Mt 2:1-12
31 December 2000
Sunday before Epiphany / New Year's Eve
"Let There Be Light"
Last year at this time, we were awaiting the arrival of what seemed to be a great moment in history—the year 2000. There was round the clock television coverage of midnight celebrations all over the globe. My personal favorite was the fireworks display in London.
But as you recall, that wasn't the only reason we were keeping such a close watch on the events in each time zone. Everyone was wondering what the so-called Y2K bug would do when the clock struck twelve, or at least, what would happen by Monday morning, when most people would return to work.
It seemed to me that some reporters were a little…disappointed when calamity didn't strike. When midnight arrived in New Zealand, the first "technologically advanced" country to enter the year 2000, and the computers didn’t crash, the reply was, "Well, let's wait an hour and see what happens in Australia." Then, when nothing disastrous occurred in Australia, it became, "Well, let's wait an hour and see what happens in Japan"!
I can honestly say that I wasn't expecting computers to fail and power grids to go offline. (After all, we had been preparing for Y2K!) I had a different prediction, one about which I'm glad that I was wrong. I saw 2000 as the perfect occasion for all kinds of wackos to blow up stuff and to release deadly diseases into the environment. I know we had terrorism this year—we had far too much loss of life, but I'm not aware of anyone who used the year 2000 as their excuse for it.
Whatever the case, we've now arrived at the final day of the second millennium and of the twentieth century. (Another thing I said last year was that I could go along with seeing either 2000 or 2001 as the turning point. It's worth celebrating twice!) If you read the little article I’ve included in the newsletter, you'll notice that I mention how we're poised for advances—in both things that help and things that harm. Actually, we're always at that point, but the number on the calendar gives it added emphasis.
To the unknowns of the coming century, we may have the temptation to respond with fear. We can dwell on scenarios of everything that could go wrong. The future can be seen as a void, filled with darkness. This is not to say that we aren't to try to anticipate problems; rather, we must be wary of a morbid or despairing outlook that expects disaster, and so, becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.
To this vision of darkness we need something that provides light. Epiphany, which falls on Saturday this week, is a day that's all about light. It's all about the glory of God shining in Jesus Christ. It’s all about the appearance, or manifestation, of Jesus to the Gentiles—to the world. Our word, “epiphany,” comes from the Greek term epifaneia (epiphaneia), which appears in several places, such as 2 Thessalonians 2:8, 1 Timothy 6:14, and 2 Timothy 1:10, where we learn that “grace was given to us in Christ Jesus before the ages began, but it has now been revealed through the appearing [or through the epiphany] of our Savior Christ Jesus.”
Our gospel reading, the visit of the Magi, is the primary image we have of Epiphany. The Magi were very likely priests of the Zoroastrian religion, the ancient faith of Persia (modern day Iran). “Magi” has been translated “wise men,” “kings,” “astrologers”—none of which, standing alone, does the job very well. But whatever you call them, they’re the first Gentiles recorded in the Bible to see the Christ child.
But Epiphany recalls two other events. One is the baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist, an incident in which God speaks from heaven and identifies Jesus as his beloved Son. (This is the focus of next Sunday, which is called the Baptism of the Lord.) The other event is the wedding at Cana, during which Jesus turns water into wine. (And this isn't the kind of wine with a screw-on cap!) In his gospel, John says that this is the first of Jesus’ signs and that he reveals his glory (2:11). That’s something that all three images of Epiphany have in common: they manifest—they demonstrate—the glory of Jesus Christ to the world.
Now, as for Matthew and his story of the Magi, the basic outline of the story is a familiar one: the Magi notice a star which they interpret to signify a special birth. So off they go to Judea, asking questions about "the child who has been born king of the Jews" (v. 2).
The guy currently claiming that title, Herod the Great, known for his cruelty and paranoia, gets nervous when he hears about it. Calling together the religious leaders, he wants to know if anybody can tell him where the Messiah is supposed to be born. Quoting the scripture in Micah I mentioned last week, they tell him that it is to be in Bethelehem. Wasting no time, Herod arranges a secret meeting with the Magi to find out when they first saw the star. He then sends them to Bethlehem to locate the child and return with word of his whereabouts, so that he too may pay him reverence.
The Magi, upon finding the young Jesus and offering the presents of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, receive a dream that warns them against returning to Herod, whose intentions are less than honorable. So they take the bypass around Jerusalem on the way home! Looking ahead a few verses, we see that Herod tries to have Jesus killed, but fails.
Herod tries to stamp out the light that the Magi found. Not simply a light in the sky, the light they found is the one who enlightens all of humanity. The deeper we go into the epiphany of Jesus, the more wonders we find.
There's another modern, more secular, meaning to epiphany. It has the sense of a sudden awareness of truth, a flash of understanding. It's when the lights go on. I want to tell you a little story. I didn't write this, but I feel a sense of…rapport with John Artz, the author. It's the story of a personal epiphany:[1]
I suppose that most people never bother themselves with questions about the meaning of life. I, on the other hand, can't seem to think of much else. One day as I was driving home, I filled the empty moments with musings about the possible meanings of life. As the car bottomed in a dip and began to pounce over the next rise, I turned the wheel to the left and leaned into the turn to overcome the centrifugal force. Then it came to me in a flash. There were four principles basic to all aspects of life. These four principles could be combined in various ways to explain everything—why we are here, what we should do, why we are the way we are—every nagging question I had ever pondered. It was an epiphany. It was one of those two or three seconds in your life when it all makes sense. When you are one with wisdom and understanding. When there is no more asking, only doing. I raced through examples in my mind to come up with something that these four principles did not explain, but I could find nothing.
"Well," I thought. "I'd better write these down before I forget them." I had had moments of insight before and knew how quickly they could evaporate. I steered with my left hand and rummaged through the glove box with the other, looking for something to write with. I looked through every cubby hole in the car but there was no pen to be found. I looked around and realized that I was just minutes from home and that I could preserve the insight by just repeating it to myself for a few minutes. Once in the door, I would head to my desk and jot down these ideas before they decayed.
I pulled into the garage, turned off the ignition, pulled up the emergency brake, left the car and headed for the door.
When I opened the door, the kids were fighting over a Nintendo game. The cat was tormenting the fish. And my wife started rattling off a list of everyone who had called and left messages. Then she asked me what I wanted for dinner. I chased the cat away from the fishbowl, tried to negotiate a peaceful settlement between the kids, and then turned to my wife and said "What are the choices?"
By the time I got to my office only a few minutes had passed, but the inspiration had disappeared like a dream upon waking. It left a residue of that feeling of understanding, but nothing to hang that understanding on.
Many times I have reenacted that car trip in my head trying to recall the four principles but the muse of understanding never returned: until yesterday. As I drove home yesterday the insight returned—not the four principles, but the understanding. The significance was never in the four principles, but in the story about them.
What was most important weren't the particular ideas our friend came up with; it was the process itself. It was the experience of having the light come on, of experiencing an epiphany. Returning to the biblical understanding, what matters is experiencing the light—the glory—of God in Jesus Christ directly. And when that happens, the principles, the insights, the vision—all of that comes with it. We're changed for the better.
Thinking again about the Magi, we know that they were warned in a dream not to return to Herod to report the location of Jesus. Instead, as the scripture says, “they left for their own country by another road.” I believe they did just that. But I wonder if that statement isn’t also true at another level. These men had no idea what they would find when they set out on their journey. The Magi were accustomed to associating with those in positions of power. Surely the star they had seen heralded some change of regime, perhaps one who would bring even Rome to its knees. Who could know that the king of the Jews would turn out to be the humble child of a poor family? And who can say what effect this had on these wise men from the East? Perhaps in leaving “for their own country by another road,” the Magi also were choosing another path in life. How could meeting the Messiah, even as a child, not change them?
Epiphany reminds us that the light of Christ is for the entire world. And it’s also an experience of light that’s deeper than the words we use to describe it. Our words, our language, about God and Jesus and life in general give us a picture of reality. We talk about things; we use their names, but that’s not the same thing as actually delving into them. Part of our vision—I’m speaking of Banu and myself—is for all of us to go beyond the barrier that our words often construct, to break through that shell and, in a sense, bathe in the light of Christ. The image of the Magi is very helpful. We want to journey with you until we truly understand that Jesus is in our midst—and not just as a confession of faith.
But when we encounter the humble, holy child, we are changed—and we’re challenged. We see, by the light of the Epiphany of the Lord, our own lack of humility; we see our own arrogance. But thanks be to God, into the darkness that is so much a part of our lives, Jesus says, "Let there be light!"