Journey

“Journey”

Matthew 2:1-12

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

1/5/14

          Our journey began as many do - with nothing more than a hunch and a lump in the throat.  And all on account of that one star.

          I imagine that it seems foolish to some people, but back home in Persia we’ve been watching the heavens for generations.  We and our ancestors have watched the stars and the planets, and they’ve taught us how to divine sure paths by their dependable slide across the night sky.  So when we saw that remarkable star gather in the west like that, well, it was like a baby hearing its mother’s voice, like a sheep hearing the call of the shepherd.  There was nothing we could do but pack up, and haul ourselves, our servants and provisions enough for the lot of us across all those lonesome miles of dry, lifeless desert.

          There’s nothing quite like that kind of journey – going simply because you trust whatever it is that leads you, even if there are no words to describe what it is you trust and follow.  And as you follow, you see things, and you hear things, things that make sense only because you’re on that journey.  For us, the further we traveled, and the deeper into the mystery of that star we dug, the more we trusted it.

          Stars really are a faithful sort, you know.

          When we finally crossed that glorified trickle they call the Jordan River, we entered not only the land but also the stories of a people called the Jews.  The Jews believe in one God, Jehovah, who, they claim, creates, cares for, and governs pretty much everything, even the stars.

          Now, I have to say that they didn’t welcome us too warmly at first.  We kept hearing them whisper the word “Gentile” when we passed by.

          They began to warm up to us, though, because we really listened to them tell the stories about this God of theirs, about what they said Jehovah had done for them and promised to them.  They told us about a great exodus from Egypt many generations ago, and how Jehovah had led their ancestors through a vast, desert wilderness for forty years.  During that time, this here-and-there God appeared in person to a great prophet named Moses, and to all of them in pillars of fire and cloud.

          When we heard these stories, we began to think differently about the journey we had just made through our own desert, following the fiery brightness of that star.  We began to sense a connection between the two journeys.  And we wondered, Had this Jewish God, had Jehovah been with us and led us, as well?

          As we talked among ourselves, we decided that the star must have heralded the birth of some new Jewish prophet.  Maybe even a king?  So we made our way to Jerusalem determined to ask the ruler of Judea if he knew where we might find this child who held such promise and hope for the Jews – and possibly for us, too.

          Herod.  That was the ruler’s name.  And like many kings and princes who have decided that they have more to lose than to give, Herod was a fearsome sort.  Of course, he was nothing more than a puppet in the wide and grasping hands of Rome, but he was paranoid and violent.  Herod would stop at nothing to protect his power and privilege.  We would learn later that he had even executed his mother-in-law and three of his own sons when he grew suspicious of them.  Imagine that!

          Well, you should have seen old Herod’s face when we asked him where we might find the newborn King of the Jews.  He flushed, pale as death.  His eyes darkened, and he pulled his robe tight around his chest as if taken by a sudden chill.  For a moment we feared for our lives.  Then his thin lips widened into a fiendish grin, and a bit of color eased back into his cheeks.

          He turned to his nearest servant and said, “Quickly, go and fetch my dear friends, the Jewish priests!”  The poor man bowed and scurried through a doorway like a mouse into its hole.

          Turning to another servant, he said in a tone that tried but failed to hide his indifference to us, “And you, give our guests from the east some refreshment.  They’ve come a long way, and it would be most unkind not to give them something to eat or drink.”

          That servant herded us through a long hallway lined with exquisite tapestries and sculptures.  He led us into a large room where a sampling of Judea’s finest fruit and wine lay spread out on a long, wooden table.  I must admit, it was quite good.

          Soon enough Herod returned.  Once again, he looked as if he were trying hard not to appear perplexed and troubled, but clearly he was.  With a quick tilt of his head he dismissed the servant so that we found ourselves alone with this terrifying and terrified man.

          “So,” he said, “you seek a new king – a king of the Jews?  One just born in my country?”

          “We do, Sir,” said one of my companions.  “We saw his star rise, and we have followed it here that we may pay him our respects.”

          “Indeed,” said Herod.  “And just when did this star first appear?”

          After we told him, he dropped his gaze toward the floor for a moment.  When he raised those dark eyes, he said, “Bethlehem.  I want you to go to Bethlehem, and search for the child there.  And when you find him, My Friends, come back here and tell me where he is.  I would dearly love to visit him myself and pay him my respects, as well.

          “You will do this for me, won’t you?”

          “We will, Your Majesty,” we said.

          We had no desire to return to Herod, but we were too afraid to say anything except that which he wanted to hear.

          One of Herod’s servants took us out and set us on the road that led the mere half-day’s walk to Bethlehem.  Because night was falling, we decided to stay close to the gates of Jerusalem, but when the sun set, and the star rose to the south, toward Bethlehem, the starshine was more brilliant and its call more urgent than ever.  So we loaded back what we had begun to unload and trekked on through the night, following the star, trusting that it would lead us to the child.  And it did.

          Early the next morning we entered a small house, not the kind of place you’d expect to find a king.  To tell you the truth, we wondered if we’d gotten the wrong place, or even if the star might have led us astray.  But we had heard enough stories from the Jews we had met, like the stories about their greatest king, David.  David was the youngest son of a common shepherd named Jesse.

          It seems that when laying claim to future leaders of his people, Jehovah cares little for wealth, or noble birth, or the pomp and circumstance of education.  No, God looks first for humbleness of heart.

          When we told the parents, Joseph and Mary, what had led us to them, we expected them to dismiss us completely, but they said nothing.  Joseph just peered past us, as if into a room we couldn’t see.  And Mary turned her soft, mother’s gaze back to her child.

          Standing there in awkward silence with that simple family, a sense of uneasy joy began to well up within us, or maybe it was restlessness.  It’s hard to describe exactly what we felt.  We had expected to feel the satisfaction of a journey completed.  For many exhausting weeks we had followed the mysterious lure of the star.  We had created grand images and expectations in our minds, but finally there we were, in a very modest home in some Judean backwater town.

          It was then, when we had arrived and found ourselves standing around that finely-crafted wooden crib that it began to dawn on us: Our journey was not over.  Not at all.  In truth, it had just begun.

          So you see, it was not at the end but at the beginning of the journey that we left our gifts: gold, frankincense and myrrh.  Odd gifts, I know, but maybe such gifts are best given at the beginning.  After all they are the kinds of things treasured by the Herods of this world – and the Herods within us.  They are material things, things that must be carried around, displayed and protected.  Things like pride, arrogance, and jealousy, things that are best left behind when following not just a star, but when following that mysterious and overwhelming joy.

          Indeed, I have decided that that was the real point of those gifts.  They were things we did not so much bring to Jesus, but things that we abandoned for his sake.

          Shortly after our visit, all of us dreamed, and our dreams suggested the same thing: Herod’s desire to see the child was grounded in evil.  We could not risk a return to Jerusalem.  So we snuck out of Judea, guided once again by the unyielding faithfulness of the heavens.  And we came home.

          It’s been some forty years since our trip to Bethlehem.  And recently interesting stories have been making their way across the desert, from west to east this time – stories about a remarkable teacher, also named Jesus, Jesus of Nazareth.

          Jesus was a Jew, and he taught people about Jehovah.  He taught by example, mainly.  And through his life he made compassion, forgiveness and generosity the signs of the presence and the purpose of a loving God.  All of us who made that journey and who are still alive agree; Jesus of Nazareth must have been the same Jesus whom we met in Bethlehem.  Somehow Joseph and Mary managed to keep their son out of Herod’s bloodthirsty hands.

          Apparently, Jesus himself left some things behind.  It sounds as if he made his very life a kind of gift to God, because, as the stories go, he gave it up.  In fact, it makes me wonder: Did Herod get his way after all?

          Maybe.  But maybe not.  You see, even though Jesus died, other stories keep blowing in across the desert, as well – stories about how his death, well somehow it didn’t exactly take.  I don’t understand what happened, or what’s happening.  And I’m sure it’s not as simple as any one explanation might imply, but many of his closest followers claim still to experience honest-to-goodness relationship with Jesus.

          And the number of followers continues to grow.  All over Judea people are leaving distracting stuff behind: wealth, finery, positions of influence, even the belonging of family when some greater love beckons.

          Most interesting to me, however, is that many people are even leaving fears behind for Jesus’ sake.  I mean, you should see how people are turning their backs on Herod’s sons, even on Caesar, refusing to serve any other person, or country, or thing but Jesus.

          Just like we followed that star, people are eagerly following wherever this bright Light of love and grace may lead them.

          Charge:

          Darkness is being overcome.

          The light of God’s Christ is breaking over all creation.

          You are invited to follow.

          What distracting gifts must you leave behind for the sake of the Christ?