LOVE, WONDER AND WISDOM

Sermon preached by Robert Shaw

(Matthew 2:1-12)

The three Wise Men are on track to reach their destination on January 6, the Epiphany; we are coming to their story just a little early in today’s Gospel lesson. At St. Philip’s, we try to keep in step with the Church calendar, and this year we have managed to send at least one wise man to a far-off land to visit a newborn child. The only downside of this is that this morning you are stuck with me.

In modern times the word epiphany has drifted away from any religious context. It is used by people—arty people, anyway—to mean any sudden realization, as in, “I had an epiphany that I was spending way too much on lawn care.” In scripture, the Greek word epiphany means “appearance,” and specifically it means the action of a spiritual being making itself known to human perception. Some Eastern churches, more decisively, use the word “theophany,” which means the appearance of God. This sense in borne out by the subtitle of the Feast: “The Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles.”

The Gentiles in today’s Gospel are the Wise Men, otherwise known as the Magi. They were members of a learned and priestly caste in ancient Persia, known for their skill in reading signs in the heavens. Matthew is not especially lavish with detail in describing them: he doesn’t even say that they were three in number, though this has been assumed from the three gifts they presented. People wanted to know more, and over several centuries the Magi had elaborate back stories created for them out of a rich stew of popular imagination. They were given names: Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar; they were said to have come each from a different corner of the known world; and excitingly, they were said to be not just wise men but kings. In this way they supported the Church’s claim of a new covenant, not one limited to Israel but rather available to all nations and people on earth.

For us today the idea of a king has lost a lot of whatever luster it once had. The only historical king in this story is Herod - in no way an attractive figure. Herod was a cog in the chariot wheels of the Roman Empire. He was empty and insecure, ruthless in lashing out at any threat to the limited power he had. History is full of his type—kings and would-be kings—and what history tells us does not honor them. Wise men, while they may be less plentiful in history, are a great deal more agreeable to study. And this year I find myself thinking about the Magi not only in regard to themselves, but with a focus on the way they are placed in this story.

Of course, the Nativity story we have in our minds is actually two stories put together: one from Matthew and one from Luke. Over the centuries people have more or less instinctively combined the two accounts, so that both the shepherds from Luke and the Wise Men from Matthew are included. This gives us a cast of characters in order of appearance, a procession, we might say, of witnesses to the birth of Jesus. Leaving aside the angels and the domesticated animals, we have three sets of human witnesses to the birth of Jesus and its immediate aftermath: his parents, the shepherds, and (coming last) the Magi. Each set of witnesses brings a particular quality to the event as it unfolds in the outbuilding of a crowded inn at Bethlehem.

First of all: Mary and Joseph. As they sat by their child laid in a manger, they would have been filled with exhaustion and relief, certainly. Just as certainly, their eyes as they watched over the infant were filled with love. And that love was a reflection of the love with which God made and cherishes the world. As we have recently heard quoted, from the Gospel of John: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). In the beginning, there was love.

And after love came wonder, according to this story. The shepherds, when they had got over being scared out of their wits, responded to what they heard from the angel, saying to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us” (Luke 2:15). And they did just that, and when they had made their visit, Luke tells us, “they made known the saying which had been told them concerning this child; and all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them” (2:17). After love came wonder, and wonder is contagious.

And then, a bit belated but in time, there came the Magi: wonder was followed by wisdom. About wisdom, a few points need to be made. Wisdom is something different from academic achievement. Back when I was honestly employed, I spent a great deal of time in classrooms, and less rewardingly, in faculty meetings. And I can tell you for sure: book-learning and wisdom are not the same, although fortunately they sometimes overlap. The Magi no doubt had the ancient Persian equivalent of a Ph.D. in Astrophysics, but that was not what made them wise.

Wisdom involves not only intellectual range and depth of knowledge, but also great patience, and its own capacity of wonder, a sense of how much more there is to know. And that awareness fosters emotional sensitivity, and brings with it a dose of humility. The Magi may not have been kings, but they were high on the social scale. It isn’t likely that they were used to spending time in stables, or that they would often be rubbing shoulders with those shepherds going out as they were going in. And yet the first thing these distinguished men did when they arrived was to fall on their knees before a homeless baby. And as the Gospel tells us, the Wise Men were afterwards blessed with a wise dream, so that rather than serving as Herod’s informants, “they left for their own country by another road” (Matthew 2:12). By playing their part in the story they complete the pattern I have been suggesting: here we see love, wonder, and wisdom coming together as though magnetized by the child Christ at the center. It is inspiring to recall the Magi’s journey as we continue our own. Inspiring and instructive, because we see the same pattern, the same sequence, shaping our own lives, don’t we? Love sets us going. Wonder keeps us growing. And with faith and patience, and after many turns in the road, we may arrive at a measure of wisdom.

Many years ago I wrote a poem on the Epiphany that touches on some of these ideas. As the reassuring title indicates, the poem is short enough to read here.

                   Twenty Lines for Twelfth Night

                   Wise men or kings—what matter which?

                   In the world’s wisdom they were rich,

                   else they would not have read a right

                   the comet’s darting code of light.

                   Of the world’s wealth a royal share

                   came with them on their camels

                   where the beacon signaled Traveler’s Rest

                   (accommodation not the best).

                   It was their lot at last to see

                   what wisdom is, and majesty,

                   kneeling upon the self same floor

                   where gawping shepherds did before,

                   not to omit the ass and ox

                   barred for a time from their feed-box.

                   Sure as the cross surmounts the crown,

                   Child, you turn things upside down:

                   lodging in kings a lust to flee

                   their courts for this low company,

                   led from the earth’s far ends to learn

                   the shepherds’ lesson in their turn.

                                               *

I'll let the Prayer Book have the last word. On this eleventh day of Christmas, it is not too early to read the Collect for The Epiphany:

O God, by the leading of a star you manifested your only Son to the peoples of the earth: Lead us, who know you now by faith, to your presence, where we may see your glory face to face; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.