Battista Dossi Ferrara c. 1475 1548 The Adoration of the Magi
Night Vision
6 January 2016
Feast of the Epiphany
7 p.m. Sung Eucharist
Parish Church of Trinity Ashland, Oregon
Isaiah 60:1-6; Ephesians 3:1-12; Matthew 2:1-12; Psalm
72:1-7,10-14
God, take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of
flesh. Amen.
Today’s Gospel tells the story of
strange figures from the East arriving in Jerusalem seeking the child born
“King of the Jews.” The visitors are called Magoi (Latin: Magi).
The Greek word often describes Persian astrologers or diviners, or even
Zoroastrian priests. The word is related to our word “magician” and
always is tinged with Mystery and the Occult. Probably the best
translation for it is Wizards.
In this story, the wizards are inspired
to go on pilgrimage to the West by interpreting astronomical events in light of
their esoteric lore. They do not know
the details, but rather have only a general idea that somehow this star is
associated with a royal birth for the strange monotheistic people called
Jews. They don’t have a clue where the
birth has taken place, of who it might be.
They make the long arduous journey and arrive in Jerusalem, going to the
obvious place to ask about such a birth: the royal court. Thus they are caught up in the intrigues of
a petty tyrant, Herod, who styles himself as King of the Jews but has only
doubtful claim to either title.
The magi are symbols of the gentile
nations coming to Christ. They are
archetypes for all pilgrims. They pursue
their course based on dark hints and shadows in their lore, and find a new
understanding of everything. They pursue
the dim light of a night star to the bright star of the morning, Jesus.
In a way, their journey reflects the
journey of faith that each of us makes.
Little glimpses of glory lead us to make a deeper commitment to pursue
further light and truth. We end up in
strange places, unexpected situations.
And we turn aside to new paths as we learn more and more on the
way.
T.S. Eliot puts these words onto the
lips of one of the Magi:
‘A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly...
These strange visitors had very little
to go on. Yet they set off on a long
trip based on their dusty tomes of forgotten lore. They see the star, but it is not all that
noticeable or visible to those about them.
Clearly imagination is a key part of what drives them. I suspect that Eliot is right: these guys must have wondered at the folly of
their enterprise.
Those of you who have done any
star-gazing know that often a star is invisible when you look straight at where
it is supposed to be. But if you avert
your eyes slightly, there, in your peripheral vision, the star shines out
clearly. Apparently Galileo Galilei was
a master at using his peripheral vision to see all sorts of things up there
that others had missed, things like the four largest moons of Jupiter and
Saturn’s rings. He helped this out, to
be sure, by grinding glass lenses and putting them into a “far-sight” or
telescope to help gather more light than his own natural eye could, even in
periphery. This is why the Indigo Girls, in their great hymn to seeing the
subtleties in life like hints of reincarnation sing, “I call on the resting
soul of Galileo, king of night vision, king of insight.”
That is, I think, how faith is for all
of us. We get a little glimpse of glory
and then, encouraged by others or driven by God speaking to our heart, we
dedicate time, wealth, and effort to it.
More often than not, we do not come to faith by looking directly at such
a thing as “Religion,” or “God.” Rather,
we get little glimpses in our peripheral vision. Things that once were puzzles start making
sense.
People who say that they somehow do not
believe in God usually mean they do not believe in a guy (always a male,
usually with a white beard) “out there” somewhere who interferes on occasion
with matters and demands our love and worship. (“He is, after all, a
‘jealous’ one, he!”) This is, however, a petty caricature of the living,
creating Ground of Being and Love Itself. God is not “out there”
somewhere. God is beneath and behind all. Luke describes St. Paul
speaking to the Athenians and saying of God “In him we live and move and have
our being” (Acts 17:28).
If we try to look at God head-on, and
think of God as “out there somewhere,” we diminish the idea of God. We reduce the object of our worship to a kind
of supernatural wacky great uncle or an imaginary friend with super
powers. Such a god is not really God, but a sort of demiurge or
daemon. When we feel hurt or anguish, it is easy to feel betrayed by such
a Deity. God thus diminished is far removed from the good we see all
about us, all of which comes from God directly.
But again, using peripheral vision, our
night vision, we get little glimpses of the Love beneath all things. If we let ourselves follow, we find brighter
and brighter clarity in our vision. But,
like the magi, we might be tempted to say, “No.
This is folly.”
The key thing is following the glimpse,
pursuing the glory, keeping with the sweet scent on the air, however
faint.
Thomas Merton taught about the art of
using our night vision in faith in these words:
“Life is this simple: We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent and God is shining through it all the time. This is not just a fable or a nice story. It is true. If we abandon ourselves to God and forget ourselves, we see it sometimes, and we see it maybe frequently. God shows [God’s] self everywhere, in everything - in people and in things and in nature and in events. It becomes very obvious that He is everywhere and in everything and we cannot be without [God]. It's impossible. It's simply impossible. The only thing is that we don't [recognize this].”
Faith is trust in this Ground of Being,
who is not less than personal. Indeed, the doctrine of the Holy Trinity
teaches us that God is more than personal, and includes the social as
well.
I think that gratitude is the
emotion that best connects us with God. Trust is a close
second. Both of these are in fact expressions of love. And God is,
in fact, Love Itself. Love, trust, and gratitude give us eyes to see God, first
in peripheral short glimpses, later in deeper and deeper glory.
In prayer and meditation, try to
reflect on the Beauty of God’s Holiness while feeling this love. It
helps.
In the name of Christ, Amen.
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