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Matthew 2:1-12 Epiphany of the Lord Sunday January 6, 2008
Language of the Kingdom
Als aber Jesus zu Bethlehem in Judaea geboren war, in den Tagen des Koenigs Herodes, siehe, da kamen Weise vom Morgenland nach Jerusalem, die sprachen: Wo ist der Koenig der Juden, der geboren worden ist? Denn wir haben seinen Stern im Morgenland gesehen und sind gekommen, ihm zu huldigen.
Well, that probably got your attention – made your ears perk up. Why? Maybe for those of you who can speak and read German my horrible attempt at pronunciation made you wince. But for others? Wasn’t it because it sounded different, not what you were expecting to come out of my mouth? A different language.
We have all heard the same story of the wise men over and over and now for the umpteenth time once again. Its language tends to blur into a muddled mess in my own hearing because of its familiarity so I need to read it in a different way to help alert myself to what is going on in the Scripture. You heard Don reading a few minutes ago about the glory of the Lord rising up upon his people Israel and all the nations streaming to the hill of Zion with their goods to place them at the foot of the King. That scripture declared the greatness of God but also the greatness of God in Jerusalem specifically, the seat of power, the seat of the temple, where all pilgrims go, where the King in power is seated. But now, I want you to listen to the language of this text from Matthew and what it is saying about the seat of power.
(Scripture read in English)
These wise men from the East show up in Israel at the place where they know the new King will be, where important things happen, where the rulers are, where the center of the faith is – Jerusalem. Jerusalem has been the center of things since David and Joab threw out the Jebusites who had been the inhabitants before. For 1000 years this has been where the laws have gone forth and the decrees of the priests have been declared to the people scattered throughout the land. For 1000 years the people have made pilgrimage to lay their hands on the scapegoat so that their sins might be forgiven. Jerusalem has been the seat of power, even if only in their imaginations, for all these years. During the exile, when so many had been living towards the east, in Babylon, in Iraq, their eyes would turn back towards the west longingly, towards the ruins of the temple. And several generations later, as they sit in the bombed-out ruins of Jerusalem, they still cling to the hope that the poet Isaiah brings to them. ‘Rise, shine for your light has come. All the nations will come, once again, with their goods loaded on caravans to a bustling city of prosperity and power. Lift up your heads.’ And they heard that and believed it and clung to its promise as they rebuilt and as the generations came and went and finally the Romans. So just like all the disciples later, just like all the people of Jesus’ day, just like us if we had been there, if the Messiah was to be born, the exemplar of the once great Davidic Kingdom, the one to overthrow the Romans, it would naturally be in Jerusalem, right? That would understandably be what came out of anyone’s mouth during that time, the facts everyone knew – the Messiah would be born in the seat of power, the capital. That is what the language of empire would know to be true.
But that is not what Matthew says. The language of the kingdom seems to speak something else, something that the prophets have been speaking for hundreds of years in the face of the imperial rhetoric issuing forth from the kings’ palaces and the temple. Prophets, called by God to speak the truth in love, tried desperately to call the people back to their first love, but as Scripture tells us and as many of the prophets speak themselves, they have failed to do so. So, in the fullness of time, the gospel writer says, God sent his own Son to wake his people up, to woo them back. Prepare the way of the Lord, the King has come – but not to Jerusalem.
When these wise men show up in Israel, they know Isaiah 60 as well as Matthew, so they travel directly to Jerusalem to meet with King Herod. But when Herod hears of their plans, he is frightened because a new king is a threat to the old king and the old order. In his fear and anger, Herod hastily arranges a consultation with all the best scholars of the land and asks them about this prophecy in Isaiah. The frightened scholars tell him that the language of Isaiah 60 will mislead him and the wise men at the gate because it suggests that Jerusalem will prosper and gain great wealth and be restored as the center of the world’s economy. In that scene, nothing will really change. Herod asks, defiantly, "Well, do you have a better text?" The scholars fearfully point him to Micah 5:
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 . . .
This voice of a hope for the future, a voice that is not impressed with high towers and great arenas, with power as Jerusalem’s leaders understand it, frightens Herod. The language of Micah anticipates a different future, anticipates a leader who will bring well-being to his people, not by great political ambition or violence, but by peace and justice. When the wise men hear this, they head for Bethlehem, a rural place, unnoticed, unpretentious. It’s only nine miles from Jerusalem, but those nine miles encompass a whole world. It is the proper place for the birth of the One who will offer an alternative to the arrogant power of Jerusalem’s rulers.
As my Old Testament professor, Walter Brueggemann writes, “the narrative of Epiphany is the story of these two human communities: Jerusalem, with its great pretensions, and Bethlehem, with its modest promises. We can choose a "return to normalcy" in a triumphalist mode,” following in the footsteps of the empire and “its life of self-sufficiency….. Or we can choose an alternative that comes in innocence and hope.” We can receive the new language of the kingdom and the life given to us in vulnerability. The wise men do not resist this alternative but go on to the village of Bethelehem. They reorient themselves and their lives around a baby with no credentials, born in a cattle stall.
And that reorientation of life is what the early church proclaimed, what the gospel writer was trying to convey to those early believers that were surrounded by the excesses and dangers of a Roman empire that considered them misfits and atheists, not good citizens of the empire because they refused to sacrifice to the Emperor. Surrounded by the language of the empire, they were called to speak their lives through the language of the Kingdom of God. But after Christ ascended and his return seemed to be further and further away in the future, it became that much harder to speak God’s good word of grace and peace in a world that was not speaking the same language. So, Matthew and Mark and Luke wrote their stories to give them hope, to encourage them to keep on speaking this good news of the Kingdom.
And isn’t it the same for us, now? Battered by the language of the empire into submission, isn’t it simply easier to be indifferent and ho-hum about it all? What are the facts? Close to 4,000 of our own people dead in a war that has gone on longer than most of the wars in our country’s history, tens of thousands of Iraqis dead, probably many, many more with no end in sight. The other day I read that “the surge is succeeding.” What does the word “succeed” mean in that context? What has happened when the language of torture is bandied about like we’re talking about something in a technical manual? Collateral damage - or the dismembered bodies of little boys and little girls who just happened to be in the way? In a time like this, we as God’s children, just like the prophets, just like the gospel writers, just like our ancestors in the faith, need to speak the language of the Kingdom, the language of God’s peace, the language of Bethlehem. Well, some may say we are being unrealistic, that we have to live in this world and we have to protect ourselves. Do we?
When John wrote the Book of Revelation to the churches scattered across Asia Minor, he wrote to people that were scared and persecuted, some being forced to either deny Jesus and his call to peace or face the execution of their families and themselves. So, God gave him something to give them hope, a vision of the end times when God would wrap them up in his arms once again. In the vision, John was swept up to heaven, at the very throne room as all peoples were gathered together to unroll the scroll that would proclaim God’s judgment. And no one could be found worthy to open that scroll in all of heaven and earth and under the earth but the Lion of the Tribe of Judah, the Lion! Don’t you know that gladdened the hearts of those persecuted Christians? But the next scene doesn’t show a Lion - what appears is a weak, helpless, bloodied Lamb. Friends, our God is a great and mighty God but God did not come to us as a mighty warrior, surging to pummel our enemies, but a little baby, a poor persecuted one who would speak the language of the Kingdom through his life and, ultimately, through the cross. Jesus did not speak the language of Jerusalem, of power as we understand it, but he spoke the language of peace, of redemption, of joy in the Lord. Jesus spoke the language of Bethlehem to everyone he met.
And we have been called as his very brothers and sisters by the power of the Holy Spirit to speak that same language to the world around us, even if it is difficult, even if it leaves us vulnerable. When we gather at this table every month, we should hear the echoes of Bethlehem speaking God’s language of love and sacrifice and an open hand to all. That’s how our God speaks to us. May we have the faith and the courage to do the same for each other and the world. Amen.
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