Sunday, January 6, 2013

The Epiphany -- Sunday Sermon

Every year we begin the Twelve Days of Christmas at the Midnight Mass by hearing Luke’s account of Christ’s birth, complete with the shepherds in the fields, the angelic chorus, and the babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger. Then, at the end of the Twelve Days, on the Feast of the Epiphany, we hear Matthew’s very different account of the same event, this time featuring the magi, wise men who come to Bethlehem bearing gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh for the newborn King whose star they’ve seen rising in the East.

We really don’t know how historically accurate Matthew’s account is. But in his landmark volume The Birth of the Messiah, New Testament scholar Raymond Brown points out that all the details of the story would have made perfect sense to Matthew’s original readers. It was a common belief in the ancient world that the births of great persons were accompanied by heavenly portents easily recognizable to astrologers and others skilled in reading the night sky. Stories were told of the appearance of new stars in the heavens to herald the births of such figures as Alexander the Great and Caesar Augustus.

Moreover, it was not at all unusual for envoys from foreign lands – and sometimes even their kings and queens themselves – to come bearing royal gifts to pay homage to a king or an emperor on a special occasion. In the Old Testament, the first Book of the Kings tells of the Queen of Sheba coming to visit King Solomon in Jerusalem bringing gifts of vast quantities of gold, spices, and precious stones. In 9 BC, when King Herod completed the building of his magnificent port of Caesarea Maritima, envoys bearing gifts came from many nations to join in the celebrations. Several Roman historians relate that in 66 AD Tiridates, King of Armenia, came to Rome with the sons of three neighboring Parthian rulers in his entourage to pay homage to the Emperor Nero. Their overland journey from the East was like a triumphal procession; and one of the historians even notes that Tiridates did not return by the route he had come, but sailed home a different way.

Yet, for the original readers of Matthew’s Gospel, the part of the story that would have rung most true would have been the contrast between the responses of the different characters to the good news of the birth of the Messiah: on one hand, the wise men from the East; and on the other hand King Herod and the chief priests and scribes of the nation.

The term magi originally had the specific meaning of members of the priestly caste of the Zoroastrian religion in Persia. By the time of the New Testament, however, it could refer to anyone who dabbled in various forms of secret lore involving astrology, the interpretation of dreams, magic, and the occult. Outside this story, magi do not get a good press in the New Testament. For example, in the Acts of the Apostles Luke tells the story of one Simon Magus, who amazed people in Samaria with his magical powers, but fell foul of the apostles when he tried to buy from them the power to confer the Holy Spirit – thus giving his name to the sin of simony, the attempted buying and selling of spiritual gifts.

Yet, in Matthew’s Gospel, these somewhat disreputable and suspect characters are nonetheless the ones led to come and worship the newborn Christ. The achievements of their pagan learning bring them a good part of the way, at least as far as Jerusalem. But God’s special revelation in the Scriptures must perfect and complete God’s natural revelation in creation; and from the Book of the Prophet Micah the Magi learn that the Messiah is to be born in Bethlehem in the land of Judah. So they come, emissaries from the Gentile world, bringing the best gifts they can offer to him who is born King of the Jews.

The contrast with Herod and the Jewish religious establishment in Jerusalem could not be starker. When the wise men arrive from the East asking for the newborn King of the Jews, for they’ve seen his star in the East and have come to worship him, Matthew notes that Herod “was troubled and all Jerusalem with him.” And so Herod devises his devious plan to locate the child and murder him before he can grow up to present any threat to his throne.

The deep irony of this turn of events is that those whom we’d most expect to welcome the birth of the Messiah – namely, the political and religious leaders of the Jewish nation – are precisely the ones who reject and seek to destroy him, while those whom we’d least expect to welcome him – namely pagan astrologers from far-away lands – are precisely the ones who bring him tribute and homage.

For Matthew’s original readers, the story would have been all too familiar. Most New Testament scholars date Matthews Gospel to the late first century, possibly the 80s. By this time, the majority of the Jewish people have rejected the Church’s proclamation of Jesus as the Messiah who died on the cross and rose from the dead to effect a new relationship, a new covenant, between God and humanity. At the same time, owing to the success of the missionary efforts of Saint Paul and other apostles, Gentiles have begun to flood into the Church, professing their faith in Christ as the Savior of the whole world.

Yet the mainstream Jewish rejection of Jesus as the Messiah must have caused some lingering confusion, doubts, and questions among these early Christian communities. What have we done wrong? Is this in some way the Church’s failure? Is this a failure in God’s plan?

It’s possible that Matthew told the story of the Magi at least in part to address such concerns. His message is that it was ever thus. From the moment Christ came into the world, those whom we’d most expect to welcome him have not done so, while those whom we’d least expect have come to worship him. And in the end the Kingdom of God is richer for their presence and gifts.

Occasionally I catch rumblings of similar doubts and questions in today's Church and even in our own parish community. Whatever happened to those old established families of the East Side who built this church and supported it over so many years? They’re the ones whom we’d most expect to still be here, but for the most part they’re not. What have we done wrong? But the New Testament indicates again and again that such questions are fundamentally unanswerable. Why some people and not others respond positively to the good news of the Gospel is ultimately a mystery beyond human understanding. 

In the story of the Magi, Matthew’s implicit message to his church – and to us – is not to reproach ourselves over those who aren’t here, but instead to rejoice in, and celebrate those who are; and then to follow the Magi in bringing our best gifts to bear in worshiping the King and advancing his mission in the world.

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