Sermon – Epiphany 2016
Matthew 2: 1-12, Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a
Rev. Deacon Kitty Davis
Over the Christmas holidays, I observed aninteraction that occurredbetween by nephew-in-law and his two children. At the ages of 2&1/2 and 4&1/2 the little ones sometimes have a mind of their own, and they are not always ready to relinquishplaytimewhen an adult wants them to do that. It can be tricky to convince them that it is time to quit playing and get ready for dinner. But their dad knew how to negotiate. The deal was this – he would perform the magic coin trick twice, and then they had to go wash their hands before eating. There was rapid consent all around. It was an excellent tactic.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a quarter. He held the coin between two fingers of his left hand, and then covered that hand with his right hand. As he slid the right hand away, the coin disappeared, and he was able to convince them that the coin was no longer in either hand. He then reached behind his son’s left ear. Lo and behold, the quarter appeared. He repeated the gestures, in full sight of both children, and then pulled a quarter from his son’s pocket. The children weren’t the only ones that were fascinated. So was I. It was the wonder on their little faces that captured my attention. Such a comforting moment of family.
Then the dad announced it was time to wash hands, but sometimes there is room for further negotiations. His daughter had patiently waited her turn. He agreed that it was only fair for her to experience the coin trick too. Two times the coin disappeared from his fingers and reappeared from her body – once from behind her knee, once out of her blond curls. Her face had the greatest expression of total attention. She watched her father’s left hand so carefully, giving him ample opportunity to slide the coin at will. It seemed as if she were trying her utmost to fathom the mystery – the sleight of hand that was so very real to her.
Predictably, they asked for more. And although the dad is generally fairly strict with his children, he relented. Perhaps there really was no rush for dinner. Perhaps he was in a Christmas frame of mind. Perhaps he was as mesmerized as I by their trusting innocence, their rapt attention, their genuine delight. Perhaps he has heard, as have I, that true spiritual development flourishes in the state of Beginner’s Mind, when all is wonder and all can be believed – when intellect is replaced by faith and the manifestation of the Divine seems palpable.
It was into one of those rare moments that the Wise Men entered. They had left all behind. They were apparently men of esteem and affluence. They had studied extensively and prospered in an economic sense. They had the wherewithal to travel for months or perhaps years without visible means of support. They left everything behind – their careers, their position in society, their cultural mores and confinements.
These men – and we are not really certain that there were only three - left their homes for a foreign land, traveling through treacherous country, without guarantee of success, with the simple hope of their faith. Yes, they had scientific evidence – or at least evidence in which they put some measure of trust. But the accumulation of this information had occurred over years of searching – perhaps most of their lives. Such is the nature of the spiritual journey – rough terrain at times, the need for discipline and perseverance, and the uncertain evidence that there was any real payoff at the end. They pursued their Pearl of Great price, and that required the willingness to forgo all.
What they found was a commonplaceevent in the lives of humans - a familiar event that has made all the difference in the world in an extraordinarily uncommon way. The Wise Men saw what most of us have seen in our lifetimes. They saw a mom and a dad and a baby. They also saw less than optimal financial circumstances. They met people who were far less educated then they. Yet they perceivedsomething different – and not just because of the star. They walked into the shelter built for animals, and they perceived a presence – the Presence of God. It was so powerful that they prostrated themselves in deep gratitude, sublime worship, and complete surrender. Their hearts were filled with love – love and wonder and awe. They were filled with wonder not unlike the children I watched at Christmas. They saw something familiar to them and yet within that simple setting they sensed, they knew, the mystery of truth. God was present. God was in their midst.
These same men gave their customary gifts and then returned home, the Gospel of Matthew notes, by another way. They did this not only because they were warned in a dream not to return to Herod, but also because they were changed. They could no longer follow a familiar path. Recognition of the presence of God had changed them. The eyes of their hearts were opened. They had seen the extraordinary in the ordinary – just as we all may see – when we see through the lens of faith.
Loren Eiseley, in his book The Immense Journey, tells a story that illustrates the amazing connection between the world in which we live, that world that we perceive with our senses and our intellect and the world of the Kingdom of God that often seems to lie just beyond our ability to see.
Apparently Eiseley left his home for work one day and headed across a field near his house to reach the train station that was only a short distance away. He did this nearly every day, but on this particular morning, the fog was so very thick that Eiseley was unable to see. He found his way through muscle memory. Had he not been so familiar with the path, he could never have found his way. Suddenly he was caught up short by the most horrendous cawing he had ever heard. He was entirely caught off guard. His heart pounded at first.
And then he realized that the noise had emanated from a crow. Eiseley understood the cause of the alarm. The crow inhabits a world that is normally much higher than the world of humans. His outlook, his perceptions, his worldview had been confused by the fog. The bird felt as if he were being confronted by a horrific menace – an air walking man. Eiseley noted that in the fog, the world of the crow had interpenetrated with the world of the man. Through this unusual event, Eiseley was changed. Eiseley commented, “We (the bird and Eiseley) had come to believe in the miraculous, knowing in an unforgettable way that things are not always what they seem.”
Not unlike the presence of a baby – a real infant, born from his mother’s womb, a precious gift to any family – but this one was God made man. A God of power and might – yes – but power from Love, Might from Mercy. It was the reality of God made flesh – God giving God’s very self – that the Wise Men sought. Perhaps we – even when we do not know it – perhaps we seek that as well. Perhaps it is true unconditional love that each of us desires – undeniable acceptance, real forgiveness, unearned Grace. The kind that existed over two thousand years ago in a living child.
The Wise Men found something that from all outward signs was nothing of special significance, nothing especially majestic. They found a loving mom and dad, they found animals, they found a baby and a blanket and some hay. Yet they were transformed. They had stood in the Presence of the Divine – just as we do, if only we knew it. Seek and we will find. Knock and the door will be opened. We, too, can be changed through love. For the result of recognizing the truth that God exists in this work, in this universe - for all eternity – can make us whole and then shine forth in our lives through the eyes of our yearning and hungry hearts.