University Presbyterian Church - Chapel Hill, NC

Why did they go?

A sermon preached for University Presbyterian Church, Chapel Hill

Anna Pinckney Straight

January 6, 2007

Matthew 2:1-12

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: '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.'" Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

If you consult even just a few nativity scenes, it would appear that there is no question.  There were three wise men.  If you listen to the hymns for today, you’d think that their royalty was certain, too.  They were kings.

But certainty, of course, is far more our desire than a Biblical priority.

Fred Craddock tells this story[1]:

When I was eighteen years old, the pastor of the church at home, knowing that I had already indicated a desire to prepare for the ministry, asked me to fill in for him at a little church… [in] Tennessee, for a midweek service.  I was frightened to death.  I prepared what I could, and said what I could.  It wasn’t long, it wasn’t eloquent, and it wasn’t full of substance, but I got through it.  Almost.  Near the end of my presentation, whatever the subject was, I said something about the visit of the three wise men.  No sooner had I said that, than a man in the back of the room, and elderly man, stood up and said, “What gave you an idea that there were three?” Well, I was absolutely dumbfounded and silenced and frightened.  I was glad to get out of there and glad to get home…

I looked it up in the text again, and sure enough, I couldn’t find any indication that there were three.  I know tradition says three, based on the fact that there were three gifts—gold, frankincense, and myrrh.  But in my wise years I now understand that if there had only been three, they weren’t very wise, crossing that desert with all the bandits and marauders behind every sand dune and at every oasis.  Not wise men, if only three.”

How many were there?  We have no idea.  What were they?   We’re not certain of that, either.  That they were kings comes from the Hebrew Bible and not from Matthew at all.  Translators have generally settled on wise, but the word chosen by Matthew can also mean magician or astrologer.[2]   The grammar of the verse is such that we don’t even know if they were all men, it’s possible that the wise men were actually wise women and men.[3]  For all of our legends and stories and names like Melchior, Gaspar, and Balthazar, there isn’t much we know for sure, except that they went.

And so this text, this tale told only by Matthew, brings with it many questions.

How did the star tell them where to go?

Why did they tell Herod, an action which led directly to the slaughter of innocent children? 

Why did they bring those gifts, symbolic, but also frustratingly unhelpful gifts?

And then the question that is the predecessor of all the others, why did they go?

Maybe they had a deep hunger for something even greater than the stars they studied.

Maybe the star was so unlike anything seen before or since, so beyond what we can imagine, that they had no choice but to follow.

Or maybe they knew that sometimes, the most important thing of all is showing up.

It can be a difficult thing for so many of us.  Many of us who are busy people, who have long to –do lists and full calendars and so many good things competing for our time.

But from time to time we are reminded that the action that sustains the faithfulness of all of these others is one that is so simple and sometimes so much more difficult.  Showing up.  Refusing to give in to that temptation to gloss over what we are called to do.  To run on auto-pilot.

Showing up.  At worship.  At work.  At home.

Showing up.  Being present.  Completely.  Honestly.  Joyfully.

A few years ago, “When author Anne Lamott defended her practice of making her 14-year-old-son go to church even though he hates it, she was bombarded by critics who accused her of child abuse and brainwashing.  ‘We live in bewildering times and a little spiritual guidance never hurt anyone [she said].  Besides, left on their own, teenagers would opt out of many important things they don’t enjoy like homework or flossing their teeth. It’s good to do uncomfortable things. It’s weight training for life.’…. God also loves teenagers who don’t go to church, but such teenagers are deprived of seeing people who love God back ‘Learning to love back is the hardest part about being alive.’”[4]

It is important to show up.  At worship.  At work.  At home.  For those who are in need.  In places where care abounds and especially those places where love is a stranger.   When we believe.  When we doubt.  When we are doing great and when we are struggling.   Because we are in this together.  And we all have times when we need to be propped up in our leaning places and are counting on others to show up.

William Sloane Coffin was once asked if religion was anything more than a crutch.  “Of course it is a crutch,” he replied.  “What makes you think you don’t limp?”[5]

Showing up isn’t the answer.  It isn’t an obligation to be completed or an immunization against mistakes.

It is also something that can never be replaced or surpassed.  We never opt out of needing to be fully present in the places God calls us to be.

Sometimes we don’t get to know why we need to go or what it accomplished.  Did the wise men understand what they had done or did it take generations passing for the significance to be realized?

Sometimes, showing up, being fully present is like nurturing a forest that we did not plant and will see through to the harvest.[6]

And sometimes, showing up leads directly to the place where God needs us to be.

James Howell, minister at Myers Park Methodist Church, recently wrote about a time when he questioned his vocation.  It happened when a little girl in his congregation, Caroline, who had been baptized just a few weeks before, was suddenly diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. The day of the diagnosis, Howell accompanied the family to the best children’s hospital in the area, sat with them as tests were being done, and through it all felt useless.  There were all of the doctors.  They were smart.  They had a plan.  There was something they could do. 

“Here was a family in dire need, [he remembers] and I had nothing, absolutely nothing, to give…. Caroline's parents desperately craved one thing only: the life of their daughter.”  He asked himself, how can I ”live out the charade of praying for head colds and pacemaker installations when I was [am] totally impotent in the face of real pain.”

He even wondered, not being able to do anything, why he was still there.  The day wore on, there were more tests and finally a decision to do surgery in the morning.

“Caroline, having been poked and prodded, had been crying incessantly all afternoon and evening….

Then her parents asked me for a favor. "We are exhausted. Caroline won't stop crying. Could you hold her for a little while so we can step out and take a little break?" And so I took this child in my arms and rocked her. She cried, and I cried, and then having expended all her energy, she drifted off to sleep. I kept rocking her until her parents came back, a little bit rested, relieved to see her more peaceful. We placed her gently in the crib, and then I left them.

[Without my knowing it, this was why I was there]  so that on this day I could drive to [this hospital] and give two parents a little bit of rest--and to rock a very sick child to sleep, just to hold this little one who seemed to have as little hope as I did⁴

The wise men, in my estimation, aren’t just wise because they recognized a savior.  They are wise because they were willing to go.  To be there.  When there was nothing they could do or say that would add ornament[7] to the one who came to save.

The one who came to save.  The one who came to save even the wise men themselves. The wise men who came to give became the recipients. The ones whom nobody thought could be included in this Jewish baby’s vision.  Gentiles.  Foreigners.  Beyond salvage for most of the faithful people of the day.  The text tells us, they too were included in what God had to say as the Word made flesh.

God showed up for them. They showed up for God.

Is it any different for us?

The world is a bewildering place.  Even more so, I believe, for those of us who know of the star.  Who know of God’s vision, who despair at the difference between vision and reality.

Sometimes, the life of faith is about the things we deliberate about the least.   The things that seems the most insignificant.  And yet are nonetheless the things God calls us to do.  Showing up.  Being present. It is what we are called to do, and on this day in particular we recognize that it is what God has called deacons, elders, and trustees to do with us here and now.

Why did they go?  I don’t know.  But they got there.  May we be present, too.  At these sacred times and places.  At the table where we remember.  At the feast that is being prepared.