Home by Another Way

Sermon for Epiphany, transferred, Jan. 8, 2023
Matthew 2:1-12

With whom do you identify in this Epiphany story?  I mean, in the Christmas story from Luke, we might identify with Mary or Joseph, God’s instruments marveling that the Almighty would use them to bring salvation into the world.  But in today’s reading, Mary is completely silent, and Joseph isn’t there at all.  Still, the characters who are there give us a great contrast to examine, shining light on a conflict within ourselves and at work in the world. 

The story opens with Herod.  Now, if we were at an old-fashioned melodrama, you’d be expected to boo and hiss when I say the name, “Herod.”  Actually, Herod is a great character, an essential character; and if he weren’t a historical reality, we’d have to invent him as the antagonist in Jesus’ early story. 

This Herod is not the same one who appears later in the Gospels, chopping off the head of John the Baptist and refusing to get involved in Jesus’ trial and death.  This is Herod the Great, who ruled Palestine for more than 30 years before the birth of Jesus and then a few more years after.  Once the Romans took over Palestine, Herod worked the system to become their client ruler, Caesar’s puppet but one with real power on the ground.  Herod orchestrated the reconstruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, completed just a few years before Jesus was born.  But he also was remembered by ancient historians as someone who ruled by intimidation and blood.  So, looking just past today’s Gospel story, it’s no surprise that Herod’s next act, after the magi’s exit, is executing all the children in Bethlehem under 2, with all the empathy of a homeowner spraying for roaches.  

So, with Herod being such an awful and real historical figure, why would I say he’s a great character?  Because he’s the embodiment of everything Jesus has come to stand against.  He’s Darth Vader; and with the liberator now on the scene, the empire is about to strike back.

Contrasting with Herod are the silent, mysterious characters Scripture calls the magi, our visitors this morning.  The things we know best about the magi are things that aren’t true.  Despite how we describe our amazing puppets here, the magi weren’t kings, and we have no idea how many of them were traveling together.  We don’t know where they came from, other than somewhere east of Palestine.  Some scholars think they were from the Parthian Empire, centered in modern Iran.  They were likely astrologers, royal advisers, and priests of Zoroastrianism, a monotheistic religion that might sound pretty familiar to us, as it looked toward the coming of a Messiah, the victory of cosmic good over evil, judgment after death, and an afterlife of heaven or hell.  If so, you could see why these court priests might have been interested in the birth of God’s anointed king in the Jewish tradition.

So, in our story, these royal priests and astrologers follow signs they see in the heavens, and they come to the court of King Herod.  Now, Herod was Jewish, at least by marriage; and he was King of the Jews.  So, it’s reasonable that these royal emissaries would have sought an audience with Herod, whom they might have expected to be as excited as they were at the birth of a new king. 

But to Herod, the news from the magi comes as a surprise – even a shock – and one that triggers his greatest fear, which is being overthrown by the people he’s keeping down.  Tyrants and despots will do whatever it takes to stay in power, and Herod had perfected the art of killing anyone who threatened him.  So, Herod asks his advisers what they know about the birth of a true King of the Jews who might dethrone him, and they locate the prophecy that puts the Messiah’s birth at Bethlehem.  Then Herod, ever resourceful, sends the visiting dignitaries off as his unwitting spies, seeking out the baby so Herod, too, can go and “pay him homage” (Matt 2:8).  Right. 

We don’t know what the magi thought about Herod, but we certainly know what they thought about the baby in Bethlehem.  The signs in the sky lead them directly to the last place they’d expect to find a king – not a palace but a tradesman’s hut.  Undistracted by these externals, the magi bring their gifts, gifts truly fit for a king.  And maybe even more important, the magi bring themselves.  They “[kneel] down and [pay] him homage” (Matt 2:11), perhaps even prostrating themselves face down on the floor, like people here we’ve seen being ordained.  These royal emissaries empty themselves of their position and status, recognizing that this baby in the tradesman’s hut has been sent by God to overthrow the Herods of the world.

And then, God gets the story’s last word.  Remember, the magi don’t have any reason to suspect that Herod is using them as spies.  For all they know, the old king is overjoyed at their news.  But before they can head back to Jerusalem, God warns the magi in a dream “not to return to Herod, [and] they [leave] for their own country by another road” (Matt 2:12).  And thus Darth Vader’s plan is foiled.

What should we make of all this?  Well, Herod the villain is the character who’s easiest to understand.  In addition to being the tyrant of the moment whom the birth of the Messiah would threaten, Herod stands for a long line of despots and autocrats concerned with their own position and power.  It is at least poetic justice – and perhaps divine justice, too – that Herod died of a disease that consumed him from the inside out, making him literally rot from the core.

The magi are a little more mysterious, more of a spiritual Rorschach test for us.  We look at them, and we see pilgrims on a spiritual quest.  We see people who’ve studied, even mastered, what their culture has to offer but who feel the call to look further, to investigate the work of God beyond their comfort zones.  We see people willing to risk bringing the best gifts they can carry in the hope that they’ll find the One who truly deserves such honors.  And we see people willing to listen when a divine whisper interrupts their own plans, telling them not to trust the worldly power that seemed so gracious and inviting. 

I want to be one of the magi.  But I fear that, at least as often, it’s Herod I see when I look in the mirror.  No, I’m not an awful person, conspiring and conniving to keep my position at any cost.  But I certainly can see this resemblance between Herod and me: the temptation to act out of fear.  Fear can lead us, like Herod, to push aside others with less power to protect our position or advance our interests.  Or fear can make us hold back, unwilling to take the kind of holy risks that God sends pilgrims out to take.

And I think I may not be alone in finding myself tempted by the lesser angels of my nature.  Just think about the culture we inhabit.  What are the voices we’re most likely to heed – those telling us whom we should fear, or those calling us to risk in hope?  What are the signs we’re most likely to follow – those leading us toward division, with each side seeking to lord it over the other, or those leading us toward unity across difference to shape a new sense of common good?  What are the motivations we’re most likely pursue – those that protect our power and privilege, or those that lead us to spend our gold, frankincense, and myrrh on a child in a workman’s hut?

If we have the eyes to see, our Herods, ancient and modern, show us the corners of our hearts we’d rather hide away.  The kingdom of this world never stops telling us it’s got the power – and that we must give our hearts to it if we want to empower ourselves.  The temptation is always there to succeed by the standards that Jesus came precisely to overturn – the success of one-upmanship, the achievement that diminishes others, the privilege we’re terrified to lose. 

We need the magi, these mysterious visitors, to remind us that the true King rules by different standards and that our journey to find this King never ends.  Because each time we find him, we also find Herod enticing us away.  So, to be the faithful seekers God asks us to be, we’ve always got to be like the magi, listening for the Spirit whispering in our dreams.  We’ve got to be watching for the road signs pointing toward the reign and rule of God.  And we’ve got to be willing to turn around and go home by another way.