Wise Ones

On Epiphany Sunday (January 5), Nashville UCC was closed because of the weather. This sermon, which I preached this past Sunday, was intended for Epiphany (the day when the visit of the Magi is celebrated in Christian tradition). It is certainly applicable, however, to more than just that day. If you choose to read it, you might find yourself in it somewhere!

Of the entire cast of characters who inhabit the Christmas story, none seem to inspire more quips than the Wise Men. Have you ever noticed that? The Wise Men are always the ones who receive gentle ribbing about their part in the Christmas story. We don’t make smart comments about Mary or Joseph. Why, we wouldn’t dare joke about the Holy Family! And the shepherds escape that kind of ribbing, as well. They may be rough and uneducated, but they’re sincere. We admire their headlong rush to find that baby!

But the Wise Men… you’ll find plenty of humorous quips about the Wise Men. I saw a Christmas card several years ago that pictured a richly dressed bearded man wearing a crown and holding a gaily wrapped package. He was being turned away from an open doorway by the stern man who guarded it. The caption read something like this: “Unknown to most scholars, a fourth wise man was denied entrance to the manger when it was discovered that his gift was a fruitcake.” And you have probably encountered the quip titled “Three Wise Women”: “If the Wise Men had been women, they would have arrived early, delivered the baby, cleaned the stable, cooked the dinner, and brought practical gifts.” Yes, the Wise Men seem to call forth all kinds of remarks.

I wonder why that is? Maybe we joke about the Wise Men because we really don’t know what to do with them. After all, they’re mysterious and exotic. We don’t have any problems with Mary and Joseph. We all have parents; and many of us are parents ourselves. We understand the inconvenience of a long journey during late pregnancy; and a difficult birth in a strange place. Even if we haven’t experienced it ourselves, we can imagine it. And the shepherds aren’t any problem for us, either. We may not know how it feels to sleep out in the fields with a flock of sheep, but we do know what it’s like to work hard 24/7 and then have people with more money look down on us for doing our job. We’d love to hear an angel’s song break into our lives and be the first ones to hear good news!

But we don’t have any connection with the Wise Men. They’re as different from us as baklava is from apple pie! We imagine them dressed in silks and brocades, adorned with jewels, and wearing turbans. When they pass by, we catch a whiff of strange fragrances – incense, sandalwood, and myrrh. And they ride camels, those exotic beasts who plod regally through desert wasteland and look down their noses with disdain at us mere commoners. It’s no wonder that we joke about the Wise Men! We tend to make jokes about things that we don’t understand; and we certainly don’t understand those Magi!

But we should. Despite their silks and turbans and camels, we have a lot in common with them. We’re really not all that different from the wise men in the hymn “We Three Kings.” Think about the words of the first verse for a moment.

            We three kings of orient are.

            Bearing gifts we traverse afar:

            Field and fountain, moor and mountain,

            Following yonder star.

            Oh, star of wonder, star of night,

            Star with royal beauty bright.

            Westward leading, still proceeding,

            Guide us to thy perfect light.

Who are the Three Kings according to the verse of the hymn that we just sang? They may be rich and exotic; but that’s not what the hymn emphasizes. They’re travelers, folks who are following the guidance of a star as they seek “the perfect Light.” We know that’s the Christ child, born in Bethlehem not so very long ago. And they have gifts for that child, gifts that will be explored in the next three verses of the hymn, before the final verse bursts out in praise. But right now, the most important fact about these Three Kings is that they are travelers. In today’s church lingo, we might even call them “seekers.” They’re looking for something so important that they are willing to go to the ends of the earth to find it.

Now there’s something that we can identify with; because we’re all travelers, too! Most of us aren’t traveling physically, although we do hop in a car and take a vacation now and then. But all of us are traveling spiritually in one way or another. We’re headed somewhere… and like the Wise Men, we’re not really sure where we’ll end up. In the words of a song from the Broadway show Paint Your Wagon, “Where are we going? I don’t know. Where are we bound for? I ain’t certain. All that I know is I am on my way.”

We’re travelling on all kinds of journeys. Some of us are on an intellectual journey, trying to move our minds from one place to another. Those of us who are on this journey can’t square the faith that we were taught as children to the things that we have experienced as adults. We’re asking questions like, “If God is love, then why is there so much hate in the world?” “Why doesn’t God answer my prayers?” And the biggest question of all, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” It’s a difficult journey, but it’s a good one. Others of us are on an emotional journey. Those of us on this trip believe in the Christ child with our heads, but we have never felt him in our hearts. And we want our faith to be real to us, not just a list of beliefs that we can number one through ten. This is a different kind of journey; but it’s just as good. And some of us are on an ethical journey. We want to learn what the Child is asking of us. We believe in the Child, and he is a reality in our lives; and because he is, we want to follow him better than we already do. What a difficult journey this is, maybe the most difficult of all three.

But at the end of all the journeys lies the Child. We know that he is the answer to every question that we ask, and the fulfillment of every need that we experience. When we find him, we have gifts to give him: gifts of wealth and honor and sacrifice. In fact, we will offer him those gifts during this morning’s worship. And those gifts are important, because they symbolize our lives that are dedicated to that Child.

But in the end, what he offers us is far more important than anything that we can offer him. He offers us himself. He offers us love and grace and peace, both in this life and the next. And he offers us his presence. In fact, when we find the Child, we will find something beyond our wildest dreams. We will find that the Child for whom we have been searching for so long… the Child who is waiting for us at the end of our journey… has been traveling with us all the way!

 

Symbols of Christmas: the Star

When we think of the Christmas star, we usually think of it as a historical event. But what if we look at it as a symbol? What if we consider what stars meant to the gospel readers in the early church? Can such an approach give it meaning for us today? Perhaps this sermon will help you do just that.

You may be shocked to learn that we really don’t know when Jesus was born. Oh, we celebrate his birthday on December 25, and there’s a very good reason for that. But what day was he was really born? We don’t have a clue. After all, the gospels don’t give us a date. Luke tells us that Jesus was born during the time that Quirinius was the Roman governor of Syria; but that only gives us a range of years. Luke also tells us that Jesus was born during a Roman census, forcing Mary and Joseph to travel from Nazareth to Bethlehem. But we can’t pinpoint Jesus’ birthday from that, either. News of any official Roman action – like a census – would have taken months to reach Judea. Who knows how long it would have taken to filter down to all the little towns and villages in the countryside; and then we have to allow for the time required to make preparations for it. No, the exact date of Jesus’ birth is probably lost forever.

So, why do we celebrate on December 25? Why not May 14 or October 23? Well, as it happens, when the early church became interested in celebrating the birth of their Messiah, several popular celebrations were already in place at just that time of year. One of those celebrations honored “the god of the unconquerable sun” (sun with a “u”). Just a small step was needed for Christians to change sun (with a “u”) to Son (with an “o”), and to change the birthday of a pagan god to the birthday of the Son of God. And why was the birthday of “the unconquerable sun” celebrated in late December? Why, because late December is the time of the winter solstice, when nights are the longest and it appears that the darkness will never end. You can’t miss the symbolism! Jesus the Christ brings light into our darkness.

But, I’m supposed to be talking about a star this morning. What does a star have to do with all this talk of light and darkness? That answer, too, can be found in ancient traditions. A star – especially a large, bright star – has always signified that a wondrous event has taken place. Specifically, a star appeared when an important person was born – a king or a priest. So, of course, we would expect that a star would appear when the King of kings was born, the One who was destined to rule everyone and everything!

But that still begs the question – Why a star? To answer that question, we need to move from history to symbolism. What do we think of when we see a star? What images does it bring to our mind? These days, we might answer “someone famous” – a movie “star” or a football “star.” But in biblical times, a star symbolized light – the light of wisdom and the light of justice. Stars symbolized characteristics that kings were supposed to use on behalf of the people they ruled. When a new king was born, a star appeared – a star that embodied the light of wisdom, justice, and compassion that the king would bring to his people.

Every now and then, I hear about some scientist who is trying to figure out what the Star of Bethlehem really was. These folks show up on National Geographic specials claiming to have discovered the Star’s identity. Some say that it was a comet. Others say that it was a supernova. Some even say that it wasn’t a star at all, but a conjunction of planets that were so close together that they appeared to be a star. And maybe one of these theories is correct. But in the end, this kind of investigation is missing the point. The Star of Bethlehem is not so much a puzzle that we solve, but a symbol of a mystery that we ponder.

By placing the appearance of that star on December 25, here’s what Christian tradition claims. In the darkness of the longest night of the year, a star appeared. It was summoned not by a human being, but by God – the only God, who had claimed the people of Israel as his own. It announced the birth of a king – the unconquerable Son of that very same God. It shone brightly enough to guide people to that king; and its position in the sky told them where that king had been born. It promised wisdom, justice, and compassion. It brought light where there was no light. The gospel of John says in poetry what gospel of Matthew tells us through his story of the star: “In him was life, and that life was the light of all people. The light still shines in the darkness; and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Stars still point the way to the Christ child, stars that we can see today. Let’s face it, we still live in a dark world, and sometimes we still need a star to help us find him. What are those stars that point the way? They aren’t stars in the sky; not today. No, today they are men and women whose lives reflect the light that the unconquerable Son came to bring to us – the light of compassion, justice, and wisdom. They aren’t celebrities who grace the pages of People magazine. No, they’re your friends and your neighbors! They live down the road from you, and they stand in line with you at Kroger’s. They lead Boy Scout troops and volunteer to be room mothers at school. They might even sit right next to you in the pew on Sunday morning! Their lives point to Jesus in all kinds of ways.

·         They forgive when forgiving is difficult.

·         They listen with their hearts, and you know that they care about your problems.

·         They are always more ready to love than to judge.

·         When they see a need, they do what they can to meet it.

·         They give of their time, their resources, and their lives.

·         They’re not perfect – but they reflect the life of the One who is.

They are stars who embody the mystery of love; and on the darkest night, they shine brightly to remind us that the Child of Bethlehem has come into the world to love it, to teach it, and to save it.

May a star shine brightly for you this year. May it light your way to the Child who was laid in a manger on Christmas Eve, and who lives with us forever. His light still shines in the darkness; and the darkness has not overcome it. Thanks be to God!

 

The Shepherd's Story

What would it have been like to be a shepherd on that first Christmas Eve? How would we have felt to hear the angels song and to have searched for the Christ child in a dark stable? In this sermon, I have tried to capture some of those feelings through the eyes of an old shepherd who saw the baby Jesus in person.

I remember that night very well. It might as well have been yesterday. Of course, it wasn’t yesterday; it was a very, very long time ago. I was just a kid back then. In fact, I was the youngest shepherd out in the fields that year – just learning the ropes. Old Judah, he taught me everything I needed to know. He taught me what to do when a sheep wanders off, and where to find the best pastures for the flock, and how to help a ewe sheep when she’s giving birth. He made sure that the other shepherds didn’t give me too much lip – you know, as I was the youngest, and all. But I knew that they would all help me out if I got in trouble.

After all, we shepherds have to stick together. Everybody looks down on us. We’re “not as good” as everybody else. Especially the priests – that holier-than-thou bunch that runs the Temple. They say that because we live out in the fields with our flocks – because we can’t wash our hands before every meal, and because we can’t make it into the Temple to sacrifice all the time – because of things like that, the priests say that we’re unclean. They say that God isn’t interested in us! What a bunch of baloney! It seems to me that God should approve of anyone who cares for the sheep that we need for our food and clothing, not to mention the Temple sacrifices! Why, King David was a shepherd himself when he was a boy; and our scriptures call the kings and priests “shepherds.” They’re supposed to take care of the people like we take care of our sheep; but the only people they take care of is themselves.

Now, I’ve gotten off the track. Oh, yes – I wanted to tell you about that night when I was a shepherd boy out in the fields with the sheep. I’ll never forget it, no matter how long I live. There are some things that you just don’t forget. It must have been around midnight. The sheep had all settled down; and the only shepherds who were awake were old Judah and myself – we had the first night watch. It was dark as pitch, but the stars were shining like torches – a thousand little torches shining out of the night. And then, without any warning, we were in one of those torches! The night around us disappeared into light, so much light that we didn’t know where to turn or what to do! That light formed itself into something right out of heaven; and I heard the light say, “Don’t be afraid. I have good news for everyone to hear. In Bethlehem, the Messiah has been born. You’ll find him wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” And then the light around us exploded into the light of a thousand torches, and it was like heaven itself opened. Beautiful singing was all around us: “Glory to God in the highest; and peace and goodwill towards all on earth.” We were scared out of our wits! But almost as quickly as it started, it was all over and the night was dark again.

We all saw it – old Judah, me, and all the rest of us. The Messiah had been born? In a barn? Now, I don’t know the scriptures that well, but I didn’t remember anything about the Messiah being born in a barn. We all figured that the Messiah would be born in a palace, being a descendent of King David and all. But after that announcement, we wanted to go and find that baby! At first, the shepherds told me that I should stay with the sheep while the rest of them went into town to look. After all, I was the youngest; and I got all the jobs that nobody else wanted. But then old Judah spoke up. “Let the boy go,” he said. That’s exactly what he said: “Let the boy go. I’ve seen too much to hope in any Messiah. I’ll stay here with the sheep. Let the boy go with you.”

So I went with the other shepherds. We ran into Bethlehem as fast as we could, and we looked for half the night. Do you know how many stables are in that town? Every house has a stable for the animals; and they’re all dark as pitch. We didn’t have any torches, so we had to poke around among cows and donkeys and goats from this side of town to that; and all in the dark. We looked everywhere! We looked in every stable after stable; but we finally found that child.

Oh, we knew him as soon as we saw him. Sure enough, he was lying in a manger sound asleep. His mother was asleep, too, all worn out from giving birth; and his father was standing guard over both of them, making sure that a cow didn’t accidentally step of one of them as they slept. I’ve never seen a baby like that, before or since. The stable around him was so peaceful, as though nothing could bother anyone there. Oh, I know, you think that this is just the yammering of an old man, and that I’m remembering the scene through romantic eyes. But I felt it; I really did! I’ve never felt a peace like that. And as I stood looking at that baby, I felt all the kings of Israel standing there, too – all the shepherds that God had sent to care for his people – all of them from King David right on down to poor Jehoiachin who was hauled away into exile by the Babylonians. I felt all of them standing at that manger, gazing at that baby just like I was. I was proud to be a shepherd at that moment – proud, and a little humble. Was this really the Good Shepherd who God had promised to us? Was this the One who would take good care of all of us like his flock of sheep? Was this baby really the Messiah?

Just as dawn was breaking, we headed back out to the fields. We told old Judah about the baby who was sleeping in a manger, and about the peace that we had felt as we stood next to him. Judah just shook his head. “A baby Messiah… in a barn,” he said. “Well… maybe. I’ve seen lots of people who claim to be the Messiah, but I haven’t seen a real one yet. They always end up wanting power and fame and don’t care a fig for the rest of the people. But a baby born in a barn, one who understands what we ordinary people go through… Yes, I could hope in that.” He stopped, and then he said slowly, “Maybe the birth of a baby is the only kind of hope there really is.”

I’m an old man, now; as old as Judah was then. Out of all the shepherds who saw heaven open and went to search for that baby, I’m the only one left. And I don’t know if that baby really was the Messiah. If he lived, he’d be a grown man now. He certainly hasn’t thrown the Romans out and taken his place on David’s throne! But maybe… maybe he’s not that kind of a shepherd. Maybe he’s a shepherd like I was – a shepherd who lives among his sheep instead of in a palace. Maybe he’s a shepherd who knows each one of his sheep, and takes care of what each one needs. Maybe he’s living right next door, and I don’t even know it. After all, he was born quietly; maybe he’s living quietly, too.

I’ve heard that there is a Rabbi who teaches the people. Great crowds of people listen to him. He says that the peacemakers are the ones who are blessed, and that the meek will inherit the earth. I hear that people who follow him know God’s peace. Now that’s the kind of Messiah I want, a shepherd who loves the people. Maybe I’ll go look for him, like I looked for that baby so long ago. If I find him, I’ll let you know. Maybe you’d like to find him, too.

 

Symbols of Christmas: the Manger

During Advent this year, I will be preaching about some of the symbols of a "traditional" Christmas. Specifically, I will be examining symbols that we don't even think of as symbols: the manger, the shepherds, and the star. We begin this week with the manger. I hope that if you choose to read this sermon, it enriches your Advent experience.

It’s Christmas time once again! We are all looking forward to enjoying sparkling lights, singing traditional Christmas carols, and arranging all the decorations that have graced our homes in years past. We set out stars and angels and nativity scenes with a tiny Christ child in a manger, surrounded by adoring shepherds and their wooly sheep. All those things are a part of what we call a traditional Christmas. But do we think about those stars and those angels and our nativity scene when we arrange them on our mantel? Usually not. We’re so rushed during the Christmas season that we don’t take time to think about the symbolism behind all the elements that make up a “traditional Christmas.” But there is deep symbolism behind stars and shepherds, and even behind the manger. So during this Advent, I invite you to slow down as we join in worship, and to consider with me the symbols of the season – stars and shepherds and angels. This morning, we begin by considering the manger in which Jesus was laid in the moments following his birth.

A manger. When we think about the manger at all, we usually think about how common it is. Anyone who cares for animals has a manger. We think about how Mary laid the infant Jesus in a manger because it was one of the only places available to her on that first Christmas night. We contrast its humbleness to the richness of a cradle in a palace; and we marvel that the King of the universe was born not in a palace, but in a barn. We anticipate his statement that the son of man came not to be served, but to serve; and we remember that he told his disciples that the meek shall inherit the earth. Yes, the manger is certainly a symbol of humility. But its symbolism goes far deeper than that. A manger, after all, is a feeding trough for animals. What do we put into a manger? Why, hay, of course – hay to feed the animals who eat out of it – hay that nourishes and sustains them. Animals have to eat in order to survive, just like we do. It’s no coincidence that Jesus was laid in a manger! The manger that held food for the barn animals was also the cradle for the Bread of Life, the One who nourishes and sustains us even today. The baby in the manger is the food for our souls. We remember that every time we hear, “This is my body, broken for you” during the sacrament of Holy Communion.

And here’s an irony. Even though Jesus offers us the finest food in the world – so fine, in fact, that money can’t buy it -- we insist on filling our lives with junk food! The most recent example of that is, of course, Black Friday, the celebration of commerce that traditionally begins the day after Thanksgiving. This year, however, the frenzy started on Thanksgiving Day itself. I’m considering renaming Thanksgiving from “Turkey Day” to “Stuffing Day.” We stuff the turkey, we stuff ourselves, and then we dash out to the stores and buy things so that we can stuff our closets with all kinds of things that we probably don’t need. But I won’t criticize Black Friday too much. It is one way for folks who must watch their budget to buy Christmas gifts for their families. It has its place. There are lots of other ways to fill our lives with junk food. We believe that all kinds of things will sustain us. Some people fixate on their appearance. They’re always at the gym or jogging around town. They watch their calories more closely than their bank balance. They fill themselves with the comforting thought that they are slender and beautiful. Others rely on their job to fill them. Their identity is all tangled up with what they do for a living. Their nutrition is a paycheck; or a polished nameplate on an office door. They forget that making a living and making a life are two very different things. And for still others, it’s status. These folks are only satisfied if they are the movers and the shakers, the ones that others look up to. They find their nourishment through other people’s opinion of them; and that’s a mighty shaky thing to rely on.

Now, I don’t want to give you the idea that any of these things are tools of the devil. Of course, they aren’t. All these things are fine if we keep them in perspective. Wanting to stay fit, enjoying your job, and considering what other people think of you are all good things. But they become a problem when we rely on them to give meaning to our lives. The only one who can give our lives meaning – the only one who can really nourish and sustain us – is the child who was born in Bethlehem and laid in a manger. That’s why he’s the King. Jesus isn’t our king because he lords it over us with power. Jesus is our king because he takes care of us. He feeds us in the place that we are hungry, the place that physical food can’t fill – that place that hides way down deep in the middle of our soul. He satisfies us in ways that go unnoticed by most people, but that are ultimately the only ways that really do satisfy us!

Look, here’s what I’m talking about. When we watch a woman wearing a threadbare coat put her last quarter into a Salvation Army bucket, we’ve seen a little miracle. Jesus has fed that woman so that she is able to give what little she has; and we’ve watched it happen, right in front of our eyes. We see Jesus at work again when we watch a well-to-do man serve split pea soup and ham sandwiches and cherry pie to homeless veterans at a soup kitchen. And we see it when little Billy asks to share his toys with his friend Kevin, because Kevin doesn’t have very much, and – as Billy himself admits – “I have lots of toys.” When I see this kind of evidence of Jesus at work, my soul is fed with the hope that Jesus will one day return and fill the world with the grace that we need so desperately. Maybe you feel the same way. But the evidence that Jesus is at work among us is made up of tiny little events; events that will never make it on to the 6:00 news. We have to look hard to see the evidence that the child who was born in a manger so long ago is still at work nourishing us with his presence.

During this Advent, I invite you to look for that hope. Look hard. Look in places that you might not otherwise look. Look for the results of the food that Jesus offers us. My guess is that you’ll see lots of little things that you might not have noticed otherwise. And when you do see Jesus at work, come back on Sunday and grab a handful of hay from the bucket in the back of the church. It’s good hay, good enough for a manger. (In fact, it’s some of the hay that I feed to my own horses.) Put that handful of hay into the manger that is sitting by the altar in the front of the church. It will be evidence that Jesus is at work in our midst, feeding us with his Spirit. By Christmas Eve, our manger will be filled with hay, ready to receive the Christ Child. And we will be ready to receive him, too.