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Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YC, December 24, 2024

12 Wednesday Feb 2025

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Every summer, we hold a film series at Hickory Neck.  This summer, one of the films was movie called Children of Men.  The film is a dystopian film situated in London about a time in the future when the world has become infertile.  The youngest human, aged 18 has just died, schools and playgrounds are abandoned, a pall of grief and depression hangs in the air, and the world has become violent, unpredictable, harsh – with massive detainment camps of refugees and rebels fighting the government militia and civilians alike.  Into this setting, we meet Theo, a man who has lost hope and purpose, and we meet a young woman of color who would normally be in one of those detainment camps, who is secretly carrying the first pregnancy in over 18 years.  Theo’s world is thrown into chaos as he tries to get the young mother to safety so that the child will be able to live freely. 

In a powerful scene near the end of the movie, the mother has birthed her child in a dingy, rat-infested, crumbling room, and Theo needs to get her and the child to the safe haven.  But the crumbling building is overrun with rebels and a battle ensues as the military shows up.  In the din of violence and noise, the baby cries out, and all activity ceases.  Rebels hold their fire as they watch in reverence as the baby is carried down the stairs of the building.  The soldiers outside call for a ceasefire as the high-pitched cries they have not heard in almost 20 years fill the air.  Rebels, civilians, and soldiers alike stand in awe, many reaching out just to touch the baby and mother.  The awed silence is so palpable that even movie watchers hold their breath at this miracle.

I imagine that night from our gospel lesson was a bit like that breath-holding moment in Children of Men.   We know that Mary and Joseph are going to be registered in Bethlehem, but what we can forget is that Mary and Joseph live in a time of occupation – where taxes are extorted, registrations can drive folks from their homes, where rebellion against the state leads to death.  The mass movement of people for the registration creates another layer of chaos, leaving people jockeying for shelter, especially a couple so close to birth, and whose pregnancy is of a dubious nature from the beginning.  Even in the peaceful countryside where shepherds are just doing their work, a chaos of shocking news, a chorus from angels, and the blinding light of the glory of the Lord is shining in their normally darkened pastoral setting. 

And then, just like in that battle scene in the film, the shepherds arrive where the holy family have made due, and a whispered conversation leads to a stillness that makes you hold your breath.  But this stillness is not just about the miracle of life – no this stillness is about so much more – about a savior, the Messiah, who has been promised for generations who finally is here; about a promised peace in a world that has no peace; about promises for justice that Mary has sung about with her cousin Elizabeth, and now seems to be a reality.  Mary is so overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment that all she can do is ponder the words of the shepherds in her heart.

What is so unsettling about the parallels in this secular, dystopian film and the ancient biblical story is not just their similarities.  What is most unsettling is their similarities to our own time.  Our political landscape is just as unstable, conflicted, and threatening.  Our economic, mental, and physical health is just as unsteady.  And for some of us, our home life is a place of even more strain.  In so many ways, having ourselves a merry little Christmas feels like a stretch.  In fact, the very reason we may be here tonight – besides a family member telling us we had to come – is that we long for that moment of awe – that quiet, tremendous, encouraging peace that can only be found at the site of the Christ Child.  We want a word, or a song, or a meal shared that will leave us something to treasure and ponder in our hearts too.

That is what Christmas does.  Coming here tonight is not going to solve all our problems or the world’s problems.  In that movie, as soon as the child is out of sight, bombs and gunfire ramp up dangerously again.  At that manger scene, Herod’s paranoid tyranny means Mary, Joseph, and Jesus will have to flee to Egypt for safety.  And come January, we will have a transition in power in our own country.  But tonight, in this sacred space, we enter into a time of unfiltered joy.  We recall what matters most – the Savior born in a manger whose eventual salvation will give us meaning and purpose.  We lean into those gathered with us tonight – those who are family and friends, those who are fellow church members, and even those whose names we do not know – we lean into one another in this safe space of sanctuary, where none of the darkness outside can touch us – even if only for an hour.  We lay down any burdens on our hearts at the altar as we share a holy meal, fortifying ourselves for what comes next.  And we glorify and praise God, like shepherds who have seen a great light, and whispered holy truths. 

Now unfortunately, that tremendous gift, that sacred life-giving balm, is not without a price.  The price, is that we must leave this place, enter back into the dark of night, and carry on with life back out in the world.  Our invitation is to carry whatever light, whatever hope, whatever small sliver of praise and glory we find this night, and gift it to someone else.  To be like Theo, who refuses to allow the glory of a mother’s child to suffer; to be like shepherds, who share the good news of a Messiah; to be like your neighbor in the chair (pew) beside you, who is already thinking of someone who needs the gift of hope and healing who cannot be here tonight, but whom your neighbor will be sure to gift some of that love and peace to tomorrow.  Christmas is the Church’s gift to you this night.  You are Jesus’s gift to someone else tomorrow.  Amen.

Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YB, December 24, 2023

03 Wednesday Jan 2024

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Sometimes on Christmas Eve, we hear a bunch of strange words.  And instead of paying too much attention to them, our minds simply get cued that Christmas has begun.  But those funny words [that Chloe read so beautifully] – of Emperors, registrations, censuses, some guy named Quirinius, a bunch of town names, something about the line of David, and of a pregnant woman who isn’t quite yet married – all those words matter.  They matter because they set the stage for the birth of the Christ Child.  We often think of that birth as this simplified, sacred moment, where everything gets really still.  We’ll even sing Silent Night tonight.  But nothing about that night was remotely silent.  Joseph and a very pregnant Mary have journeyed over 90 miles[i] by donkey and foot.  The Emperor has created political chaos by forcing people from their residences to their ancestral homes – all likely in an effort to extort more money from strained peoples.  Into that upheaval and manipulation, we find the Bread of Life being born in the town, Bethlehem, whose name means House of Bread, in a bed that was literally used to feed. 

This year, I am especially grateful for the reminder that Jesus was born into the chaos of political manipulation, suffering, and tension.  Over the last many weeks, we have all been watching as the Holy Land has yet again fallen into chaos – as leaders fight over land, disregard human dignity, and desecrate all that is holy.  The images have been horrific:  from children standing in long lines with makeshift bowls hoping for enough soup to stave off starvation for themselves and maybe a little for their parents; to hospitals and other places that should be safe zones being decimated; to the Lutheran Church in Bethlehem whose creche this year placed the baby Jesus in a pile of rubble.[ii]  And although we associate Christmas with shiny lights, joyous songs, and abundant food and blessings, the reality of that first Christmas was much more similar to Christmas in the Holy Land this year.

Just this week, I read that Christmas in Bethlehem is cancelled – the very place that welcomed Jesus into the manger has once again had to close its doors to the Holy Family.  As Sophia Lee reports, “Typically, Bethlehem—a Palestinian city of about 30,000 people in the Israeli-occupied West Bank—is jammed with more than 3 million visitors coming from all over the world to celebrate the birth of the Messiah.  Marching bands and carol singers and dancers and fireworks would fill the city with loud cheer and festive energy.  Thousands would pack the Church of the Nativity, golden lights would twinkle across Star Street, and a giant tree with a ruby star would illuminate Manger Square.  Instead, the streets are dark and hushed.”  Christian leaders in Bethlehem report, “It will be a silent night this Christmas—but it’ll still be a holy night… Stripping Christmas of all its extraneous decorations and Western traditions,” they say, “will help them focus on the true meaning of Christmas.”  One pastor explained, “…if you look at the real story of Christmas, it was a story of pure hardship.  But God didn’t leave Mary and Joseph.  And they didn’t leave God.”[iii]

For weeks, I have been feeling like we would have to forego everything good and holy about Christmas – that celebrating this Christmas just did not feel appropriate or respectful of the devastation in the very land we are celebrating.  But the clergy of the Holy Land are paving the way to our Christmas celebrations this year.  Truth be told, Christmas was never about shiny lights, boisterous parties, and lots of presents.  Christmas was and always has been about the miracle of the incarnation – God taking on human form in order to bring us redemption and salvation.  And when God does something, God never does that something half-way.  If God was going to become human, God was going to become incarnate in super fleshy ways – not in shiny, idealized human ways, but in raw, earthy, messy ways.  Jesus came among us – not to the polished versions of ourselves we present to the outside world, but to the real, gritty versions of ourselves who actually need an incarnate God.  And I cannot think of better news than that.  This Christmas, in the midst of censuses, registrations, and funnily named places; in the midst of bombings, bloodshed, and loss; in the midst of anxiety, loneliness, and dissatisfaction, Jesus comes among us.  Jesus does not leave Mary and Joseph.  Jesus does not leave Palestinian or Jew.  Jesus does not leave you or me.  And that is good news for a merry Christmas.  Amen.     

[i] Timothy L. Adkins-Jones, “Commentary on Luke 2:1-14 [15-20],” December 24, 2023, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/christmas-eve-nativity-of-our-lord/commentary-on-luke-21-14-15-20-24 on December 20, 2023.

[ii] As found at https://www.facebook.com/christmaslutheranchurch on December 21, 2023.

[iii] Sophia Lee, “Bethlehem Cancels Christmas, But Local Pastors Still Expect a Holy Night,” Christianity Today, December 20, 2023, as found at https://www.christianitytoday.com/news/2023/december/bethlehem-cancel-christmas-christian-pastors-church-nativit.html on December 21, 2023.

Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, EP, YA, January 8, 2023

11 Wednesday Jan 2023

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When I first read our Isaiah text today, I had not remembered that Isaiah had predicted kings coming to the Messiah with gold and frankincense.  I was thrilled to see the pairing of Isaiah and Matthew today, thinking of how wonderfully the Old and New Testaments’ stories were being woven together.  And since Matthew is known for emphasizing the idea of Jesus being the fulfillment of the Hebrew Scriptures, I thought we could not have a better invitation today than to “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.”

But the more I read this week, the more I realized that the math is not so simple.  We do not simply get “Isaiah plus Matthew equals fulfillment.”  In fact, the introduction of Isaiah 60 helps us see that Jesus’ story is much more complicated than Jesus’ story appears at first glance.  Isaiah 60 is written about the city of Jerusalem.  About 600 years before Jesus is born, the people of Israel return to Jerusalem after exile, to a ruined city.  To these disheartened peoples, Isaiah writes this poem to encourage them and to predict the ways in which Jerusalem will return to Jerusalem’s former glory.  The poet believes that Jerusalem will be a hub of international trade, becoming once again a prosperous, productive city where, “Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” 

The wise men from the East in Matthew’s gospel likely knew of Isaiah 60.[i]  They journey to Jerusalem because they know about this text, and they bring their gold, frankincense, and myrrh because Jerusalem is where they expect to find this king of peace and prosperity.  But when they finally arrive to inquire of Herod about this new king, Herod panics.  Herod runs to his own advisors, demanding an explanation of Isaiah 60, wanting to hear all about these multitudes of camels and these extravagant gifts.  That is when the story takes a twist.  According to Herod’s chief priests and scribes, Isaiah 60 is not where these wise men should be looking at all.  Instead, the prophecy they seek comes from Micah 5, which says, “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.”[ii]  Herod calls for the wise men, tells them the actual location of this new king, and the rest is history.

What is interesting in this switch within Matthew are the differences between Jerusalem and Bethlehem.  Jerusalem is the city that Isaiah promises will be the thriving, prosperous city – where the king of kings could easily make his home.  And yet, Bethlehem is where the king actually appears.  Not in the thriving, bustling, shiny city, but in a rural, dusty, unpretentious town.  No one expects such a place for their king.  They expect their king to live in the beautiful, prosperous city they have developed, not in some shabby town that does not hold the same prestige as their glorious, revitalized city.

I have been wondering in what ways we too might be like most of the characters in this story – expecting to find greatness in our lives in the obvious places as opposed to in the less likely places.  As we emerge from the pandemic, we find ourselves tentatively trying to return to a sense of normalcy.  But the trauma of these last few years sometimes fills us of with longing about pre-COVID times instead of wondering what our new reality can be.  Yes, the pandemic hurt and continues to hurt many people, sending more people into unemployment, to food pantries, and to government assistance.  But in those supposed glory days before the pandemic, many of us were spending more than we had, assuming lives we could not afford, and forgetting the poor in the process.  In some ways our prosperity gave us permission to forget each other and encouraged us to focus solely on ourselves.  We got lost in the prosperity instead of finding the kind of people that God invites us to be.

What is interesting to me in our story from Matthew is the reaction of the wise men.  They do not scoff at Herod’s insight.  They do not hear about Bethlehem and begin to ponder whether they really want to see this journey through or not.  They, as learned intellectuals and powerful men, do not second-guess Herod’s new interpretation through Micah over Isaiah.  Instead, “rather than hesitate or resist, they reorganize their wealth and learning, and reorient themselves and their lives around a baby with no credentials.”[iii]  The funny thing is that Bethlehem is about nine miles south of Jerusalem.  These men, who have done numerous calculations, a detailed study of prophecies, and have already made a long journey following a star, have missed their mark by nine miles.  Though Herod shares the insight about Micah for personal gain, imagine how different the story would be had Herod’s chief priests and scribes not remembered Micah 5, let alone if the wise men had been too proud not to hear this fresh insight. 

The response of the wise men is one of letting go of one’s own expectations and trusting that God continues to reveal truth that may not be congruent with what hard work and experience would lead one to anticipate.  As one scholar explains, what the wise men learn is that the journey with God is “not about security and prosperity, but about vulnerability, neighborliness, generosity, a modest future with spears turned into pruning hooks and swords of plowshares.”[iv]  The wise men show us that the truly wise are always willing to accept that God may reveal truth that is counter to anything else we know, but that is full of greatness and joy.

Our invitation today is an invitation into the same boldness of the wise men.  Our invitation is to let the vulnerability of Micah disrupt the self-congratulation of Isaiah, realizing that although we might expect God to redeem us in the way we anticipate, granting us favor and privilege, we might instead experience that God redeems us through much more simple, humble ways.  Our invitation is to be bold enough to keep journeying with God, even when we are presented with information that might steer our journey in a direction we never expected or desired.  Our invitation is to remember that nine miles may not be a lot, but nine miles can be the difference between a manipulative, power-hungry king, and a humble, vulnerable king who can transform our lives into ones focused not on ourselves but on our neighbors and the greater good of all of us.  The question for us, both as individuals and as a community of faith, is what dusty road we have been avoiding.  The promise is that the dusty road will lead us to a connection with our Savior, who is so tremendous, that we too will drop everything and pay homage to our King.  Amen.          

[i] Walter Brueggemann, “Off by Nine Miles,” Christian Century, vol. 118, no. 35, December 19-26, 2001, 15.

[ii] Matthew 2.6

[iii] Brueggemann, 15.

[iv] Brueggemann, 15.

Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, Isaiah 60.1-6, EP, YA, January 5, 2020

08 Wednesday Jan 2020

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At our 9:00 am service today, we honor the feast of Epiphany with our annual Epiphany Pageant.  Every year I love watching the children and youth bring the Christmas story alive one more time.  Part of what makes the service special is hearing the story with fresh ears – not from a clergy person reading from the aisle like every other Sunday, but with a variety of voices narrating and enlivening the words, making the incarnation story more incarnate.  I love how the pageant keeps us in the Christmas moment one more week, and I love how the story brings all our Christmas characters under one roof, reminding us of the continual unfolding of the mystery of the incarnation.  Though there is something certainly endearing about the whole experience of a pageant, there is also something quite profound in a pageant too.

But what pageants can sometimes do is focus our attention so intently on the manger – on Jesus and his family – that we forget what happens outside the manger is just as important as what happens at the manger.  Even our beloved carol “We Three Kings,” draws us to the experience of the magi’s adoration in Bethlehem, without insight into what happens in Jerusalem.  This year, after hearing of registrations, of humble births, of angel choruses, of everyday shepherds spreading the Gospel, and of cosmic explanations of the incarnation, we turn our attention to Jerusalem.  Isaiah gives us some clue about where our attention is drawn.  “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you…Lift up your eyes and look around…”[i]  The instruction in Isaiah is not for Bethlehem, but the city of Jerusalem[ii] – the city where Jesus’ journey will end, the city for whom Jesus weeps, the city of eventual redemption and salvation.  There, Isaiah foretells of the incarnation, how the people of God are to reflect the light of Christ, and to pay attention to what is happening around them, to God incarnate.

Those words, “lift up your eyes and look around,” have been lingering with me this week.  Instead of looking deep into the scene at the manger or with the holy family, I am drawn by what is happening in Jerusalem.  Three things happen there.  One, we learn more about the magi.  The testimony of the magi is what most of us associate with Epiphany.  Foreigners set out on a quest, more attuned to the cosmic nature of the incarnation than the people of faith.  Their astrological findings do not simply fascinate them, but inspire action – a long, uncomfortable journey to see the incarnation for themselves.  As profound as their witness is, they are not able to complete the journey alone.  They stop in Jerusalem for guidance.  They know they are on the right path, they just cannot quite get to the proper place. And so, the magi stop and ask for help along the way.  They know something significant has happened, but they need guidance from people of faith to fully realize their journey.[iii]

The magi’s insightful question, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” is a question that brings in the second action.  The chief priests and scribes, the ultimate insiders of the faithful, those who hold the revelation of scripture and interpret scripture for the people of God, are given news that should be earth shattering.  When asked about the birth of the Messiah, the religious leaders recall what they know of the Messiah:  the Messiah is to be born of Bethlehem and is to shepherd and rule the people of God.  The religious leaders offer the key – the prophecy of scripture about the coming Messiah.  And yet, even though they have this scriptural foundation, they do not react to the news of the magi.  Even though these wise people profess this awaited Messiah has been born, the religious leaders do not drop everything.  They do not even ask to go with the Magi, just to check and see if this story might have something.  They may be versed in scripture, but their inaction shows that even insiders sometimes need outsiders to be faithful.[iv]

Finally, the third thing that happens are the actions of Herod.  Herod is probably the most fascinating to me.  He is wise too, even if he uses his wisdom for his own nefarious purposes.  Herod knows the announcement, even if from an outsider of a new king being born means his own kingship is threatened, and shows how fragile his rule is.[v]  But instead of acting impulsively, he manipulates those around him.  First, he calls in the religious leaders.  You see, Herod is not a Jew – in fact, he is a Roman, serving at the leisure of the kingdom.  But his subjects are Jewish, and so he is wise enough to seek their counsel on what a king, what a Messiah, might look like.  But instead of sending his religious leaders to check things out in Bethlehem, knowing they might discover a true king among them, he secretly sends the foreigners, hoping to manipulate them into doing the work of finding the king, knowing he will get news from them so he can kill this new king.  Herod is only worried about himself and his power, and he will do whatever is needed to maintain that power.

The foreign magi are so unfamiliar with the people of God, they do not initially understand the weight of their question about the new king.  The scribes and religious leaders are so buried in their scripture, and so keen to keep balance with secular power, they do not realize the messianic fulfillment right in front of them.  And Herod is so bent on keeping his power, he does not fully understand the power of God working all around him.  All three of these agents in our story need the words of Isaiah today – all three need to lift up their eyes and look around.

We are not unlike the characters in our story today.  How often are we so mired in our own power – as people of privilege and comfort, as Americans with power more globally, as members and advocates in this community – how often does a word about the movement of God, the promise of change, and the possibility of giving up some of our power to allow that fulfillment, make us just as nefarious as Herod – just as willing to manipulate the world around us?  Or how often have we steeped ourselves in scripture, scouring God’s Holy Word, longing for some sort of guidance or truth, not realizing truth is being spoken through another right to our faces?  Or how often have we been so intent on a mission, so focused on what we sense God calling us to do, we ignore the consequences of our actions, forget the power of our words?

Today’s scripture reading is certainly about the gift of the magi to us – the revelation of the incarnation, the insight of foreigners, and the abundance and homage the incarnation inspires.  But today’s scripture reading is also an invitation to consider our own response to that incarnation in the modern era, considering the ways in which we have not lifted our eyes and looked around.  Taking up Isaiah’s invitation to self-critique is important because there is also a promise in Isaiah.  You see, when we lift our eyes and look around, we acknowledge the narrowness in our lives, or we acknowledge the ways in which we are blind to our own power, or we discover the ways in which we even hide behind our faith, we are then able to see the promise in Isaiah.  Isaiah tells us to look around because glory of the LORD has risen upon us.  Isaiah says in verse five, “Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.”  When we talk about shining our light on this holy hill here at Hickory Neck, this is what we mean.  The gift of the magi to us is not news that is frightening.  When we are not hoarding power or hiding behind our intellect or comfort zones, the news of the magi is news for rejoicing.  And that rejoicing is light that draws nations, and kings, and neighbors, and strangers, and family members, and friends.  The gift of the magi is the invitation to let go of the things that feel under our control, and embrace the thing in no way we control, but in every way brings us grace, love, and abundance.  That is the kind of living that shines light from this hill and brings others to Christ’s light.  That is the light offered to us today in the magi.  That is the kind of good news worthy of pageants and proclamation today.  Amen.

[i] Isaiah 60.1, 4a

[ii] Rolf Jacobson, “Sermon Brainwave #701 – Day of Epiphany,” December 29, 2019, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=1216 on January 3, 2019.

[iii] R. Alan Culpepper, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 217.

[iv] Culpepper, 217.

[v] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006), 38-39.

Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, EP, YA, January 5, 2014

08 Wednesday Jan 2014

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When I first read our Isaiah text today, I was taken aback.  I had not remembered that Isaiah had predicted kings coming to the Messiah with gold and frankincense.  I was thrilled to see the pairing of Isaiah and Matthew today, thinking of how wonderfully the Old and New Testaments’ stories were being woven together.  And since Matthew is known for emphasizing the idea of Jesus being the fulfillment of the Hebrew Scriptures, I thought we could not have a better invitation today than to “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.”

But the more I read this week, the more I realized that the math is not so simple.  We do not simply get “Isaiah plus Matthew equals fulfillment.”  In fact, the introduction of Isaiah 60 helps us see that Jesus’ story is much more complicated than Jesus’ story appears at first glance.  Isaiah 60 is written about the city of Jerusalem.  About 600 years before Jesus is born, the people of Israel return to Jerusalem after exile, to a ruined city.  To these disheartened peoples, Isaiah writes this poem to encourage them and to predict the ways in which Jerusalem will return to Jerusalem’s former glory.  The poet believes that Jerusalem will be a hub of international trade, becoming once again a prosperous, productive city where, “Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.”

The wise men from the East in Matthew’s gospel likely knew of Isaiah 60.[i]  They journey to Jerusalem because they know about this text, and they bring their gold, frankincense, and myrrh because Jerusalem is where they expect to find this king of peace and prosperity.  But when they finally arrive to inquire of Herod about this new king, Herod panics.  Herod runs to his own advisors, demanding an explanation of Isaiah 60, wanting to hear all about these multitudes of camels and these extravagant gifts.  That is when the story takes a twist.  According to Herod’s chief priests and scribes, Isaiah 60 is not where these wise men should be looking at all.  Instead, the prophecy they seek comes from Micah 5, which says, “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.”[ii]  Herod calls for the wise men, tells them the actual location of this new king, and the rest is history.

What is interesting in this switch within Matthew is the differences between Jerusalem and Bethlehem.  Jerusalem is the city that Isaiah promises will be the thriving, prosperous city – where the king of kings could easily make his home.  And yet, Bethlehem is where the king actually appears.  Not in the thriving, bustling, shiny city, but in a rural, dusty, unpretentious town.  No one expects such a place for their king.  They expect their king to live in the beautiful, prosperous city they have developed, not in some shabby town that does not hold the same prestige as their glorious, revitalized city.

I have been wondering in what ways we too might be like most of the characters in this story – expecting to find greatness in our lives in the obvious places as opposed to in the less likely places.  I saw a news story the other day about how housing costs have finally started recovering and are on the rise.  The commentator mentioned that although we had a long way to go before we are back to our pre-recession numbers, the increases are promising.  The commentator’s observation made me wonder how much we as a people in this country are caught in looking backwards instead of wondering what can be our new reality.  Yes, the recession has hurt and continues to hurt many people, sending more people into unemployment, to food pantries, and to government assistance.  But in those supposed glory days before the economic downturn, many of us were spending more than we had, assuming lives we could not afford, and forgetting the poor in the process.  In some ways our prosperity gave us permission to forget each other, and encouraged us to focus solely on ourselves.  We got lost in the prosperity instead of finding the kind of people that God invites us to be.

What is interesting to me in our story from Matthew is the reaction of the wise men.  They do not scoff at Herod’s insight.  They do not hear about Bethlehem, and begin to ponder whether they really want to see this journey through or not.  They, as learned intellectuals and powerful men, do not second-guess Herod’s new interpretation through Micah over Isaiah.  Instead, “rather than hesitate or resist, they reorganize their wealth and learning, and reorient themselves and their lives around a baby with no credentials.”[iii]  The funny thing is that Bethlehem is about nine miles south of Jerusalem.  These men, who have done numerous calculations, a detailed study of prophecies, and have already made a long journey following a star, have missed their mark by nine miles.  Though Herod shares the insight about Micah for personal gain, imagine how different the story would be had Herod’s chief priests and scribes not remembered Micah 5, let alone if the wise men had been too proud not to hear this fresh insight.

The response of the wise men is one of letting go of one’s own expectations and trusting that God continues to reveal truth that may not be congruent with what hard work and experience would lead one to anticipate.  As one scholar explains, what the wise men learn is that the journey with God is “not about security and prosperity, but about vulnerability, neighborliness, generosity, a modest future with spears turned into pruning hooks and swords of plowshares.”[iv]  The wise men show us that the truly wise are always willing to accept that God may reveal truth that is counter to anything else we know, but that is full of greatness and joy.

Our invitation today is an invitation into the same boldness of the wise men.  Our invitation is to let the vulnerability of Micah disrupt the self-congratulation of Isaiah, realizing that although we might expect God to redeem us in the way we anticipate, granting us favor and privilege, we might instead experience that God redeems us through much more simple, humble ways.  Our invitation is to be bold enough to keep journeying with God, even when we are presented with information that might steer our journey in a direction we never expected or desired.  Our invitation is to remember that nine miles may not be a lot, but nine miles can be the difference between a manipulative, power-hungry king, and a humble, vulnerable king who can transform our lives into ones focused not on ourselves but on our neighbors and the greater good of all of us.  The question for us, both as individuals and as a community of faith, is what dusty road have we been avoiding.  The promise is that the dusty road will lead us to a connection with our Savior, who is so tremendous, that we too will drop everything and pay homage to our King.  Amen.

[i] Walter Brueggemann, “Off by Nine Miles,” Christian Century, vol. 118, no. 35, December 19-26, 2001, 15.

[ii] Matthew 2.6

[iii] Brueggemann, 15.

[iv] Brueggemann, 15.