I resorted to verse for this sermon to celebrate Epiphany and highlight the Magi. It was prepared for a small congregation which has heard too much from me over recent weeks. I don’t know – maybe verse is worse! The gospel for the day is Matthew 2:1-12
They’re not like us
They’re not like us
those wise men three.
We’ve flattened them out,
to two dimensional processors
across our Christmas cards.
That’s how we know them
those wise men three.
We’ve called them wise,
with balls of men
who’ve travelled so far.
But we don’t know that
they were three, or wise,
or even men. We don’t know
what else they carried,
or even what they wore.
The text doesn’t say
this and doesn’t say that.
This is what we’ve made them
camel-backed men
who’ve travelled so far.
Magi from the East
is all Matthew called them.
Let that name stick
to conjure up images
that make us like them
even though we travel
a different way,
from the west,
with the sun on our face
for the dawn of new day.
We too come as outsiders,
foreigners finding a way
from one place to another
along so many different paths,
some scarcely travelled.
How we got here
is quite the story
each one needs to tell.
Some by way of suffering,
others carried from cradle,
or a spirit making us friends
rather than strangers
carried away by grace
on waves of compassion,
or there was a word we heard.
Some have come the easy way.
Others have have found it
hard to find, picking out ways,
far more dangerous ways,
in small boats on giant seas.
We’ve walked from different places.
Some from disaster zones
of brokenness and treachery,
devastated by war, through the valley
overshadowed by death.
Some have come quickly,
a snap decision to put things down,
to run. Yet others
have slowly taken their time,
taking that long way round.
How did we all get here?
What were the paths we took?
What was the help along the way?
Who showed us where to look?
What wonder draws us together?
The Magi headed straight.
The highway was their way
to Jerusalem
to those in the know,
the priests, the teachers and king.
Little did they know.
They pointed another way
spying for Herod amongst the least
in little Bethlehem of Judea.
Just follow the star.
And here’s how we see them,
bowed down, on their knees,
their treasure opened,
a feast of thanks, all gold,
frankincense and myrrh.
Worshipping we see them.
Are we bowed down, overjoyed?
Are we not also
worshippers like Magi,
so called by Matthew?
Magi believe in magic.
They major in magic
and the wisdom of magic
which knows both its wonder
and the malevolence of magic,
the devilish tricks, lies
misinformation, false promises
the charms of cruel calculation.
This too is magic; dark arts
masked in malevolence.
But there’s a light
that shines in darkness
that makes us wonder the magic.
“Where did that come from?
How did that happen?”
That’s magic. Then
there’s the babies
Herod would destroy.
Have you seen how babies
light up worn-out faces?
That’s the magic we love,
the power that changes the world
turns the world around
and makes all things new.
That’s the magic to die for.
Then there’s ourselves:
how we got here to worship
the one who works magic
to make of us one,
like Magi we come
following a star.
It’s hard to believe
the magic which makes
so much of so little,
like a baby or even Bethlehem
or in the magic
that breaks the rules
and scatters the proud
raising the poor, the lowly,
always putting the last first.
There’s the magic
that spreads a table
and invites enemies around
to eat together to step
their way from hostility.
Magic even works in the dream
of sleep. Heed the warning.
Do not go back to Herod!
Always resist his charming ways,
the manipulation of greed and fear.
Forever choose another way,
the better way, the best way
the way that humbly builds peace
the way home found
in wonder, love and praise.
This is the challenge,
to stay the Magi way,
star-gazing like children.
Twinkle, twinkle little star
how we wonder what you are.
A star of wonder, a star so bright,
all gas and dust, perfectly balanced
in the gravity of a gracious God
who will stop at nothing
to make majesty of so little.
How did we get here?
What star of wonder called us
to bow our spirit to worship,
at a manger, an altar
reserved for Magi like us?
Endnote:
This week, as we face the decisions and distractions of daily life, let’s commit to keeping our eyes on the star – the light that calls us to humility, to peace, to worship. Whether in moments of joy or sorrow, may we follow the light that leads us home.
Acknowledgement:
For the first time I submitted the sermon draft to AI (ChatGPT) for feedback. I was bowled over by its better intelligence and the constructiveness of the feedback which encouraged me to continue with the experiment of preaching in verse. The endnote is taken from the feedback.
Grits and Grains 