WHERE WE FIND THE CHILD

Matthew 2:1-12

January 8, 2012 – Rev. Jerry Duggins

What a great story! A wondrous phenomenon in the night sky, mysterious kings, a fantastic journey, marvelous gifts. The last to arrive, the magi finally join the shepherds, the angels, Mary and Joseph, the animals and a number of other villagers beside the manger where the infant Jesus lay. The several week journey across the mantel is only representative of the years they seemed to have traveled in Matthew’s gospel. They are so late in fact that the shepherds are gone as well as the angels. There is no manger and no infant, no stable. Mary and Joseph have moved into a house and the babe has grown into a terrific two or three year old. They followed the star for quite some time when it finally came to rest over the place where the child was.

We have traveled further but none of us have taken a journey that lasted so long. I doubt that we can really comprehend their joy at finally reaching their destination. And yet, I do not understand why they did it and what they got out of it. They stay only long enough to deposit their gifts and then return home, never to be heard from again in the gospel.

Matthew makes very little effort to penetrate their thoughts. We are clueless as to what they may have learned in their journey, upon the arrival, or in their encounter with the Christ Child. T.S. Eliot has a marvelous poem that speculates on this, though they are obviously his thoughts that he has inserted into the experience of the magi.

Well, if the persons of the magi offer only an impenetrable veil, the plot of this story suggests a much more obvious metaphor: Foreigners follow a star to the place where the child is and experience joy.

One day, an amazing star appears in our night sky. We are not sure of its meaning, but it awakens a longing in our hearts. It reminds us of a hollow carved out in our souls that we have tried to keep hidden. Perhaps we do not leave right away and even after beginning the journey we do not take the most direct path. We have so much further to go than the magi: not just rough terrain and nasty weather but centuries of tradition that have accumulated words and layers of meaning, many of which have obscured the meaning of the child. We will arrive after the manger, after the house in Bethlehem, after Nazareth, after the sermon on the mount and an array of teaching and healing. We will arrive after the death and the resurrection and after the many attempts to redefine and reshape Jesus in our image and to suit our dreams. But if we can push our way through all these obstacles and arrive at the place where the child was, then perhaps we may know the overwhelming joy of these kings as well. If we can get behind the layers of interpretation to the place where we are witnesses to the truth that God chooses to live among us and walk beside us, even more that this “God-shape” fits perfectly in the hollow of our soul and satisfies the longing of our hearts, we will have found not only the place where the child was but the place where the child “is.”

Imagine for a moment a place you like to go that gives you rest, a sense of deep pleasure, a place that feeds your soul. It could be a room in your house, a local place you like to walk to or just sit at, or a favorite vacation spot, as in this poem I wrote this past week.

Where We Find the Child

Twenty hours by car, Michigan to Maine,

many opportunities for the quintessential question:

“Are we there yet?”

Once there, we celebrate arrival over and over again:

on a climb up Cadillac, a walk through Thuya,

lunch at Mainely Delights, dinner at the Burning Tree,

over a pie made by Bob after the blueberry picking,

seeing Doug again and listening to him explicate

the book of Romans in twenty minutes,

a browse through Port-in-a-Storm.

So many little arrivals, the island

feels like my own personal Bethlehem,

so much movement and yet a place over which the star

comes to rest,

no visions, no dreams, just a place to “pay homage” to the creator and nurture the child within.

Back in Michigan, at work again in the church,

the place where the world imagines the child to be

but sometimes, there is no infant in the manger

or even child in the house.

Jesus has grown up, died and been raised again

and we have raised him ourselves a thousand times over

and changed him to suit our dreams and visions,

to satisfy our agendas.

Still, even here, the star comes to rest

over a place where the child is:

the guest, given the tour - dinner on the day of release

from the hospital - forgiveness offered and received,

personal preferences surrendered.

We do sometimes get to enjoy the view from Cadillac,

a stroll through the garden,

our best moments often made over a meal:

Christmas tea with the women, Epiphany parties and potlucks;

and we do sometimes delight in the idiosyncrasies of our friends.

Overwhelmed with joy when the star finally stopped.

I too know the joy of arriving at a distant destination,

but to see the star stop

over a place that one can call home;

here is life’s greatest blessing and truest Epiphany.

Amen.