The Adoration of the Magi, from the Muiredach High Cross
Pilgrims and Prisoners of Christ
6 January 2022
Feast of the Epiphany
12 noon Said Eucharist with Healing
Parish Church of Trinity Ashland, Oregon
The Rev. Fr. Anthony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
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 those strange figures from the East arriving in Jerusalem seeking the child born “King of the Jews.” They 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, or 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.
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.
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 tube called 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 life’s subtleties sing, “I call on the resting soul of Galileo, king of night vision, king of insight.”
That is 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 in T.S. Eliot's poem, we might be tempted to say, “No. This is folly.”
The key thing is actually following the glimpse, pursuing the glory, remembering and humming that half-forgotten tune, tracking the sweet scent in the air, however faint.
That’s what Paul is talking about in today’s epistle, one that speaks particularly to me as I prepare to retire on Sunday from full-time ministry:
“This is why I find myself in jail on account of Christ, working for the good of you outsiders … You know how God’s mystery in this was made known to me by revelation… something not known by former generations, … but now revealed to God’s holy sent ones and forth-tellers by the Spirit. It is this: outsiders have become fellow heirs with the insiders, all parts of the same body and sharers in Christ’s promises through his Happy Announcement. By the free gift of God and God’s power at work in my life I have been made the Happy Announcement’s slave, despite my weaknesses and failings…. It has been a great blessing to me to bring to outsiders the Announcement that Christ’s limitless riches belong to them too, and to make everyone see that this was what God who made all things has been planning secretly all along, that through the church God’s wisdom, in all its glorious diversity and inclusivity, may be made clear to even the angels and unseen powers. This is what God accomplished in sending us Christ Jesus our Lord, who gave us free, bold, and confident access to God through our trust in Jesus.” (excerpted from The Ashland Bible)
Ministry can be at times a kind of prison and slavery, as Paul says, imposing all sorts of constraints and conflicts upon us. But it is above all a beautiful thing of joy, love, and greater and greater inclusion and hope. And it starts in dark moments of peripheral vision, of whispered encouragement.
Faith is trust in the great Ground of Being, who is nothing if not personal. Indeed, the doctrine of the Holy Trinity teaches us that God is more than personal, and is by nature social. The human face of God is Jesus of Nazareth, our light and our guide. He is made known to us by the whisperings of hope in our heart, the Holy Spirit, the life-giving breath of God.
Gratitude and trust is where it all starts, and where it all ends. We go from glory to glory, into greater and great mystery, till, as St. John says, God brings us to fullness and love is made perfect.
In the name of Christ, Amen.
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