Lectionary Readings for Sunday, January 6, 2008

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, January 6, 2008
Epiphany of the Lord

Isaiah 60:1-6 with Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14
Ephesians 3:1-12
Matthew 2:1-12


Life has a language.
And scripture has a word for us this Epiphany Sunday.

Were this a commentary there would be many levels to our exegetical inquiry. We would unpack Isaiah's prophetic words that hold power in their own right, and wonder perhaps if they have been commandeered by Matthew for whom history itself is always a matter of fulfillment revealed in the life of Jesus. We might tack a date to the time of King Herod, we might search maps for the lands east of Judea from whence three magi appeared, we might even lift a page from planetarium shows to show how a supernova might have ensured that every set of eyes lifted towards heaven would take note of its light. We might compare and contrast the “overwhelming joy” experienced by the magi with the equally overwhelming fear that prompted Herod's paranoia.

But these reflections are not exegetical commentaries. Instead we hold our ear to the ground and lift our eyes towards the heavens to both hear and see what life is saying. We know its story will involve connection and disconnection, coherence in the presence of chaos, hope that shows us what to do, where to go, and how to shape our lives. We know it will be a story of blessing.

And it all starts with a star.

Which is to say, it all starts with a reference point.

Which life translates as coherence.

We look into the night sky, though perhaps not often enough in an age that is apt to forget the stars are even there, and notice the seemingly countless stars. Some are first magnitude, each saying, “Follow me.” Many we piece together as constellations, each with a story as powerful as Orion or as evocative as the Pleiades. We take them all in but we ascribe meaning to some of them, ordering that which is almost too vast to contemplate on a winter night. We know we could navigate by them if we needed to, we know civilization learned to track them long before our electronic age of GPS systems that can tell us exactly where we are but not where we are going.

But not so this biblical star. It had (has?) the power to inspire a journey, to lead the way, and even had a sense of ownership. It is not part of a mythical beast, it is not part of Draco the Dragon or Pegasus. Instead it is attached to the birth of a specific person in a specific time. It is always true that the gathering power of coherence threatens other configurations of power. Herod and, remarkably enough—how very sensitive we are to the whims of those in power—all Jerusalem felt fear run through their soul.

We learn something about coherence.

Its borders may be porous or impermeable. When they are porous they allow three magi, who knows what religion they practiced back in Ur or in Persia, to become part of a great journey. When they are porous even the heavens have a role to play. When they are porous a shepherd can become a ruler. When they are porous even angels have a voice in the celebration of creation.

When they are sealed fear rules the day. When they are sealed my “in” means your “out” and truth becomes a casualty. I have never been able to read this Sunday's text without thinking of the wolf talking with Little Red Riding Hood trying his best to deceive her. Fear always tries to create its own reality in which control is the lead voice. Coherence insists that we live with some set of boundary expectations, but life insists that some of its doors must be left unlocked, some of its windows open.
With this in mind . . . look for the boundaries and its openings in the text:

Matthew 2:1-12

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

'And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who is to shepherd my people Israel.'"

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

If the star catches my imagination, the last phrase can't help but catch my attention. The magi leave for their own country, a place where the boundaries are safe, a place from which they may both come and go as the occasion warrants. To arrive safely they must travel by another road outside of Herod's control. Such roads always exist. Sometimes they are physical, sometimes they are spiritual, sometimes we find them in literature, sometimes in art, and always in scripture. They allow us to thread our way through chaos and point us towards our reference point . . . a star known as life and a child whose name would be Jesus.

On this Epiphany Sunday, blessings to you as we all renew our reference point and continue our journey.

Soft walking,

Larry

I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
larry@leadingcausesoflife.org
Or
larrypray@gmail.com