Sermon Text - Jan. 6, 2008
“Sometimes You Can’t Explain the Most
Important Things and Other Reflections by One of the Magi”
Matthew 2:1-12
Rev. David Kratz, January 6, 2008
(Impersonating: One of the Magi)
Rev. Susan Towner-Larsen:
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 have 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. 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.
Rev. Kratz:
Would you join me in prayer? O God who guides the stars and the brief orbits of our lives, to whom these human hearts have been lifting praises since the beginning of time, we join our hearts with theirs, we offer you our thanks for this place and for this day, for these minutes together, however fleeting they may be. We thank you for this earth from which we come and for these seasons of light that give the season of the earth wonder and joy. We offer you our words, and we pray that you will listen to us and guide us to the heart of things, to your very own heart. And when we arrive may we know the wonder and freedom and honor and majesty of your homecoming, for Christ’s sweet sake. Amen and amen.
We old men, what do we have but our prayers? Oh, well, maybe that is all we have, eh? Especially I always like to pray when I come into a room. It settles me. I know where I am. I remember to whom I am speaking. May God’s name be praised.
Now, I know you expected a king, with a nice robe in fine clothes and with many gifts to offer to you, someone magnificent with, as you say, star power, yes? There was a time when I aspired to be such a man. A king, yes, at least a man of means. It wasn’t the money, I said to myself, no, not the money, it was being first rate, a person of note. I did not have the royal blood flowing in my veins. My family was not of the royal court. So I would never really be a king, yes? And I never had the stomach to be a politician, a courtier as we used to call them.
No. I could never be a king. And I didn’t want to be one of his men. They called me a magus, a wise man, as you say. I was never so arrogant as to imagine that I would know everything, but to know something, something useful. It really was all I ever wanted to be. I studied my books, I did my apprenticeship, I worked hard.
You see, I spent my life studying the stars, with my books and my telescopes and my dreams. I became someone you would consult with about your life and your problems and I would read the stars and I would see how the seasons and the stars and the families aligned and then I would explain it to them, I would explain their destiny, I would help them with their problems and they paid me money. I don’t want to sound arrogant, but I was good, I was very good.
There is something alluring, almost seductive about being able to explain things, don’t you think? There’s something alluring about being able to look at the data, the evidence and come to a conclusion and how it would all come together and you would have this ah-ha. I lived for those ah-ha moments, when the world seemed to come together and I felt as though I had god and the meaning of life at the end of my telescope, at the tip of my pen, at the conjunction of the stars. That is a very seductive thing. And we all knew that something was happening in the stars, the Persian Astrological Association got together at quarterly meetings and we knew something was up.
We weren’t sure it was a star. One never knows about those things, really, whether it was just the way we came together and expected it, a kind of mob expectation. Do you know what I mean? You expect to see something and there it is before your very eyes, it’s there. We saw something and we decided to go, eight or ten of us or so, with our servants and our cooks and our teamsters and our camel drivers and we went. Why did we go? Maybe it was just the times, the times saying “Go!”
Somebody had to go and maybe we were the ones to go. Maybe we were just bored with our consultations and our work. Maybe we just needed some adventure. It’s possible. It’s possible it was really the calling of God. That’s what my brother-in-law, Baruch said. He said it was a sign of the Messiah coming to his homeland in Judah and it was a promise to a man named Balaam, the fulfillment of a promise to a man named Balaam. Such a strange name, Balaam. My brother-in-law Baruch says that the only thing that Balaam was noted for besides this promise was that he owned an ass that talked, a talking ass. Odd.
We went, who knows why, we left; we certainly thought it was God testing us when a sand storm took away our tent, off of our bodies in the middle of the night. Oh, we were very sad, when Artemis took a whole week to die in the desert and we were very sad and mad when Khalid decided to take all of his servants and camels and go back. Interesting. It was the most important trip of my life and I can’t tell you how long it lasted. Interesting, how some of the most important things we cannot put into words.
It seemed to last forever, like we would never get there; like we would never arrive at our destination and sometimes in a starless night I remember thinking maybe this whole thing was a lie.
But we knew we had to get to Jerusalem. We did arrive in Jerusalem; everything happens in Jerusalem. History runs through Jerusalem, certainly it had to go through Jerusalem and when the stars were lost and we were lost we went to Jerusalem to meet that old cantankerous windbag of pretense, Herod.
You know him. He is the one you need to ask because he knows everything. His paranoia demands it. And yet you hate to ask for information or anything because he’ll turn it to his own greed. We stopped and we asked and he turned to his wise men, his Magi and Biblical scholars and they went to their books and their telescopes and their dreams and they found that the child would be born in Bethlehem.
It’s not that the answer was so wrong, no, the answer was quite right. It’s just that they were so pleased to have found it and to be satisfied with finding the answer and getting a pat on the head by Herod and maybe a raise, I hope they got a raise. And then they stayed in Jerusalem with Herod. Odd, isn’t it, that they found the truth and they did not follow it. I don’t know many things after this long trip, but this I know: truth is not for the having it, it’s for the living of it.
The trip between Jerusalem and Bethlehem is not so far as miles go, no, just a short way as far as miles go; but it was a whole new universe for me, to come to that place where the stars in the eyes of that young child in a crib brought me to my knees. It’s the longest trip of my life, from a camel’s back to my knees, certainly the longest trip of my life. And what happened there?
Sometimes we can’t find words, we can’t explain, we can’t know why it is that we found someone to worship in that place. Maybe it was the stars in his eyes. Could it be that stars came out of the sky and dropped in his eyes? Eyes that I could gaze upon; maybe it was his hair, black hair; the shape of his forehead, the way his smiles were all wet and wiggly.
There was certainly a different kind of light in his mother’s eyes, we reflected in all the worry and pride of a mother who is having the one. Maybe every mother thinks she’s having the one who will save us from our emptiness and our sadness and our death and our little selves. Maybe. But this I know. I know I found someone to worship and someone who looked at me with sublime eyes. And it was enough.
And it’s enough to listen to an old man this long. So I will go and you have a long year ahead of you and I wish you well on your journey this year. Just one thing, from one old man, your destiny is not in the stars. May God bless you with enough discomfort to leave the stars and find your place on the road. Thank you.