels say: that, in the babe of Bethlehem, God was one of us. Just an ordinary person, not a superman. A child whose coming was announced by singing, not by thunder. A child who was born by flickering lamplight in a silent night, rather than in a volcanic explosion or a meteorite come to earth. In Jesus Christ, the mighty Word that echoed through the silent stillness before creation becomes a child, cradled in his mother's arms: a child who comes to bless us, not to hurt us; to save us, not to condemn us.
***
When heaven's bright with mystery
and stars still lead an unknown way,
when love still lights a gentle path
where courts of power can hold no sway,
there with the Magi, let us kneel,
our gifts to share, God's world to heal.
-- Robert M. Johns, Songs for a Gospel People, 1987
***
Although the scribes could say where the Messiah should be born, they remained quite unperturbed in Jerusalem. They did not accompany the wise men to seek him. Similarly one may know the whole of Christianity, yet make no movement. What a difference! The three kings had only a rumor to go by. But it moved them to make that long journey. The scribes were much better informed. They sat and studied the scriptures like so many scholars, but it did not make them move. Who had more truth? The three kings who followed a rumor, or the scribes who remained seated with all their knowledge?
-- Søren Kierkegaard, "Becoming Christian," Provocations: Spiritual Writings of Kierkegaard (Orbis, 2003), p. 238
We can look on Jesus and see the light of God that would otherwise dazzle us.
The readings for this day occur in all three cycles of the lectionary.
Old Testament Lesson
Isaiah 60:1-6
The Brightness Of Israel's Dawn
In chapters 60-62 of Isaiah, the prophet sets aside the theme of judgment and speaks, instead, in a comforting way, of the future glory that awaits a redeemed Israel. The theme of light breaking into darkness, which we have seen in chapter 9 and elsewhere, is reprised here. Verse 3, "Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn," is the likely reason this passage was selected for an Epiphany reading. The early church read the presence of the Magi at the Nativity into this verse and imagined they saw evidence that these visitors were not only wise, but also royal -- although this is the most doubtful of conjectures. The "gold and frankincense" of verse 6 are part of the reasoning, too -- although one may well ask what happened to the myrrh. The kings Isaiah has in mind are the defeated enemies of Israel, who will one day reluctantly ascend Mount Zion, bringing camels and gold in tribute as they are forced to acknowledge that their gods are as nothing and the God of Israel is all in all.
New Testament Lesson
Ephesians 3:1-12
A Gospel For All People
"Listen! I will tell you a mystery," writes Paul in 1 Corinthians 15:51, going on to tell of the good news of new life in Christ. Here, at the beginning of the third chapter of Ephesians, Paul (or perhaps his pseudonymous disciple, depending on one's view of the authorship of this letter) likewise deals in mysteries. The Greco-Roman world was permeated by "mystery religions," which sought to supply their adherents with esoteric knowledge of life and death. Here, the author speaks of another great mystery: which is that all people -- even Gentiles -- may become heirs of Christ, and "sharers in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel" (v. 6). The Greco-Roman world was shot through with divisions of nation, ethnicity, wealth, gender, slavery. Jesus Christ has the power to transcend all such boundary lines. It is perhaps this aspect of the text that is the reason for its selection as a lectionary passage for Epiphany. The Magi, as Gentiles, symbolize the universal character of the Christian gospel. There is a difference, however, between the universal call of Christ here in Ephesians and the coming of the Gentile kings to Mount Zion in Isaiah 60. Here, the Gentiles come to Christ not by way of the rites and practices of Israel, but simply as themselves: as Gentiles. They have been adopted into God's family, and so they have been accepted as heirs, just as any natural-born children are accepted.
The Gospel
Matthew 2:1-12
The Visit Of The Magi
How many Christmas pageants have depicted the three kings -- that trio of solemn personages named Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar, clad in bathrobes and cardboard crowns, holding mysterious parcels wrapped in gold or silver foil! There they stand, off to one side, mute witnesses to the proceedings in the stable. What is wrong with this picture? Lots of things. First of all, Matthew gives us no indication that the Magi ever came to the stable, nor that they arrived on the day of Jesus' birth (he speaks only of a "the place where the child was"). Second, he makes no mention of their number -- whether they were three or thirty. (Given the hazards of long-distance travel in that day and age, thirty would have been a more reasonable number than three.) Third, the idea that they were kings comes from a misinterpretation of Isaiah 60 (see above). Fourth, nowhere in the Bible are the Magi named: those exotic monikers derive from later church tradition. There's something in us that wants to know more about the Magi -- but to us, they will always be figures swathed in mystery. The Magi are, and will always be, strangers. They are the people of every race and nation different from us; yet, like us, they are just as surely people for whom Christ was born, died, and was raised. We yearn to make them into people much like us -- to transform them into the older brother or uncle who cheerfully accepts a walk-on role in the Christmas pageant. Yet, this is impossible: for these people are wise -- and true wisdom, by its very nature, is nearly always just out of reach.
Preaching Possibilities
Imagine sitting in a darkened theater. Nothing seems so dark as a theater with the lights out. They build them that way, at least the good theaters. Not a chink of light can get in.
There's the audience, chattering, grumbling, fidgeting -- and then, it happens. The lights blink on and off a few times, and then go down for good. Conversations break off in mid-sentence. All eyes gaze ahead, straining into the blackness, trying to discern something on the stage. There is hushed silence, expectation.
Far up in one of the distant galleries, a technician throws a switch, sending thousands of watts surging through a light-bulb filament. Instantly, a beam of light leaps forward, illuminating a circle of space on the stage. Inside the circle is an actor, who a moment before had been silently anonymous. Now, every eye in the house is focused on that figure on the stage.
The spotlight did it all. Before the switch was thrown, darkness was everywhere. An instant later, brilliant illumination.
That vision of a spotlight piercing the darkness is a good one for this day of the Christian year. Today is Epiphany. As of yesterday, the twelve days of Christmas are past. Something entirely new has arrived.
"Epiphany" literally means "to appear out of." This day is one for remembering the ways God appears to us, suddenly and without warning, piercing the darkness of our lives. Epiphany is a day of revelation. Today, we focus our attention on the life of Christ, a life that has indeed given light to our darkness.
One of the first episodes of that life is the story we read this morning of the wise men from the east. We usually think of the Magi as belonging to the Christmas story, but the church has traditionally placed their visit on Epiphany. In some cultures, Epiphany, rather than Christmas, is the day for gift-giving -- for it was the Magi, after all, who brought the first presents to Jesus.
There is nothing in the Bible to place the Magi at the manger. Matthew tells us only that the star directed the travelers to "the place where the child was." There is no mention in that gospel of the innkeeper's stable. There is no mention of how many Magi there were, either; it's church tradition that says there were three.
Wherever Jesus was, and however many visitors he received, the important fact is that wise scholars journeyed many miles to seek him. The Magi were not Jews, but practitioners of an eastern religion. Some think they followed the ancient faith called Zoroastrianism.
If that's true, it makes this story even more of an Epiphany tale, a story of light breaking through. Few people have ever heard of Zoroastrianism; it is one of the great religions of the world, but the number of its adherents have been so diminished by the march of Islam that they are now numbered in thousands rather than millions. The Zoroastrians' fundamental belief is that the universe is divided between two powers: the kingdom of light and the kingdom of darkness. The two forces are locked in equal combat. Their struggle is long and intense, but neither side -- neither light nor darkness -- is winning. Human beings have to choose which side to join. Each human decision, for light or for darkness, adds an incremental weight to one side or the other. If enough people come to the light, goodness will win out. Yet if too many choose the dark side, evil will triumph -- and will swallow up the world forever.
Sound familiar? Oddly enough, it's rather like the philosophical underpinnings of the Star Wars movies. (May the Force be with you!)
These learned priests of that most ancient religion see in the night sky a sign. The star of Bethlehem signals the birth of a powerful warrior for the forces of light. And so, they journey for many weeks -- maybe even months -- to see him. They come to the bedside of the child Jesus, to worship this one who will bring the world more light than anyone yet born.
We Christians do not believe, as the Zoroastrians do, that evil is the equal of good. We believe that God's ultimate triumph is assured -- that creation will not fall apart in aimless annihilation but will one day be fulfilled under the guidance of a loving God. Yet, still, we can marvel that these light-seekers from an alien faith would come so far to see Jesus.
They aren't the only ones. Mahatma Gandhi was one of the most moral people of our century, but he was not a Christian. Even so, Gandhi once said, "Without needing to be a Christian I can still testify to what this Jesus means in my life."
There is something in this Jesus that speaks to many in our world, even many who do not confess him as Lord. Jesus is a great light for humanity's darkness.
Darkness is certainly a subject we know about. Darkness is the reason we begin our worship every Sunday with a prayer of confession. Although we claim Jesus as Lord and seek to follow him, still we dwell in darkness. We sin. We need forgiveness.
There is something in each of us that loves darkness more than light. Sin draws us on, entices us into exploring the dark places -- within our world, within our very souls. The poet, John Milton, was very aware of this dark side of our character, and writes about it in these words:
"He that has light within his own clear breast
May sit i' the centre, and enjoy bright day:
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;
Himself is his own dungeon."
At times, we are indeed our own dungeons. Our desires imprison us: desires for pleasure at any cost, for wealth, for fame, for things to which we are addicted. Outside is the bright midday sun of God's love, but so often we choose to live in the murky gloom of a dungeon cell. It is a cell of our own making. The prison is not locked. The choice is always before us to get up, open the door, and ascend the stairs into brilliant light.
We very much want to do that. We want the light so very badly. As with the audience in a darkened theater, the spotlight draws us on. We feel a curious urge to bound up on stage, step into the light, and see what life in that circular, white-illumined world feels like.
The Magi have that desire. They, too, are seekers after light. Far from home, in the city of David, they are outsiders -- outsiders looking in. Yet, Jesus' parents accept them. They receive the gifts they bring -- as wildly impractical as gold, frankincense, and myrrh are to a young child.
In chapter 33 of Exodus, Moses is given the opportunity to see God. The glory of the Lord would have blinded him, so Moses hides in a cleft of the rock as the Lord passes by. To look upon the Lord directly would have been something like gazing into a thousand spotlights, dazzling but deadly.
Yet, none of us needs to look directly at God. We can look, instead, at Jesus Christ. He is that man whom God's Spirit illumines, as a spotlight brightens a stage -- allowing us to see there the true humanity that God intends for each one of us.
Come to the light. Come today.
Prayer For The Day
Hail, O heaven-born Prince of Peace!
Hail, the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all you bring,
risen with healing in your wings.
We admit, O Christ, that we dwell in darkness.
It is our own choice to do so.
Today, we choose another way.
Shine the light of your love
into even the darkest corners of our lives.
Fill our hearts with your fullness.
Make us whole. Amen.
To Illustrate
Underneath the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem -- an ancient church, built over the legendary site of Jesus' birth -- there is a cave. Visitors to the church climb down underneath and enter. In the cave they find lamps perpetually burning, filling the cavern with light.
Pilgrims cannot walk upright into this cave. The doorway is too small. To enter the cave of the nativity, you must bend almost to the waist. It's a fitting symbol: Christians must bow in humility if we are to come to Jesus. We need that prayer of confession, the admission that we cannot defeat the darkness.
When we come in such a way, we do not find condemnation. God ushers us in, to the place where we can meet the divine Son, and worship the Christ with our very lives.
***
When we come to the Lord's table, we come to the light. Here we see common, ordinary things: bread and wine. Yet, the light of God's Spirit is shining upon them, making them mystically real to us.
John Calvin was thinking of a sort of epiphany when, in the midst of a lengthy theological discourse on the sacraments, he writes: "If the Spirit be lacking, the sacraments can accomplish nothing more in our minds than the splendor of the sun shining upon blind eyes...."
-- Institutes IV.xiv.9
***
We Americans pride ourselves on being a classless nation. Our government bestows no orders of knighthood. When distinguished Senators and Supreme Court Justices retire, they are not named Earl of Minneapolis or Duke of Buffalo (unless their name happens to be "Earl" or "Duke" to begin with). America's the place where -- at least in theory -- it's still possible to rise from rags to riches.
At least in theory. Yet don't we find a way of grasping for those class distinctions, all the same? We have no royalty in America, but haven't we created our own: our glittering pantheon of Hollywood movie stars? We have no class distinctions, but don't we believe, in our heart of hearts, there's a certain nobility that comes of cruising around in a limousine behind tinted windows or stepping into the platinum frequent-flyer check-in line at the airport? Privilege may not be a legally recognized category in our constitutional democracy but haven't we found ways to bring it into our lives all the same? It's just as it was in the barnyard of George Orwell's novel, Animal Farm: all animals are created equal, but some are more equal than others.
Yes, we are fascinated with royalty.
***
There are two inescapable facts in Jesus' life-story. Those facts are: Jesus' cradle and Jesus' cross. His birth and his death display for us, once and for all, the truth that here was a king who would be man. He didn't just pull on a costume. He was human, through and through. And because his circumstances were so ordinary -- because he was born in a stable, not a palace -- he calls us to care for this world he loved so much, and he was willing to be born into it.
***
"What if God were one of us?" asks a pop song of a few years back, "just like one of us?" That song by Joan Osborne stirred up a tempest of criticism, because some people thought it was disrespecting God. Well, all the song is saying is exactly what the gospels say: that, in the babe of Bethlehem, God was one of us. Just an ordinary person, not a superman. A child whose coming was announced by singing, not by thunder. A child who was born by flickering lamplight in a silent night, rather than in a volcanic explosion or a meteorite come to earth. In Jesus Christ, the mighty Word that echoed through the silent stillness before creation becomes a child, cradled in his mother's arms: a child who comes to bless us, not to hurt us; to save us, not to condemn us.
***
When heaven's bright with mystery
and stars still lead an unknown way,
when love still lights a gentle path
where courts of power can hold no sway,
there with the Magi, let us kneel,
our gifts to share, God's world to heal.
-- Robert M. Johns, Songs for a Gospel People, 1987
***
Although the scribes could say where the Messiah should be born, they remained quite unperturbed in Jerusalem. They did not accompany the wise men to seek him. Similarly one may know the whole of Christianity, yet make no movement. What a difference! The three kings had only a rumor to go by. But it moved them to make that long journey. The scribes were much better informed. They sat and studied the scriptures like so many scholars, but it did not make them move. Who had more truth? The three kings who followed a rumor, or the scribes who remained seated with all their knowledge?
-- Søren Kierkegaard, "Becoming Christian," Provocations: Spiritual Writings of Kierkegaard (Orbis, 2003), p. 238
