St. David's United Church

Matthew 2:1-12
Epiphany Sunday

A Sacred Romance
(part one in a seven part sermon series)

The stage is set for a great Hollywood production: a darkness hovers over the land as an evil king sits on the throne; a king capable of murdering anyone he suspects might usurp his power, including his own wife and two of his sons. No one is safe – not even family. The brutal monarch is propped up by an oppressive foreign power, in this case the well lubricated killing machine of the Roman army.

Into this darkness a child is born, which in itself doesn’t stop the presses, but it turns out that this particular infant holds more power in his tiny little finger than the Roman army and Herod could summon forth. Into a land heavy with shadows and to a people hungering for the light, a child is born, a luminous fragment of heaven in diapers.

It’s the stuff of Lord of the Rings or Star Wars or Harry Potter because it’s an ancient story that speaks to something at the heart of things. Into the darkness, against all odds, comes hope all dressed up as someone vulnerable, apparently weak, clearly the underdog.

Onto this strange scene arrive a few misplaced characters. You’d recognize them immediately because they’re clearly from ‘away’, like the woman in a birka in the Vancouver Hotel, or the man in a kimono riding the Skytrain. These characters, we don’t know how many – you might have noticed that Matthew never bothers to count them – come strolling innocently onto the scene, stop and ask directions at exactly the wrong place. In fact, this may be the very reason why men are so reluctant to ask for directions – look what happened the last time some guys stopped to get directions – they ended up in King Herod’s palace and were lucky to get out alive!

Herod may have been brutal, but he was no dummy. When the kings unwittingly announced that they were following a star which likely heralded the birth of a new king, he would be quite aware what that meant. Stars were associated with all the usual suspects: Alexander the Great, Julius and Augustus Caesar. Even Herod reportedly had his own star. The news about strangers from the east following a star would have set his hair on end.

Galloping away from the palace, the unsuspecting wise men waved good-bye and somehow stumbled their way to a manger and knew enough, once they got there, to honour him. Most any new born evokes a tender awe; I imagine the Christ child, poor and vulnerable, with the star’s light radiating off his face like a cosmic affirmation, powerfully touched the heart of these distant travelers. Eventually that night, they found their beds, slept, got up the next morning and, avoiding the palace like the plague, went home a different way. Then that’s it. Onto this magnificent scene the wise men wander in, get a few bit lines, then wander off the set, never to be seen again.

But have you ever wondered, why did they bother? What in the world motivated them to leave their family, friends, home, village, country to attend a baby shower of a couple they didn’t know at an address they didn’t have? Without GPS, without Google Earth, with only the stars as their compass, they set out in search for heaven knows what.

Because most of us have heard this story since we were quite small, we’re never caught by surprise by these characters who come wandering onto the set. Our response is rather nonchalant, as if a bus just pulled up pretty much on schedule. Right around the season of Christmas we look up and say, “Yup, here come the wise men over yonder hill, right on time.” But if we hadn’t been given the script in advance, if no one had shown us the answer page and instead we were just a bunch of peasant folk doing our chores, we’d be plenty taken aback when they came wandering into our village. What brought them here?

The question is rhetorical, because of course we already know the answer. We know because we’re the wise ones making the journey. Perhaps Matthew didn’t bother counting how many made the journey to Christ because there are countless wise ones making a journey of sorts to that scene where heaven is revealed in the most common barn.

So the question is turned back to us – what in the world inspires us to take uncertain journeys? Why in heaven’s name do we leave comfortable surroundings and familiar faces and put ourselves at risk stepping into the unknown?

Why have some of you served in the military? Why have some protested for peace? What made Janet Gear, at an innocent 20 years of age and to her parent’s chagrin, venture to El Salvador in the 1980’s to be a witness for the protection of endangered peasants? What made Betty Brown move to Bangladesh and take care of children as the director of a highly underfunded orphanage?

When 50% of marriages end in divorce, why does anyone risk the potential pitfalls and heartache of marriage? Back-up: why does anyone risk dating? The awkward pauses, the self-conscious anxiety, the effort to make a good impression and the despair if it doesn’t go well.

I believe the kings made their uncertain journey into a dark land for the same reason we take the risk of stepping into the unknown: our desire for life is stronger than our fear of it. Our desire for intimacy and companionship make it worth the difficult step of dating. For some, our desire for a soul-mate, for a life partner makes it worth stepping over the marriage threshold. And our desire for intimacy with God makes it worth the uncertain journey of faith. The wise men wouldn’t have left their front porch if it weren’t for that burning glow of desire someone had placed like a hot coal in their heart. They desired fullness of life, closeness to God, and were willing to risk bad weather, bandits, foreign countries, and failure in order to find it.

Desire has many faces, but we recognize it whether we’re dating, proposing, interviewing for a job, looking at a beautiful house, reaching out to hug a grandchild. The desire for life is at root a desire for intimacy, for relationship, for connection. So basic is this to human nature that a form of harsh punishment is to put a person in solitary confinement. Isolated, cut-off from each other, we can go insane. We desire intimacy; we want to be known, accepted, loved, well connected. Otherwise, we’d never bother dating and the wise men would never have bothered the hardship of the journey.

The wise men, of course, walk into a story that began in Advent in early December. This last Advent, we spent some time with longing. Our theme was “A Holy Longing,” and we explored how opening ourselves to longing had the possibility of opening our heart to God.

In Epiphany, a season of seven weeks this year, we’ll look at the particular longing that is desire, namely, our desire for intimacy, for collapsing into community, for falling into the arms of God. We’ll explore how our very human, physical desires are an extension of our very human, spiritual hunger for God. Perhaps there’s no better place to understand how heaven and earth intertwine than in the realm of love, which is why our theme for Epiphany is “A Sacred Romance.” Just as we want to reach out and take the hand of one we love, so our soul longs to take the hand of God, fingers intertwined, swinging in the breeze as we walk side by side. Just as our body longs for one to love, so our soul longs for the God of all life, whose heartbeat pulses through our own. Just as two lovers feel more complete together than when apart, the soul that finds its way to God realizes that God has been there all along. In the words of the Sufi poet, Rumi,

The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you, not knowing
How blind that was.
Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.
They’re in each other all along.A sacred romance.

Desire is a familiar tune to those of you who attend church regularly. Once a month we enact the deep desire of our heart by coming to the table. The hunger and thirst we talk about in the context of communion is not literal – we’re fortunate to be well fed – the hunger and thirst we have is for the grace of God, the vitality of the Holy Spirit, and the peace of Christ that shines like stars reflected in the eyes of a babe. Even though our stomachs are satiated, we still feel the pangs of another kind of desire – our hungry souls demand to be nourished. Our own soul grips our heart and will not let us alone.

And maybe, who knows? by the end of this Epiphany season, we’ll see how desire is tied to the thread of life and we’ll discover how we’re already open to the Sacred Romance. Perhaps, just in time for Lent, we’ll understand why anyone would bother getting off the couch, packing up a camel, waving good-bye to friends and lovers, and venturing by the light of a silver star onto a long, black road.

With God, always with God.

Amen.