Look Up and Look Around

Sermon for Epiphany (transferred,) Jan. 11, 2026
Matthew 2:1-12

It probably won’t surprise you to know that, in college, I didn’t take a lot of science classes.  But I had to take a couple, and one I chose was astronomy.  In fairness, that was primarily because my girlfriend loved astronomy, and she was a lab assistant, and I knew an opportunity when I saw one.  I don’t remember much of the class content now, but it made me appreciate the grandeur of the skies, the beauty and wonder we encounter by looking up.

Even now, 40 years later, I can still find Orion and the Big Dipper and the North Star.  And as I walk in the dark of the early morning, I look for them, always.  But in the 40 years since my class, the beauty and wonder of the skies have been joined by an even deeper sense I get when I look up.  It’s Love.  When I step out into the early-morning darkness and see the moon and the stars greeting me, what I feel is Love, with a capital L.  That Love is God.  You know, depending on one’s mood and the happenings of our lives in a given season, the natural world can seem dark and foreboding, even violent and dangerous.  But, to me, what shines through the early-morning darkness is divine Love.  It’s an assurance that I’m not alone, regardless of what yesterday may have brought.  It’s not just that God is there; it’s that God is welcoming me, traveling with me, guiding me into what’s next.

It’s amazing what can come from looking up.

These “three kings” we’ve welcomed this morning – they were professional lookers-up.  As you probably know, they weren’t kings; the biblical text calls them magi, “wise men” in Greek.  They were the naturalists of their day – astrologers in a time when astrology and astronomy were one and the same, more scientists than fortune tellers.  They were most likely from Parthia, modern Iran and Iraq, east of Rome’s province of Judea – in fact, a land beyond Rome’s dominion.  For the Jews, it might as well have been the kingdom of Far Far Away.  These magi were probably court officials, scholars telling their king what the natural world said about the divine will and how a wise king should govern as a result.

The story tells us these magi from the east had seen something new and surprising in the sky – a star in the west, from their perspective, heralding the birth of a king who would fulfill the divine will in a whole new way.  Apparently, they knew enough of the lore of the Israelites to know the Jews were waiting for a king who would bring back the days of David and Solomon, defeating the Romans and ruling directly as God’s own viceroy, bringing the reign and rule of Love to the earth.  So the magi needed to see for themselves if they were right about the meaning of this sign in the sky.

So, they set out, following the new star.  We don’t get any details about their trip, but it wasn’t a quick jaunt.  They would have taken a trade route west, toward Judea – as Mtr. Jean said last week about the Holy Family, the magi, too, would have traveled in a caravan because wise men don’t try to go a thousand miles through the wilderness on their own.  It would have taken a few months to get from Parthia to Judea.  So, this was no impulsive sightseeing trip.  This was a pilgrimage, which by definition doesn’t just take you somewhere but changes you in the process.

As emissaries of their king, the magi made their first destination the palace of the local king, Herod.  Now, Herod was Caesar’s minion in Judea, the local mob boss, whose rule was as far from God’s way of Love as you can get.  Herod was a Jew ethnically, but following God wasn’t exactly the M.O. of this small man who built himself up by tearing others down, including killing his own heir when he felt threatened.  Even the Roman Emperor, Augustus, noted Herod’s taste for blood, saying it was better to be Herod’s pig than his son.¹

Herod listens as the magi ask about some baby who’s been born to be king of the Jews, and all Herod can hear is a threat.  He slyly asks the magi to go find the baby and bring word back so Herod can find him, too – and have him murdered.

So, the magi, undeterred by evil, keep following the star toward Love.  They find Mary and Joseph in a house like anybody else’s, no palace at all.  They find the little toddler king, and they bring out their famous gifts that say, “Your own king may want you dead.  But in nations far away, when we look to you, we see the light of divine Love.”

And because they’re wise men, these royal emissaries heed the voice of Love in their dreams, going home by another way.  Herod, still scared enough to kill, decides to murder all the toddlers and babies of Bethlehem.  But the wise Joseph listens to his dreams, too, and the Holy Family flees as refugees.

What can we take from this story?  I think these wise travelers have at least two crucial insights to share with us today.

Here’s the first:  Look up.  Like I said, it makes a world of difference for me to start my day in the darkness looking up to find the light of Love.  Sometimes, the sky is stunning – the moon blazing full or a crescent, rocking just above the horizon.  There’s Orion the hunter welcoming me to set out for whatever this day’s hunt will bring.  And there’s the Big Dipper arcing through the sky and pointing to the North Star.  Looking up, I get my bearings again.  I remember, “Oh, right – regardless of what’s eating away at me, regardless of how tired I may be, regardless of the Herods who may be waiting down the road – oh, right, there’s Love, walking with me, again.”  Now, of course, sometimes the clouds mask it all.  Sometimes, you look up, and it’s simply darkness.  But that reminds us of something holy, too: that the Love who fashioned creation, and who died to give us life, and who walks alongside us every day – that Love is there, whether we see it or not.  The clouds can’t keep Love at bay.

So, the magi’s first insight:  Look up.  And their second?  Look around.

Now, we don’t know much for sure about these travelers from the east.  The story gives us few details, and history offers even fewer.  But we do know this much:  Magi is a plural noun. To represent the nations surrounding God’s chosen people, the story doesn’t give us a lone ranger.  It’s not some cowboy alone on his horse who brings gifts to the baby king.  It’s not a magus but magi – several wise people, traveling together across the wilderness.  We don’t know how many; the tradition tells us it’s three because three is a magic number – the perfect symbol of community, just right even to reflect the deeply relational nature of God.  So, the magi are a community of pilgrims aching to glimpse the divine; and, somehow, they know they can only do that together.  They know each other’s strengths and foibles.  They have each other’s backs.  They learn from each other’s wisdom.  They’re individuals, certainly, each with their own gifts and their own brokenness.  But they look around, and they see each other, and they know:  They’re at their best together.

So are we.  And this year, you’ll have the opportunity to experience that kind of community in a new way here at St. Andrew’s.  In Lent, we’ll be starting something we’re calling Companion Groups – small, monthly gatherings to help us grow in faith through intentional spiritual companionship.  And why would we do that?  Because the Christian life is meant to be lived together.  Spiritual maturity isn’t just about learning the Bible or prayers or theology; it’s about learning to walk with God and with one another.  And we do that best in safe, prayerful spaces where we can share our stories, listen to each other, reflect on life, and discover Christ walking alongside us.

Companion Groups give us a way to create that safe, prayerful space, and you can sign up for one today.  With a few other fellow travelers, you can connect, reflect, grow … and realize you don’t have to do this on your own.

You know, we are children of a culture that equips us very well to provide for ourselves.  Rugged individualism can be a great strength, in the right time and place.  But as a paradigm for life’s journey, it’s a way that leaves us vulnerable to the bad guys lurking behind the rocks.  Maybe even worse, that rugged individualism also can keep us from seeing heaven all around us.  If salvation is only about making it through this life so we can find eternal rest and reward later, then we’re missing heaven in the here and now.  Think about the old Appalachian spiritual, “Wayfaring Stranger”:

I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger
A-travelin’ through this world of woe.
But there’s no sickness, toil, nor danger
In that bright world to which I go.
I’m going there to see my mother,
I’m going there no more to roam.
I’m just a-goin’ over Jordan.
I’m just a-goin' over home.

That’s the theme song of the spirituality of rugged individualism – a lament that I know heaven’s out there somewhere, if I can just hang on long enough in this life to get there on my own.  But, as good as the heaven of chapter 2 will surely be, it’s not the beginning of our eternal life.  This life is – this life of looking up, and looking around, and knowing that divine Love walks alongside you every day.

1. https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/it-is-better-to-be-herods-pig-than-son