Sermon for Epiphany Sunday  
The Rev. Deacon Judith Jenkins
January 5th, 2014

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany:  The story of the Magi who traveled from the East --following a star - a story that involves a journey.

We have heard the word Emmanuel - "God with us" during these last weeks and hopefully we have all taken some time to ponder what that real means for each of us!  I grew up in a church with the name Immanuel; and I have to admit that as a young child, learning that those words meant "God With Us,"  I assumed that our Presbyterian Church really did have an edge on all the other churches because we must, after all, have had first dibs on GOD BEING WITH US!!!!!!

The word Emmanuel and the meaning of Epiphany are part of the same wonder to which we are all celebrating.  From the Greek word "epiphaeia", meaning "appearance" or "manifestation" we are talking about the appearance into our world- of Jesus.  This time was a foretaste of what would become an extension of Jesus' ministry to the Gentiles.  Emmanuel, God with us, is truly an epiphany proclaiming that Jesus Christ is Savior of the whole world and that God's promise of salvation to Israel now applied to all the peoples of the earth.

Much Christian folklore surrounds the Magi.  The term East is vague, undefined, but it certainly points us to the entrance of a foreign people into our Bethlehem narrative.  Why did these people come?  Or when? Whether it was six days after the birth of Jesus or months or even years, the beauty of the story is to ask ourselves:  What is revealed to us in this story, and how are we to respond?

I'm impressed that the wise men paid attention -- they noticed that a new era was dawning and they were drawn to the "Light" to the star.  It's true when we refer to  Epiphany we are usually referring to the Feast which marks the celebration of a star appearing to lead wise men to the Christ Child.  

However, that is hardly the only epiphany in the Bible.  From the very first book -- from the beginning of our history with God, God has been revealing God's self to us!!!!

         To Adam and Eve in the garden
         To Abraham and Sarah in the desert
         To Moses in the burning bush
         To Paul in a blinding flash on the road to Damascus
         To all of us in a baby born in a stable!

Our God is a God of Epiphany!  a revelation of  Emmanuel - God with us!

And so it was that God chose a people to be God's people.

     God told Abraham that he was chosen so that his family could be a blessing to all people
   
     Through Isaiah, God told the people that they were chosen to be a light to the nations.

     Paul was told he was to carry the light of Christ to the Gentiles

     Christ told his disciples that He was the Light sent to the world
     And, you and I are meant to be the light to the world as well!!!!

Even if we did not ask, God has been clear about why we have been chosen and to what we are called.

The people of God are to be an epiphany!  a revelation of who God is and how God loves this world --This is what is revealed to us in this story!

         How are we responding to our calling to be a light?  (Think back over this last week – these last few months – the past year of 2013!)

Well, it's not always easy to be the light.

When all is going well for us, do we forget sometimes that we are the light that is to shine in the darkness for others --others who are not sensing the light at this time in their lives?

When we are seated around our tables, comfortable in our homes that are warm and safe, surrounded by those we love and who love us, do we forget those who do not have this security in their lives? I was reminded so much of this as a group of us from St. Michael's and San Gabriel shared Christmas day dinner at AOC, a shelter for men who do not currently have a home.

When events in our church community happen in which, we don't feel comfortable or the circumstances in which we find ourselves are not to our   choosing, do we neglect our responsibilities to be the ambassadors of Christ's light?

For the last many months it has not always been easy to be a light within our community at St. Michael's or even in the diocese.  Sometimes the darkness comes close and touches the people we care about.  Sometimes we are uncertain about the journey ahead of us where things feel unfamiliar -- unknown.  That's when we remember the journey that the wise men were willing to take --into the unknown- because they were searching for the meaning of the star – following the light!

This is the meaning of the epiphany -- a revelation, a paying attention to the light!  and a willingness to allow the Light to be shown in us.

Rabbi Nahum says that when Moses sees a bush on fire which is NOT consumed, it is not that the bush is burning, but rather that Moses NOTICES!  The Wise Men noticed the star and they left home, the most familiar of places, where expectations were understandable -- yet they ventured out toward the unknown, the unfamiliar.  This was a not unlike the journey of Sarah and Abraham.

Like any journey we all have discovered some rough spots along the way.  Our story tells us that the Wise Men paid attention once more -- and then responded to a warning in a dream to not return to Herod, but to go home a different way.  I know that when I take the time to have some space – some reflective time – that I’m more likely to pay attention to things that I might just miss otherwise.

Our Wise Men paid attention -- they noticed and then they responded!

A little over fifty years ago, two children rode in a limousine following the horse drawn caisson carrying a flag draped coffin that carried their father to his place of rest in the National Cemetery.  Their mother and their uncle walked outside behind the caisson and the children were alone in the limo with their Nanny. Carolyn, just seven years old had just been told about her beloved father's death.

What happened as the procession moved along is the moment when a secret service man paid attention to what might have seemed an inconsequential detail!  This agent, walking in the procession -- closest to the limo carrying the children, took notice of a small hand which was suddenly extended out one of the back windows.

Instinctively, this secret service man reached over and took hold of Carolyn's small hand. He held it tightly in his until they reached their destination.  I suppose he could have been reprimanded for that act since that was definitely not part of his job description;  but nevertheless, this man noticed and responded;  and a little girl whose heart was breaking found some measure of comfort in that long walk to the National Cemetery.

We too are an Epiphany People who are called to notice where God is leading us and to respond.  Sometime it may be one of us who reaches out the window and needs someone to squeeze our hand-- or other times we may need to be like the secret service man and reach out to care about someone else!  Let’s not let people fall through the cracks in our community!!!

We are to be so close to the heart of Jesus that we can’t help but allow the light of Christ to shine in us and through us!.

AMEN

January 6, 2013
The Feast of the Epiphany
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

If I were to give a pop quiz this morning on the liturgical seasons, I imagine that almost everyone could say something intelligible about Lent: penitence, prayer, self-denial, things like that. Some of you would be able to give an answer about Advent, especially if you’ve recently taken my online crash course: expectation, preparing the way for Christ to be born in us. Easter season? Well, if you don’t know there’s a 7-week season following Easter Sunday, we can offer a remedial make-up session on that, but here’s a hint: it all has to do with resurrection. 

But the season of Epiphany is reserved for extra credit. For who really knows what this wintry liturgical time is all about, varying in length from 4 to 9 weeks? 

It starts today on the Feast of the Epiphany, which is always celebrated on January 6, only occasionally falling on a Sunday. As we heard in the gospel, this day is a kind of extension of Christmas, with the baby Jesus still glowing in the manger, the star of Bethlehem overhead, and the 3 wise men bearing symbolic gifts. 

At the end of the season of Epiphany, no matter how many weeks in length, is the Transfiguration of Jesus on the mountaintop. There he became dazzlingly white, a vision of God’s glory in light inexpressible, normally hid from our eyes. 

Both are called manifestations, which is what “Epiphany” means, when Christ’s true nature was revealed. For when Jesus was born, he manifested God’s glory such that the wise men were inexplicably drawn to him as the Savior. And as a transfigured adult on the mountaintop, his divine nature was shown openly as never before, rendering his disciples senseless. 

In between these two powerful manifestations of divine light we see Jesus moving out into Galilee, beginning his ministry. He is baptized, empowered by the Spirit. He draws disciples to join him. He goes about teaching and healing, performing miracles and getting himself into trouble. It is a kind of mini-series on his 3-year public life. 

So this season takes us on Jesus’ journey from the possibilities inherent in his creation as the Son of God, through the difficult work of becoming who he was meant to be, culminating in his glorious fulfillment. As such, it is the human story: creation, becoming, and fulfillment. 

Sometimes when one of you comes to talk to me about possible changes - big changes - you are unsure about or trying to live into, we end up talking about this human story of creation, becoming, and fulfillment. 

Some of you have come wondering about ordination. Others are considering a complete change of career. Some are contemplating whether, after years of fruitless effort to heal a marriage, you should get a divorce and start over again. And the change that many of you are considering is how to live out of that central place within where God is. You have a strong intuition that if you can, you will finally be at home, and truly come alive. 

We often begin by talking about potential. You wouldn’t be considering a big change if you didn’t have the sense that there is more of life in store for you, and that you might, by the grace of God, be able to find it. However vague that sense may be, it is the hint of potential, the itch to become more of what you are created to be. 

It is astounding that of all the billions of people on this planet who have ever been and who ever will be, not one is identical to another. Each and every one of us is unique. And we become more unique as we accumulate experiences, memories, suffering, relationships. I believe that this uniqueness is God’s gift to us as created beings. 

We say that we are created in the image of God. What does this mean? That we are supposed to conform to one model, like religious Ken and Barbie dolls? Of course not. Being created in God’s image means that God manifests in an infinitely varied number of humans. Each of us is a tiny facet of God’s own being. In fact, God manifests in everything, in everyone, all the time. The world, and all the humans who have ever been, are a vast, divine Epiphany. 

 So if you are created as a unique facet of God, if you are a manifestation of the Creator, then it is your responsibility to find your fulfillment, to become fully yourself, so that you will not block God’s self-manifestation in creation. 

What this means is that making a change that we think just might the right thing, the thing that will help us be more fully and naturally ourselves, is not just a matter of doing what we want to do. It is a matter of fulfilling a sacred obligation to God, who is trying to live through us. And this indeed might mean ordination, a career change, a divorce, a changed marriage, or a more spiritually-centered lifestyle: whatever it is that will make more of us, make us more real, more truly ourselves.  

Saying “yes” to this kind of change can be a way of stepping into the potential with which God created us. It is what Jesus stepped into in the Jordan River when he was baptized. He said “yes” to manifesting as the 1st-century Jewish Messiah. He said “yes” to his divine potential given in his creation. 

After we’ve said “yes,” however - then comes the hard part: becoming. As Jesus roamed about Galilee - teaching, healing, making friends, getting into trouble - we roam about, too. We try to find ourselves, we decide to become different, we set up an ideal self that we strive towards. Sometimes I think this is all rather misguided. 

I think our work of becoming is simply the removal of obstacles that keep God from manifesting naturally through us. Our lifelong work is that of uncovering and moving beyond our fear, our tendencies to isolate or self-destruct, or whatever it is we do that keeps us off-center, inauthentic, unloving, anxious. And we can only do this work with the grace of God - that power that helps us do what we cannot do by ourselves alone. 

When these obstacles are out of the way, God’s own life is free to rise up through our unique personality. We can be more natural, confident, spontaneous, manifesting that one beautiful facet of God’s being that only we can show. So we don’t create a self; we allow the self which God has created to be. 

You have probably known some people who are unselfconsciously themselves. They may be fat or thin, beautiful or ugly, cranky or cheerful, very young or very old, smart or dull. None of this matters if they are unhindered by fear, control, ego, or other obstacles to their natural, created self. They may be eccentric, but if their heart is free, they are attractive. They are just themselves, and we are drawn to them. 

This is a kind of transfiguration. For it is the unobstructed light of God shining through a human being, for all the world to see. It is the fulfillment of a God-given potential. And seeing it, we wonder at God’s marvelously varied creativity. 

So if you ever face an exam that asks you what the season of Epiphany is all about, just say that it is a story about creation, becoming, and fulfillment. Say that it is the story about Jesus shining with potential as a divine baby, his struggle to become the Messiah, and his shining, again, in spiritual maturity. 

But most importantly, say that Epiphany is your story. This story begins with your unique creation as a reflective facet of your Creator. It continues the work, in partnership with God, of removing the obstacles in your path. And it is fulfilled in you as a free and natural being, shining with the light of God, for all the world to see. 

Today we find a human and hopeful Gospel story, that is often lost in the majesty of Christmas, or relegated to the second act of the Nativity pageant.  Yet, like most of the Gospel, read between the lines, and find something deeper.   It is not simply a story of three guys with funny names, who were wise, astronomers or kings.  It is not about them stopping by the manger with camels and strange gifts.  It is a story of a spiritual journey, a journey that many of us undertake when we seek Christ.   

The problem is that we hear this story so many times, that we develop our own images and version of these men.  We assume Caspar, Balthazar and Melchior are smart, educated and rich.  They have treasure chests, camels, gold, frankincense and Myrrh.  Yet do we know they have everything, something could be missing.   Maybe their lives were not filled with stars, maybe each had a private black hole, swallowing part of them up.  And then they felt deep inside this calling, a gentle voice telling them that things can be different.  They had to find what was beckoning, and then they find a star.      

Matthew tells us the sign was a star at its rising.  Not a brilliant star that lit up the heavens, or a huge comet streaking across the sky.  A star- rising.  It could have been one among the billions of stars in the night sky.   A star you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it; one that may be out there tonight.  But these men were looking.     When I was young, I was told that God had this beautiful coat and the stars decorated the coat.  That star that hung of Bethlehem was probably the one positioned over God’s heart, pulsating in rhythm with God heartbeat at the excitement of the love sent down.  

When these men, left their homes to find Christ, I wonder if people snickered.   They had no proof, only a feeling and a star.  The silent whispers – Huh, wise men, they must be fools, God does not come among us.  Their own rational intelligence was most likely telling them the same thing:  are you crazy? Messiahs, stars, a long difficult journey on the off chance of finding God?  Stay home, you can deal with it.  But there was that longing, that gently calling and off they went, without a map, after a star.

I believe they did so, because like each one of us, we know that we are created for something more.  Our lives have purpose.  This journey that is filled with joy, pain, tears and laughter, has meaning.  God is always calling us, if we listen, if we look.  And despite our resistance, our attempts to fill that longing with material goods, temporary anesthetics, or the empty fillers, we need to seek out our true fulfillment – God.  

Maybe that is why the wise men sought that star beating on God’s chest. The journey must have been perilous.  From the area near Bagdad, they would have traveled nearly 500 miles.  Through the desert, they faced heat, cold, and blinding sandstorms.  They traveled unmarked roads with no comforts of home, encountering pleasant things like vipers, highway robbers, and Roman patrols.   

Adding to the difficulty, imagine following a star without a guide or map.  It is kind of like our own spiritual journeys.   Some nights are cloudy and wish for the light to return.  You are in a storm, and your footsteps wander as you search for the light.  When the light is faint, you wonder if it really exists.   This was their challenge; they strayed off course, reoriented themselves, and took that step, once again toward the star.   I am sure when one wanted to turn around, they encouraged one another.  When one was ill, they cared for their friend.  They yelled, laughed, and probably cried.  

To endure this journey, I cannot believe it was simply adventure, prophecy or curiosity.  W. H. Auden captured their sentiments in the poem For the Time Being:   This journey is much too long, that we want our dinners, and miss our wives, our books and our dogs.  But we only the vaguest idea why we are what we are.  To discover how to be human now is the reason we follow this star.  

To be human, to realize they were created in God’s image, that they are loved by God.  Maybe they knew that in journeying toward and finding a loving God, they would also find transformation.  Each of these sojourners had a longing that could not be filled by riches.  Balthazar had forgotten how to love, and longed for the feeling of an open heart.  Or Casper had found out that he had an illness, and was fearful of the future. Maybe Melchior was just having a rough time in life and needed hope, a light that was to be found at the end of a star.  So the three, with different needs, pushed forward, seeking that one thing that could transform their lives.

Each of us had undertaken this journey.  Deep inside we know that there is something more.  And we take that first tentative step toward Bethlehem.  It may be with exhilaration, trepidation or desperation, but we seek him.  We may find ourselves in a hot, barren desert, pelted by the sands of life.  We may desperately thirst for relief or find an oasis of consolation.  We take that journey.  We may see the strong light of the star or strain to see that fading light that eludes our eyes.  We ask – will he be there?  Does Christ exist at all?  Yet we know, and we step forward.  Just like these three men.

The wonder is what they found.  They did not find a King attended by servants, harps playing, dressed in the finest silk.   They did not find a bookkeeper Messiah, who keeps track of all your wrongs, adds them up and then dispenses judgment.   At the end of their long difficult journey, they found a baby.  Lying in a barn surrounded by a tired Jewish carpenter, a young mother, serenaded by cows, sheep and horses.  

Imagine the reaction, the incredulous realization in finding God – in a helpless baby.  Matthew tells us that with joy they knelt and offered him gifts.  They did not question God or attempt to explain it, they realized that God was doing something entirely new and original.  I would have been shocked, traveling all this way and finding a baby in a barn.  If the journey is hard I want the spectacular movie God, the fireworks, thunderclap, the instant awakening.  Yet, deep down we know that God is so much more than our own personal magician or action movie.  God never fully reveals himself.  We see God in the reflections in our lives.  Like light streaming through the stained glass, enveloping our lives slowly, beautifully and softly.  God speaks to us in whispers, appears to us in shadows.  

We may find God in a manger, while driving to work, in the quiet of silence, in the company of one another.  We find Jesus in the poor, the homeless, in holding the hand of a dying friend, sitting with the frail elderly, laughing with a child, in our tears during the darkest of nights.  We find God in this Church, the Eucharist, at the end of a heavenly light, in a baby’s wet smile, or the person sitting next to you. All become our own little stables in Bethlehem.

And Matthew tells us that our journey does not end once we find Christ.  He said they “departed to their own country by another road."  When these three men found what they were looking for, once again, the easy thing would be to stay in that manger, but God expects so much more of us.  They had to return for the journey was not complete.  And what is more, being in his presence did not mean the return journey was easy.  They would face the same misdirection’s, heat, sandstorms, frustrations and exhaustion.  But they were different, the Child had changed them, God was with them.

Knowing that God was with him, when he returned home from Bethlehem Balthazar once again opened his heart to love, and I imagine he loved all those around him, family, friends, and strangers with an indescribable love.  Caspar found a way to deal with his illness; he endured and served as an inspiration to others who were ill, comforting them in their pain.  Melchior who was hopeless, I imagine him smiling telling everyone of how God sent a helpless child full of love, so that each one of us would know that we are loved.  And as he told the story, he showered those around him with smiles, peace and blessings.  He who was without hope gave hope.   Each one brought Christ to the world because as Augustine said, “Christ is the bread seeking hunger.”  

When we bring our whole being to the Lord, our longings and then we lay our gifts at his feet, our compassion for others, service to the poor, a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, we become different. And then we go back, we find that the road is different.  It will lead us to new paths of faith, service and devotion.  Roads we never thought we would travel.  That is why this is called the Epiphany, the sudden realization.

God brings newness and possibility to each step we take in our lives.   It tells us that from the very beginning Jesus is to be personally experienced, no just thought of, looked upon, discussed, proved, accepted or argued.  Like those wise men, seek Christ.  That despite the pain of the journey, the naysayers, and the challenges, the road is worth it.  The journey, will always lead us to where we belong – With God.   And when we get there with joy, offer the precious gifts that God gave you to God and one another and then reach out and grasp the hand of the holy one.   Your journey, your life will never be the same.

January 3, 2010
2nd Sunday of Christmas
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

This morning we read all of chapter 2 of Matthew’s gospel because it’s one story, and a part of the Christmas narrative that we usually don’t hear. 

We tend to focus on the manger, the shepherds, and the portion about the wise men where they give the baby Jesus gold, frankincense, and myrrh. These parts are full of light and joy, simplicity, and peace. The chapter we just heard, however, brings darkness, complexity, and danger. It makes the Christmas story much more interesting, and much more real, in some ways. 

One way to see this chapter of Matthew is a contrast between two points of view: the way of the world, and the way of the Spirit. The difference between them is quite defined, almost stereotyped. It is a kind of melodrama. The way of the world is represented by the evil king Herod. The way of the Spirit is represented by the wise men and Joseph. 

King Herod was a Jew who had been appointed by Rome to be their puppet king in Judea. He profited enormously from being in bed with the oppressors. He owned several palaces, forts, and mines. During Jesus’ lifetime, he was in the process of rebuilding the great temple in Jerusalem, so that he would be remembered like King Solomon, who had built the first temple a thousand years before. 

The wise men, probably astrologers from Persia, told him that a sign in the heavens signified the birth of a new king of the Jews. To Herod, this was very bad news. He was, he thought, about to be replaced. He would lose all the privilege he enjoyed. So he tried to trick the wise men into revealing the child’s whereabouts. 

When this didn’t work, he thought, “Well then, I’ll just kill all the children under 2 years old.” You can almost hear the gasp of the soldiers who were ordered to carry it out. You can certainly imagine the wailing of the parents in the streets. 

In this story, Herod shows us the worst of humanity: fear, greed, deceit, rage, and violence. Herod reminds us of every war that has been fought by governments to protect wealth and privilege, every corporate exploitation of the powerless, every time we believe that self-serving ends justify horrible means. It is the dark side of humanity, and it is not particular to any nation, or any period of history. 

But if Herod’s actions were not quite so extreme, so melodramatic, we might see his general approach to life all the time in ourselves and others. Herod has a problem: someone came along who might threaten things that are important to him. He is afraid, angry. He goes about trying to solve this unexpected problem by using his will power, his strength. He forces his way through life, defending his vital interests.

We often do the same when faced with an unexpected problem. It’s natural, of course, and only human, we could say, to be motivated by our emotions, and then to use our strength, our will power, to defend and protect our vital self-interest. 

That’s the way the world works. If someone lies about us, we loudly set the record straight. If someone cheats us, we sue. If someone gets between us and what we feel we really need, we try to get them out of our way. If someone attacks us, we strike back hard, so they won’t do it again. That’s the way the world works. 

But this isn’t how the wise men or Joseph responded. They, too, had a problem. But instead of fighting force with force, instead of acting out of fear, the wise men and Joseph slide sideways, into a separate reality. They slip into the night, into the desert of God. Instead of meeting their problem with strength of will, they listen to their dreams. They watch the skies for signs. They pray. They listen to the whisper of an angel in the desert. They found their way home via another road. They follow the ways of the Spirit. 

As I said on Christmas Eve, God’s light came into the darkness of this world not to overcome the darkness, but to exist alongside it, in another dimension. God does not battle the darkness head to head, and then come out victorious. The light just shines in the darkness, as an alternative to it. 

In facing conflict, Jesus didn’t go head to head. He was like a spiritual ju-jitsu master. He usually didn’t answer his accusers directly, but flipped them upside down with another question. Once he even disappeared out of the middle of a crowd that was about to stone him. And after they killed him, all that was left in his tomb was a white cloth. He never allowed himself to be subject to the rules of worldly reason and power. 

This is how the spiritual life seems to work. Many years ago, I was trying to go head-to-head against some very dramatic issue in my life which now, of course, I don’t remember. I was trying to use my brain and will power to force things God-ward. A priest told me “you need to learn to see with your peripheral vision. God will appear in the margins of your awareness and show you a way forward.” 

We will never win our spiritual struggles if we rely only upon our will, our reason, and our human power. Some things in life are just too much for these means. At times, we need to slip into another dimension, another way of being. If this is something we want, we must cultivate it. 

How do we cultivate this? Through a life of prayer and worship. By regularly opening our minds to a reality that is greater than our own experience. By surrendering our strength and riding the current of the Spirit. By waiting for the voices of angels. 
By listening to our dreams, to the magic of music and poetry and art. And sometimes by temporarily forgetting our problems entirely, and giving our devotion to the One who is vastly bigger than the dramas of life. 

When we cultivate our more subtle spiritual faculties, as the wise men and Joseph must have long before Herod came along, we have access to another dimension that lives alongside our God-given ability to exercise our will and our strength. It is like having an additional set of eyes, an additional pair of ears. And when we call upon these spiritual faculties, we are at a significant advantage, because not all of life can be figured out and improved through our reason and our will. 

As we begin a new year this early January, we cannot possibly know what the future will bring. The Herods around and within us will probably raise their fearful little heads and try to bully their way forward. But f we continue to cultivate our peripheral vision, if we listen for the subtle voice of angels and dreams, we will not be bound to respond in kind. 

Like the wise men and the holy family, we will be able to slip into the night of God’s life, and then find that we have returned home by another road. 

The Second Sunday of Christmas
January 4, 2009
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

On this 10th day of Christmas, as we come near to the end of this season, our nativity story expands outward from the little manger in Bethlehem. Suddenly there appears on the scene wise men, exotic foreigners, and the story open up to the whole world. 

Who were they? Well, they weren’t kings, the biblical story doesn’t tell us that there were three of them, and who knows how wise they were. What we are told is that they were Magi, from the east. Magi is a term that was used for the priestly caste of Zoroastrianism. They were elite astrologers to the royal courts of Persia or Babylon.
 
So they were Arabs and aristocratic clergy. They followed the astrological guidance of the heavens, not Yahweh’s law. The Jews considered these Gentiles unclean, and couldn’t touch them or allow them into their homes. Furthermore, they were very possibly from the very country that had dragged them off into exile 600 years before. And as we know, grudges live long in the Middle East. What was a poor little Jewish boy from Nazareth doing with these guys? 

This story is the most richly symbolic part of the Christmas narrative. It was intended to deliver a highly unusual message, a completely new teaching that was at the heart of the gospel. Until now, the chosen people of Israel were in relationship with God because they wre set apart by their obedience to a covenant. Their mission was to draw others into this same covenant, so that they, too, would be set apart from the unrighteous. 

Early Christians believed, however, that as of this night in the manger, everything changed. This was the revelation: God has initiated an intervention upon all humankind. God broke in and took on a human life. And in that life God attempted to show everyone that there is no need to be afraid, no need to measure up through scrupulous obedience, no need to separate ourselves into mutually exclusive religions. There is no clean and unclean. There is only God’s passion that we be reconciled as children of God, all brothers and sisters of a common Creator. 

Look at the Magi. They didn’t convert to Judaism; they weren’t circumcised in Bethlehem; they didn’t take upon themselves Moses’ covenant. They came as Zoroastrians, worshiped the Christ child, and left as Zoroastrians, back to their way of life in the east. By the way, they didn’t become Christians, either – no baptism, no creed, no acceptance of Christ as their savior, no preaching of the gospel when they got back home. 

These were strangers, aliens, from a completely different social class than Joseph and Mary’s family. They were perhaps even enemies. And yet the story tells us that they were drawn by a magnetic force - a light in the sky - that brought them to Jesus. So the very first thing that this incarnate God did was to bring the covenanted people of Israel together with the religious leaders of another kingdom, so that together they would bathe in the light of their common Creator. 

A half century later, Paul would write a letter to the church in Ephesus, trying to explain the implications of this powerful little story. He said to the Gentiles there that they were once “aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenants of promise...But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near…For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us” (Ephesians 2:12-14).  

And Paul wrote to the church in Galatia that there is “no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). If the baby Jesus in the manger could have talked, he would have said “there is no Jew or Zoroastrian, clean or unclean, rich or poor, peasant or aristocrat.” 

And this is how Jesus continued to live. He drew all kinds of people to himself, with no regard for their beliefs, nationality, gender, moral standing, or station in life. He initiated a relationship, talked to them about life, about God, and he invited them to be transformed, so that they could live in harmony with one another and with God. 

When some of you say to me that you’re not sure if you’re a legitimate Christian, I give you some homework. I ask you to quickly read through one of the earliest gospels, Matthew, Mark or Luke. I ask you to read with new eyes and get a kind of first impression, a broad view that comes from looking for a general pattern, not getting stuck on the details, asking one simple question: what did Jesus ask of those who were attracted to him? 

It turns out that he was not a prudish disciplinarian who demanded moral perfection. He didn’t really ask people to believe things about him. He invited them to examine their lives, their fear, their faith, their attitudes towards people that are different from them. He asked them to consider seriously those things that were an obstacle to love, to faith, and to be willing to be healed of them. His message was about living more harmoniously and generously with one another and our Creator. Everyone was included in his humanistic, spiritual vision. 

But then the church, before too long, found ways of limiting the vision. Once again, it became about obedience, being set apart from the heathen, and right belief. Paul was the first to correct this all-too-human tendency, traveling to Jerusalem to explain to Jesus’ own brother James how they were missing the point. “There is no Jew or Greek, the dividing walls have all fallen, and it is only faith, hope, and love that matter in the end.” The leaders in Jerusalem realized that Paul had reconnected them with the essential spirit of Jesus, and Christianity was released from its narrow sectarian constraints, exploding upon the continent of Europe. But of course, others have constricted the message again and again, in different ways. We still do. 

In November of last year, Armenian and Greek monks got into a brawl in the Church of the Holy Selpulchre, the supposed site of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Something about who was supposed to be in a procession. Sadly, this is not uncommon there. God knows how many religions teach that heaven is a very small place. Today, Jewish and Muslim bombs kill and maim scores of innocent people, and humanitarian aid is cruelly cut off – to each, the others are expendable people, infidels, unclean, “animals.” We sometimes have the same view, using torture on our enemies – how can one torture another human being unless one thinks of them as subhuman? Or when we kill innocent civilians and call it “collateral damage.” 

And of course, each of us must ask the question that really hits home: who is unclean to me? Who is someone I’d just as soon get rid of? Who do I not want to even try to understand? Who do I believe to be outside of God’s love, and therefore unworthy of my respect and love? 

In the face of this, this continues to be the radical new message of the Incarnation: God took the initiative, uninvited, breaking down the dividing wall between human and divine, and lived as one of us, offering everyone unearned love “while we were yet sinners.” It was a unilateral disarmament. And God did this in the hope that we might learn from his example and do the same. This is, of course, the hardest thing we can ever do, for it requires of us a spiritual conversion, and that takes a lifetime. 

In this spiritual conversion we let go of our sense of fairness. We love with no concern about whether that love is deserved or appreciated, whether it will be returned to us, or whether our love will accomplish the results we want in the other person. 

In this spiritual conversion we then love just because love wants to come out of us, even if the cost to us for doing so is great. For God did this in Christ. 

There is no longer Zoroastrian or Jew; clean or unclean; liberal or conservative; rich or poor; evildoers or champions of liberty. We are no longer aliens and strangers. The dividing wall of hostility has been broken down in Christ. God has shown us the way. It is our spiritual work in this life to be converted to this life-giving way of reconciliation. And as we are, the Word will become flesh and dwell among us anew.