Jim Melnyk: “Two Kingdoms, One Hope”
There is something strangely
fascinating – and at the same time fascinatingly strange – about the whole Magi
scene in Matthew’s Gospel. We meet these Wise Men – these astrologers – these
Magi – in chapter two of Matthew’s gospel and never hear from them again. Wise Men
who come from the east to Herod the Great having followed a star of great light
– a star they believe to be a portent of a great birth. Tradition records them
as three in number, though the story is silent on that count. Perhaps because
three gifts are mentioned we assume there must have been three Magi. But that’s
just an assumption of legend that we have translated into tradition.
It is fascinating that these Wise
Men would first show up on the doorstep of a ruthless monarch whose power hung
at the whim of Rome, and then ask where to find the one that Herod could only
view as a usurper – a pretender to the throne – a pretender to his throne!
It is fascinating
that the journey of these learned folks would bring them to the tiny,
out-of-the-way village of Bethlehem. How out of place these foreigners – these aliens
– must have seemed with their caravan, their strange clothing and accents, and
with their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.
In fact, the story as a whole is so
strange – so out of place in some ways – that we don’t even tell the whole tale
in our Sunday lectionary. On the Feast of the Epiphany, or on the Second Sunday
of Christmas if we choose, we read about the Magi’s visit to Herod. On this day
we have the option of reading that same portion of the story, or the option to read
about what happens after this momentous visit, or even something completely
different from Luke about Jesus as a young boy in the Temple. But in every case
we leave out the three verses from Matthew that show just how vicious and cruel
and coldblooded Herod was. When Herod learns he has been tricked by the Magi –
when they refuse to return and bring word back to him of the young Jesus, Herod
has every male child two years of age or younger living around Bethlehem put to
the sword in an attempt to assure his rule. It seems that in every generation
it is our youngest, most innocent fellow human beings who are always most at
risk.
Matthew’s birth narrative is one
filled with dreams and plots, with twists and turns, with genocide and fear, as
well as promise and hope. No wonder we mostly gravitate toward Luke’s Christmas
story with his angels and shepherds gathered with the Holy Family around the
manger.
Speaking about Matthew’s take on the
birth narrative, theologian Fred Craddock writes, “Matthew’s point is clear:
there are two kings; there are two kingdoms, one of violence, one of peace. Violence
has its sword drawn against peace, but at every turn, Herod’s attempt to
destroy Jesus is thwarted by the will of God revealed to and carried out by
Joseph.”[1] In
fact, I might add as an aside, the point of two kings and two kingdoms
eventually comes to a climax not only in Matthew’s Gospel, but in the combined
tradition of our faith, on that day we have come to call Palm Sunday – a day
when two triumphal processions – those of Pilate and Jesus – make their way
into Jerusalem as Passover draws near.
Our story this morning, complete with Wise Men from the East, a
homicidal king, the young Jesus, his mother Mary, and the dreamer Joseph, serve
to remind us that the hope and promise of Christmas was born – is born – into a
world filled with danger – a world closed to the messenger – to any messenger –
who brings Good News. Bethlehem, for all the wonder of Christmas morning, is the
place where there was no room in the inn, a place of political intrigue and danger
– a place that would, if allowed, see the quiet joy of Silent Night silenced
once and for all – because the promise of Christmas is a danger to all who
stand in opposition to the grace of God.
Shortly after this morning’s portion
of the story the Holy Family flees Bethlehem at the urging of God’s messenger
in yet another dream for Joseph. As one commentator puts it, “This is no trip
back home to greet doting grandparents, and to make arrangements for a
christening at the family parish. This is three ‘little people’ running for
their lives. Refugees. Affected by circumstances beyond their control…they set
out for an unknown place without any visible means of support. No maps, no
credit cards, no embassy connections, no 800 numbers for roadside assistance.
We must ask: is this the Queen of Heaven riding donkey-back for hundreds of miles
with a newborn? Is this the Son of
God, the Princeling of Peace running for his life from a two-bit dictator? Or
is this more nearly a picture of everyday human frailty and vulnerability? Is
it of Haiti? [Or our southern border, or Afghanistan? Could it just as easily
be a story about the South East, Puerto Rico, or the Bahamas after yet one more
hurricane] – or whatever the most recent tragedy [that] has struck?”[2]
For all the joy and wonder of Christmas,
we must always remember the vulnerability of God becoming human flesh within
the Bethlehems of this world. Bethlehem is the place of danger – it is the
place of Herods, both ancient and new. We recall the Holy Family fleeing the
wrath of Herod the Great in the middle of the night, and we may want to flee from
our own Bethlehems as well. Yet we must not flee the place of danger lightly. We
must recall that the Holy Family’s flight to Egypt was for a short while – that
eventually Jesus had to return.
Escape from danger isn’t ultimately what Jesus’ mission and message is
all about. Escape from danger – from risk – isn’t ultimately what being church
– being followers of Jesus is all about. In the fullness of time Jesus not only
returned to Israel, but he began a ministry that stood square in the face of
yet another Herod, as well as the religious elite of his day, and the very
powers of Rome. Being in the dangerous places of life can be transforming and
strengthening – and they are the only places in this world where we can face
down the Herods and claim the life-giving promises of our God for ourselves and
for the world around us.
Perhaps the Good News of this
passage – The Duplicity of Herod – is that we don’t candy-coat our faith if
we’re willing to stick with the stories in their fullness. “God comes to us
most profoundly in the darkness, and out of the darkness…. We come to God, and
God comes to us at that sacred intersection – [that moment and place when we
most want to flee to a safe place – those moments and places where in our faith
journeys we come face-to-face with the evils of this life – bigotry and hate,
abject poverty and need, selfishness and greed, missiles and bombs – that sacred intersection] where we can’t
think our way out, will our way out, study our way out, rationalize our way
out, or eat or drink or drug out way out.”[3] We
cannot bluster or bulldoze our way out either, for that matter. Either we flee,
or we welcome God’s presence and power to stand firm in the darkness and bring
forth light.
Even when we step back from the Herod’s of this world it is only for a
short while – to catch our breath – to find our bearings – to reconnect with
the Word Made Flesh Who Dwells Among Us Still – to be strengthened for the
journey back. As Julie Polter, an associate editor at Sojourners magazine
writes, “We may think the only trick is to remember and believe in the grandeur
of God, the miracles, the road to Damascus conversions, and the angelic choirs.
Perhaps,” she concludes, “the harder trick is to remember and believe in the
steady, sturdy part of salvation, the work-roughened hands holding us up –
[God-with-us in the daily grind of life – with all its pain, with all its
boredom, and all its glory.]”[4]
And in the end, I find myself thinking the hardest trick of all is finding a place of faithful balance between Bethlehem and Egypt in the midst of the everydayness of life – seeking and serving Christ in all people, and proclaiming God’s love to all. Amen.
And in the end, I find myself thinking the hardest trick of all is finding a place of faithful balance between Bethlehem and Egypt in the midst of the everydayness of life – seeking and serving Christ in all people, and proclaiming God’s love to all. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment