A Journey to the West
Homily delivered Second Sunday of Christmas (Year ABC RCL TEC)
2
January 2022 8:00 a.m. Said and 10:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist
Parish Church of Trinity Ashland (Oregon)
The
Rev. Anthony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
Readings: Jeremiah 31:7-14; Psalm 84; Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a
Matthew 2:1-12
God, give us hearts to feel and love. Take away our hearts of stone
and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.
Several years ago a teacher and I we
were discussing the great Chinese epic, The Journey to the West. He
remarked: “A big difference between Asian and Western cultures is that in your
Western religions, you have to go abroad and spread the Gospel. In our Eastern
religions, our greatest duty to go and seek the truth we do not yet have. Your
Bible has the missionary, Saint Paul. We have the story of the Chinese monk
Xuanzang going on his great Journey to the West to seek and bring back the
Buddhist sutras. We are more humble than you.”
I tried to defend the West and Christianity. I cited humility as a virtue for
Christians, and mission as rooted in love for others and a desire to share. I
mentioned the Christian idea of Pilgrimage, and the Quest for the Holy Grail.
But my teacher seemed unconvinced.
“Are those things central? The Journey to the West is
a parable about each of us. The pilgrims there represent every type of person.
The monk is overly spiritual, naïve, and unable to defend himself against
dangers. But he is calm. Zhu Bajie, the pig man, represents those of us too
concerned with our bodily pleasures and comforts: totally controlled by his
appetites, but able to enjoy unabashedly whatever good may come. Sandy, the
handyman bodyguard, represents peasant practical wisdom and working-class
street smarts: too focused on the task at hand, unaware of the greater goal,
but essential in continuing the journey. Sun Wukong, the Monkey King,
represents those of us too clever for our own good, whose will and audacity are
both our strength and weakness. Too proud and willful, but able to tell a joke in
a tight spot and nervy enough to face any new demon on the path.”
He continued, “I am on my Journey to the West. But are you? Do you want to go
to strange places far from home, risking all, to gain the treasure of
enlightenment?”
Today’s Gospel is Matthew’s story of the strange Persian astrologers arriving
in Jerusalem on their own Journey to the West. They seek to honor the child
born “King of the Jews,” whose star they have seen rise while they were far off
in the East. Matthew, that most Jewish of the four Gospels, uses them to
represent the universal importance of God’s Messiah. He sees the inclusion of
the gentiles as mysterious, fraught with danger. The Greek word Magoi
(Latin: Magi) almost always carries a baggage of Mystery and the Occult;
it is where our word “magic” comes from, and probably is best translated as
"wizards." The magi’s appearance in Jerusalem tips off Herod of
possible political competition, and the Massacre of the Innocents is the
result.
Read in the context of the other readings in today’s lectionary, the story
focuses on the Magi as religious pilgrims, strangers in a strange land not just
bearing gifts, but seeking the greatest treasure of God. These texts tell what
pilgrimage is about.
We recited today Psalm 84—a psalm of ascent—a liturgical chant to be sung by
pilgrims as they struggle up the grueling hills in the steep Judean countryside
to Mount Zion in Jerusalem, where they can worship in the Temple. It tells the
right motive for going on pilgrimage: “How dear to me is the place where you
dwell, of Yahweh of armies. My very being desires and yearns for Yahweh’s
courts. My heart and my flesh rejoice in the God who lives!”
A pilgrimage is not tourism with a religious slant. It is a quest to find God,
to find forgiveness, healing, confidence, and oneness. We must leave where we
are to set aside our normal lives, including habits of spiritual torpor and
sloth. The place we seek is where the veil between us and the spirit world is
thinner, a place that demands that we remove our shoes, a place where a bush
will burn and yet not be consumed.
The trip is arduous, but worth it. Again, Psalm 84: “Happy are those … whose
hearts are set on the pilgrims' way. Though they go through the desert valley
they will find it full of springs.” A real pilgrimage is never easy. It will
have desert valleys and rough spots. Having a heart set on the pilgrim’s
way—remembering the yearning that moved you to set forth, and recalling the
holy place you hope to go—means that the trip will be not only endurable, but
at times sweet.
There are other ways to express this idea. A popular struggle song during the
civil rights movement was “keep your eyes on the prize, hold on, hold on.” In
today’s Epistle, Saint Paul prays for a “spirit of wisdom and revelation”
allowing us to know God, and keep the “eyes of [our] heart enlightened, that
[we] may know the hope to which God” calls us.
The pilgrim journey to God is like the return from annihilation and exile
described in today’s Hebrew Scripture lesson: “With weeping they shall come,
But with consolations I will lead them back, I will let them walk by brooks of
water, in a straight path in which they shall not fall down.”
The fact is, though, that our journey in faith is often not a straight, direct
path. Pilgrimage often appears to be a labyrinth, with turnings and twistings.
That’s what the pillar of fire and cloud in the exodus story suggests.
Wandering in the wilderness, we must not lose sight of the destination, must
not become discouraged. Here, we should remember that there are two different
kinds of nearness: what C.S. Lewis calls nearness of proximity and nearness of
approach.
A hiker in the mountains comes out onto a ledge and sees, there beneath her,
the small town where she wants to spend the night. It is only about 500 meters
away—straight down. To get there, she must continue on the path, with its
switchbacks and gradual descent. At moments, she must actually go farther and
farther away from her goal—800 meters, 1400 meters as the crow flies—before the
switchback turns. But all the time, she is actually getting closer to her
evening resting spot.
The travel with its challenges and its twists and turns will itself change the
pilgrims as they follow the path. As they near the goal, their perception of it
will change because they have been changed. If this doesn’t happen, it means
that something is wrong.
The Magi in today’s Gospel arrive at their intended destination—Jerusalem—only
to find out that things are not as they imagined. The king whose star they
follow is not on the throne or even a baby at court. They ask for directions
from the local tyrant who is on the throne, citing the passages that brought
them—probably Isaiah 60’s description of the great light to shine in Jerusalem,
and Numbers 22’s description of the great star that would rise from Judah.
Herod asks his scholars where exactly these passages predict the birth will
occur. They reply that the passages are silent on this. He demands, "Well,
do you have a better text?" They answer with hesitation by citing Micah
5:2-4: “But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah . . . from you shall come forth for
me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old . . . he shall
shepherd Israel.” The Magi thus discover that they are nine miles off track. It
is Bethlehem, village of shepherds and the poor, rather than Jerusalem, city of
the rich and powerful, where they are actually headed. But despite the change
in understanding and reorientation, not only in destination but of the nature
of the king they are seeking, their hearts remain set on the pilgrim’s way.
They keep their eyes on the prize, and continue on.
Joan Puls in glorious little book Every Bush is Burning describes the
encounter with the strange this way: “We live limited lives until we 'cross
over' into the concrete world of another country, another culture, another
tradition ... I have left forever a small world to live with the tensions and
the tender mercies of God's larger family.”
My teacher’s question still echoes, “I am on my Journey to the West. But are
you? Do you want to go on a journey into strange places far from home, risking
all, to gain the treasure of truth?”
We are headed into a new calendar year, and a new phase of our life. Next Sunday is my last Sunday as rector here,
and I will be traveling a new path in ministry in retirement, and I will be
learning how to live joyfully and gracefully as a widower. You face new paths as well, and I can say that
I am excited for you as you find an interim priest in charge, and then search for
and call a new rector. One thing I have
realized since Elena’s death is just how intrepid a soul she was, and continues
to be as she embarks on her new journey.
I pray that all of us will be such intrepid souls as we embark on our separate
journeys this year.
As we prepare for our own Journey to the West, our
pilgrimage, our following that star, I hope that we all can take time to think
of what we need to do to re-energize our spiritual life: new or renewed
disciplines of prayer, meditation—perhaps walking the labyrinth or even going
on a real pilgrimage; perhaps more study, service, or more vigorous efforts at
performing the corporeal acts of mercy—visiting the sick, feeding and clothing
the poor, defending the oppressed. This is not so that we can earn something
from God, but rather that we better learn how to accept God’s grace. May our
hearts joyfully be set on the pilgrim’s way.
In the Name of God, Amen
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