Journey to the West (Christmas 2A)

A Journey to the West
Homily delivered Second Sunday of Christmas (Year A RCL TEC)

5 January 2014 8:00 a.m. Said and 10:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist
Parish Church of Trinity Ashland (Oregon)
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, 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 Old Testament 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?”

As we prepare for the new calendar year, I pray that all of us will 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 his grace. May our hearts be set on the pilgrim’s way.

In the Name of God, Amen