The Hospitality of the Manger

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
January 4, 2008; 2 Christmas, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Matthew 2:1-12) -- In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

`And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who is to shepherd my people Israel.'"

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

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This week my friend Bonnie Crocker from my former congregation in Jackson, Mississippi, sent me an email with two photos attached. I'm guessing the pictures were from Christmas around 1984, when both of my children were angels in the Christmas pageant. Allison's huge smile shows a gaping hole where her top two front teeth once were, and Gray is winged and wide-eyed with excitement. He's already posted his photo on his Facebook homepage.

The images that collect around Jesus' birth are touching, especially when linked to our traditional pageant – shepherds in bathrobes, Mary and Joseph singing to a pink-cheeked baby, the "Away in a Manger" lullaby of tiny angels, the sheep finding ways to pick at one another, the exotic dress of the little one who proudly announces "I'm a child from many lands," the fidgety Roman guards with their cardboard spears, the timid solos of the crowned wise men bringing gifts down the center aisle with each verse of "We Three Kings." It's good stuff. Heart-touching.

Yet, in his commentary on Matthew, Stanley Hauerwas claims that sentimentality is one of the greatest enemies of understanding the gospel, especially the Christmas story and the events surrounding the birth of Jesus.(1) There are dark and serious things afoot in our gospel reading today. Pagan magi making their way to honor the child pay a diplomatic visit to King Herod who will use their information to slaughter innocent children. This is a story that contrasts God's way of hospitality with the tyranny of abusive power.

Who are these "wise men"? Some bibles simply transliterate the word as "magi." Maybe they were priestly astrologers of Zoroastrianism who observed the stars for divine guidance. In their day they might have been regarded as scientists for the rigor of their observations and mathematical calculations. The fifth century historian Herodotus said they were a caste of priests from Persia who could interpret dreams, not unlike many therapists today. By the third century these visitors were thought to be kings, and the church interpreted this story as a clash of kingdoms, with the pagan royalty giving homage to Jesus while the Roman king tried to kill him. The early confession "Jesus is Lord" deliberately sabotaged the political claim that "Caesar is Lord."

So, using a little imagination, we can allow these wise men collectively to represent the presence of foreign religions, scientists and psychotherapists, and even political powers who come to the child Jesus and receive the hospitality of the manger. They offer what they can – gold, frankincense, and myrrh – gifts that aren't particularly needed by this child, but the gifts are welcome and accepted nonetheless. The text says of the magi that "they knelt down and paid him homage." Some translations say "worshiped him." The word means literally "to kiss the hand toward." It is an act of respect that has various meanings in the Middle East.

Here is the picture we are invited to contemplate: These exotic foreigners offer to Jesus a measure of respect that they are able to express, and the holy family welcomes them generously. Blessing and blest, the magi return home to continue in their pursuits. It was not expected that they give up their religion, their quest for knowledge, or their standing and authority in order to be in this cordial relationship with the holy family. The magi didn't become Jews, and there is no story of their becoming followers of the resurrected Jesus.

For me, the picture of this scene offers us an icon of the healthy relationship of hospitality and mutual respect that can exist between Christians non-Christians, between faith and science, between sacred and secular powers.

But behind this picture of unity and fellowship is a darker reality. While the magi are giving homage to the child Jesus, Herod and Rome are trying to kill him. Warned by a dream, the visitors return home by another way. Warned by a dream, Joseph takes his family and flees to pagan Egypt. In Israel's memory, Egypt has been a symbol of bondage. It now becomes a place of protection for the refugee family. Presumably they do not even need to hide from immigration officials. But back home, the brutal Herod kills every male infant in the region of Bethlehem. Refugees, violence, immigrants and genocide. It is still the stuff of today's headlines. We need more saving dreams. We need more inclusive hospitality.

We can be as hospitable as the holy family. We can welcome the stranger, the exotic belief and the unfamiliar custom. We can be as curious and respectful as the magi. We can explore mysteries and be open to truth found in unexpected places. We can listen to our dreams and honor their peculiar form of wisdom. We can be as available as Egypt. We can offer refuge, protection and hope to those who flee from violence, poverty and threat. We can resist tyrants and use our considerable power to oppose genocide, injustice and oppression.

In the midst of harsh political realities, we can create a manger in our hearts – a place of holy welcome and refuge where the divine life rests in a secure embrace. In my Christmas Eve sermon a few days ago, I invited you to make a picture in your mind's eye – to see a picture of the manger on that Christmas night so long ago. The star beaming its light from heaven; the hovering protective care of Joseph; the maternal arms of Mary, gently, lovingly holding the child who surrenders divine life into her keeping.

I said that same picture dwells within your heart. The divine light shines upon you, bringing life to your inmost being, where you hover with protective care and gently hold the love of God surrendered into your keeping.

Now add to that picture the visit of these strange magi, the entrance of the odd and alien ones, so different from ourselves. From the center of light and love that the manger represents, we can be secure and grounded enough to be people of radical hospitality, able to welcome the exotic and unexpected. We can be alert and humble enough to learn from our dreams. We can be nimble and non-possessive enough to leave what we must leave, to flee to Egypt in order to protect whatever is good and vulnerable.

There is something deeply true about the Christmas pageant tableau that fills our sanctuary with beautiful children in their wonderful costumes each year. They offer to us a compelling picture that is more than mere sentiment. When we look at those children, collected for the finale at the end of the pageant, we can see the whole of creation gathered around the Christ child in a spirit of hope and light. Sheep and donkey, soldiers and shepherds, angels and stars from heaven, children from many lands and those three exotic kings. We see in front of us a vision of the unity and peace that God intends for us. And something deep inside us tells us "this is true."

My two children, as complex and complicated as they are, really are angels deep inside. It's good for me to recall those childhood images, especially in moments when they bring me frustration or worry. The world, as complex and complicated as it is, really is blessed. All creation is filled with the glory of God. It's good to remember that too, especially in moments of anxiety or fear.

Let the star stop over the place where the child is. We also can be overwhelmed with joy. We can kneel and pay him homage. We can open our treasure and give him our gifts. We are welcome. All are welcome. Whoever you are, or wherever you are in your pilgrimage of faith, you are welcome in this place; you are welcome at God's table.
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(1) Many thanks to Dan Clendenin and his weekly webzine journeywithjesus.net. I've taken several parts of this sermon from his essay "Pagan Magi and Power Politics"

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