After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in the territory of Judea during the rule of King Herod, magi came from the east to Jerusalem. 2 They asked, “Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We’ve seen his star in the east, and we’ve come to honor him.” 3 When King Herod heard this, he was troubled, and everyone in Jerusalem was troubled with him. 4 He gathered all the chief priests and the legal experts and asked them where the Christ was to be born. 5 They said, “In Bethlehem of Judea, for this is what the prophet wrote: 6 You, Bethlehem, land of Judah, by no means are you least among the rulers of Judah, because from you will come one who governs, who will shepherd my people Israel.”[a] 7 Then Herod secretly called for the magi and found out from them the time when the star had first appeared. 8 He sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search carefully for the child. When you’ve found him, report to me so that I too may go and honor him.” 9 When they heard the king, they went; and look, the star they had seen in the east went ahead of them until it stood over the place where the child was. 10 When they saw the star, they were filled with joy. 11 They entered the house and saw the child with Mary his mother. Falling to their knees, they honored him. Then they opened their treasure chests and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 12 Because they were warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they went back to their own country by another route." (CEB)
“As
Dreamers Do,” Matthew 2:1-12
The
African prisoners had just valiantly and violently won back their freedom from
the slavers who dared to sell them.
Aboard a tiny slave ship bound from Cuba, they immediately sought out
the direction of the sun—where it rose (in the east) would tell them in which
direction home was. By day, every day,
they sailed in this direction.
Yet
every night, two of the slavers who had been spared in order that they might
help operate the ship would take the wheel and turn it westward once more,
using the stars to tell which direction lay away from their prisoner’s homes in
Africa. The stars that might otherwise
have continued to guide the Africans to their homes were instead exploited by
their captors for a far more cowardly purpose.
And so, the ship made a zig-zag pattern up the eastern coast of the
United States before landing in New England.
The legal drama that ensued ensured the fame of the Amistad Africans, whose
valor was depicted in Steven Spielberg’s 1997 movie by the same name.
Like
most Hollywood stories, it was made into a movie because it was a compelling saga. It’s a compelling saga because it is one of
people risking much for that which we take for granted.
Of
course we take for granted that our default state is one of freedom. We need know nothing of how to lead an
insurrection, or navigate the high seas, or win over a complex legal system in
order to enjoy what it is to be free.
Neither,
then, must we know altogether that much these days to know God. After all, a great number of churches will
tell you that simply by getting on your knees and reciting a few words, you can
achieve permanent salvation.
Because
after all, salvation is a whole lot easier when someone else has done the work
for it.
And
those someone else’s who we think of—the disciples, Mary and Joseph, and most
importantly, Jesus—would, I honestly think, be astonished at just how easy we
have made it to become “saved” today.
There’s a reason we call it “cheap grace.” Sometimes, in religion, you get what you pay
for.
And
the story of the Magi illustrates this maxim perfectly—getting out of
spirituality what you put into it. They
put much of themselves in. They give of
their time, resources, and even physical safety without hesitation. And though Scripture does not explicitly say
so, Matthew implicitly says it all over the story—they reaped much religious
richness for having done so.
And it isn’t just the giving of the gold, incense, and myrrh—the gift of presence mattered, in many ways, a lot more than it does today. I realize that’s a bit of a stunner in this day of Facebook, where you wish someone a happy birthday by “liking” their status, but travel today involves next to none of the risks it entailed in ancient Israel. There’s a reason why Jesus begins His parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke with a highway robbery victim—He invoked a crime so commonplace that it ensured His audience knew exactly what He was talking about. And the Magi are traveling with those gifts—just like your mama told you never to carry a bunch of cash on you in case you get mugged…well, these fellas clearly weren’t listening to their mamas.
But Matthew tells us that isn’t the only risk the Magi took—they’re doing this at the behest of King Herod the Great—who got that moniker not by being a swell guy, but for all of the building projects he undertook as king, including the expansion of the Jerusalem temple. We know from Matthew that Herod is a capricious, ruthless, calculating ruler—immediately after this passage in Matthew’s Gospel comes the massacre of the infant boys of Bethlehem, and the descent into Egypt by Mary, Joseph, and the infant Jesus.
And
Herod is asking them to do this in secret—as verse 7 puts it, “Herod secretly
called for the wise men…then he sent them to Bethlehem.” What we remember as an act of devout worship
by complete strangers began as a cloak-and-dagger spy mission…still fit for the
Hollywood big screen, but certainly of a completely different genre.
So
the Magi are not just risking their personal resources—whatever it cost them to
obtain the gold, incense, and myrrh—and they are not just risking their time…and
as men who were able to get an audience with the King of Judea with relative
ease, their time was likely quite valuable.
They
are risking their own personal safety if they get caught, be it by highway
bandits or by Herod’s own soldiers, in which case they wouldn’t be robbed…they
would most likely be accused of high treason to the crown.
And
all for what? That’s the million-dollar
question, right?
They
took great risk because they show great love.
It’s
the moral we learn in Luke 7, from the woman who wept at Jesus’ feet in the
home of Simon the Pharisee—Jesus says to Simon, “I tell you, her sins, which
were many, have been forgiven, for she has shown great love.” As a woman in ancient Israel, she took great
risk in coming to Jesus alone. But she
showed great love, because she dared to dream that her sins were forgiven.
The
Magi took great risk in coming to Jesus, and I can only think it is because
they were like the anonymous woman—because they were capable of great
love. They were capable of navigating
the stars and undermining a king and proffering great material gifts because
they dared to dream that it could be so, that on the basis of a star, they
believed that the true King had come to earth.
And
in spite of all their risks, their lives were secured at the end of the story
on the basis of…a dream. We do not know
who warned them in their dream to not return to Herod, but we can presume that
they found their way home by that other road.
Their’s
is an example we would do well to follow as we begin this new year, casting
aside the shackles of what was a brutal December. Indeed, we have already lived through the
massacre of the innocents. Matthew
writes in quoting Jeremiah, “Rachel wept for her children, she refused to be
consoled, because they are no more.”
We
have wept for our nation’s children, for our world’s children, who are no
more. And we will continue to do so,
because, in the end, being Christian is to be as the Magi are…to be dreamers
capable of risk. To be dreamers capable
of feeling pain. And to be dreamers who
must, must be unafraid to turn themselves inside out and to assume all manner
of vulnerability when worshiping the God who made them.
It’s
what keeps that grace from becoming cheap.
It’s
what keeps our faith from becoming mere words and breath.
Their’s
is the road to follow…a road that twists and turns away from the Herods of the
world.
A
road that guides us by starlight to baby boy.
And
a road that has been trod by the many who have come before us.
That
is the moral of the Magi—that we must do as they did. We must do as dreamers do.
Thanks
be to God. Amen.
Rev.
Eric Atcheson
Longview,
Washington
January
6, 2013
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