"The Journey of the Magi" (Matthew 2:1-9)

During Advent – the season leading up to Christmas – we focused on the theme “Walk to Bethlehem.”  This culminated on Christmas Eve, when we metaphorically arrived in the city of David, the little town where Jesus was born.

According to Luke’s gospel, Joseph and Mary had to journey from their home in Nazareth to Bethlehem while Mary was pregnant. 

Matthew tells a different story.  In Matthew’s story, Mary and Joseph were already in Bethlehem, the town in which they presumably dwelled.  But Matthew does describe another walk to Bethlehem:  the journey of the three magi, or wise men.

So even though the stories are different, they both involve a journey. 

Because of that – and because of other details in Matthew’s story – one is reminded of the great journey God’s people took many centuries before, when Moses led God’s people out of Egypt and into the promised land.  That journey took forty years.  But as I’ve said before, it didn’t take the Hebrews forty years to get out of Egypt; it took forty years for God to get Egypt out of the Hebrews.  It took forty years to get Egypt out of their hearts and out of their minds.  It took forty years for them to embrace the new thing that God was doing, and to stop longing for the predictability and stability of Egypt.

Yes, we do like it when things are predictable and stable.  In a few days we’ll have to start writing 2014 on our checks, and darnit if I didn’t just get used to writing 2013.  It seems like as soon as I figure out how to use my cellphone, it’s become obsolete, and I’m handed a new one.  The procession marches on, and around each bend there is something new to behold.

The magi are rather mysterious figures.  At one point they were imagined to be kings, royalty from some far off country.  They were not kings, but they did travel from a far off land, a land of gentiles, which is why Matthew describes their arrival.  Clearly, the significance of Jesus goes beyond the people of one land, ethnicity, or religion.  God’s love is bigger than that.

These magi followed a star.  A star which moved ahead of them, first to Jerusalem, and then – changing direction – toward Bethlehem.  Some people today say that this star must have been a comet, or a supernova, or some other historical, astronomical phenomenon. 

It probably wasn’t.  Such things don’t move across the sky, reverse course, and then halt above a specific location – in this case, the house where Jesus was born.  What Matthew means when he says that they followed a star is that they followed the light – the light that shines in the darkness.  Light always symbolizes God’s glory, and Matthew uses the image of a light guiding the magi to signify that the one they were coming to see was, indeed, holy.

What do you think it was like for the magi as they made their long journey?  It must have taken weeks.  Yesterday I drove home from Sacramento to Long Beach, a journey that took me 6 or 7 hours of driving time.  Walking, it would take three weeks.  But perhaps the journey of the magi was much farther than that?

When they arrived in Jerusalem, they asked:  “Where is the one who has been born, the king of the Jews?”

That’s our question today:  Where is the one who has been born?  Where is Jesus? 

As we walk, as we journey through life:  Where is Jesus? 

Let’s narrow that down a bit.  During Advent – the four weeks leading up to Christmas – our theme was “Walk to Bethlehem.”  So, right there, we have something in common with the Magi.  We’ve been walking to Bethlehem, although the star led them first to Jerusalem.  And what do we hope to see once we arrive in Bethlehem? 

Why, Jesus, of course.

So we took a metaphorical trip to Bethlehem during Advent.  Each week we traveled a little farther on the path, hoping to arrive at Bethlehem on Christmas day and see Jesus himself.

Let me ask you:  Did you see Jesus on Christmas day?

In his book, Living Buddha, Living Christ, Thich Nhat Hanh tells this story:

“Many who looked directly into the eyes of the Buddha or Jesus were not capable of seeing them.  One man who wanted to see the Buddha was in such a hurry that he neglected a woman in dire need whom he met along the way.  When he arrived at the Buddha’s monastery, he was incapable of seeing him.  So whether you can see the Buddha or not depends on you, on the state of your being.”

I read this passage a few weeks ago, and it immediately reminded me of another story, one which some of you may familiar with.  The title of the story is “Where Love Is, God Is,” and it was written in 1885 by Russian author Leo Tolstoy.

It’s the story about Martin, who was a cobbler.  For those of you who are younger than I am, that does not mean that Martin was a dessert of fruit filling covered with batter and baked in the oven.  A cobbler is a person who makes and repairs shoes, and Martin was the best cobbler there was.

When I was just a young boy, the church my family attended – which included a number of people in the film and entertainment industry – would put on various plays, and one of them was the story of Martin.  I guess I must have been in the children’s chorus, because if I take the time and reach far enough back in my memory, I can still remember snippets of the song we sang:  “They call him father Martin, Martin the cobbler man.  He sits all day and taps away fixing shoes white, black, and tan…”

Anyway, for the sake of time, I’ll give you the shortened version of the story of Martin the cobbler:

Martin was a fine and honorable cobbler. He did his work well from his basement, which had only one window through which he could see the feet of the people walking by on the sidewalk.  He was still able to recognize most of the people by their shoes, because he had worked on just about every shoe in town at least once.

Martin’s life had been marked by tragedy.  His wife had died, and their children had also all died.  In his grief, Martin had turned his back on God.

One day a missionary visited Martin and encouraged Martin to open up his heart to God.  Martin began to read the Bible,  and was particularly moved by the story of the Pharisee who had invited Jesus into his house, and the woman who had washed and anointed Jesus’s feet with her tears,… and how she had honored Jesus but the Pharisee had been thinking only of himself.

“That’s me,” Martin thought, “thinking only of myself.”  Pondering this, he fell asleep, and while sleeping heard a voice that seemed to him to be the voice of God, telling him that God would visit him the next day.

Well, the next morning, Martin skeptically watched out his window for God.  Instead, he saw Stepanitch, shoveling snow. 

Well, Martin invited Stepanitch in, and offered him some food and warm drink, and they talked.  Stepanitch was so moved by Martin’s kindness that he broke down in tears.  Eventually he left, and Martin returned to his work, and to watching for God through his window.

A short while later a young woman with a baby walked by, and both the baby and its mother were shivering for lack of clothing. 

Martin invited them in, gave them some warm food as well as warm clothes and some money.  She left a short while later.

Then Martin saw a young boy stealing from an older lady.  She had caught the boy by his hair and was about to take him to the police.  Martin convinced the woman to let him go, and when she did, he then held the boy and told him to ask the woman’s forgiveness.  In the process, the woman told part of her story, and her hardships, and in the end, the boy offered to walk with her, helping her carry her bag.

By then it was evening. Martin was disappointed that God had not stopped by that day, but he still got down his Bible, intending to continue reading from where he had left off the day before, but the Bible actually opened up to a different page. 

At the same time, he saw some figures appear in the corner of his room, and he heard voices, but at first he didn’t recognize them. 

One said, “Martin, did you not recognize me?”

“Who are you?” Martin said.

“It was I,” said the voice, and Stepanitch stepped forward into the light, and then vanished.

“It was I,” said the voice again, and the woman with a baby stepped forward, and vanished.

“It was I,” said the voice a third time, and both the old woman and the boy stepped forward, and vanished.

And Martin looked down to his Bible, and saw that it had opened to this passage:

“I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ … ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’”

So let’s think back again to our journey through Advent, and our Walk to Bethlehem.  Who did you see?

Did you see people on the freeways and in the malls, frazzled and stressed out by the craziness of Christmas expectations?

Did you see folks outside stores ringing bells?

Did you see church leaders, choir members, pageant participants, and others frustrated with too much to prepare for and not enough time?

Did you see a man or woman on the street holding a cardboard sign?

Did you see a retail or grocery store worker with no smile to offer?

Did you see someone with sadness in their eyes because this Christmas they were missing someone they loved?

If you didn’t see any of those people – or you saw them, but failed to respond with kindness – then probably, you didn’t see Jesus on Christmas.  The star stopped, you walked in, looked at where you thought he was supposed to be … and he wasn’t there.

But if you did see those people, and you did respond with kindness… then you have already seen Jesus.

Christmas Day is past, but it’s not too late.  The journey continues.  And as we walk this journey, Jesus is there, just waiting for you to see him.