January 6, 2008 – The Epiphany
© 2019 Evan D. Garner
Audio of this sermon can be heard here. Video of the entire service can be seen here.
Today, the feast of The Epiphany, is all about kings, and I want to start by reminding you of one of my favorites. Do you remember that great classic historical film Monty Python and the Holy Grail? If you haven’t seen it, it’s the parody of the Arthurian legend that came out in 1975 and starred Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, and the rest of the Monty Python comedy troupe. Ridiculous to no end, the film focuses on Arthur’s journey across England to recruit men to join his Knights of the Round Table, who later set out in search of the grail, but it’s a scene from Arthur’s original quest that I find particularly appropriate for Epiphany.
Keeping in mind that Arthur is galloping about on foot, followed by Patsy, his squire, who claps two coconut halves together in order to simulate the sound of a horse, we see Arthur stop in a field to ask a peasant worker which lord live s in the castle up ahead in the distance. He introduces himself as “Arthur, King of the Britons,” but the worker acts confused. “King of the who?” she asks. “The Britons,” Arthur replies. “Who are the Britons?” the peasant responds. “Well, we all are. We are all Britons,” Arthur explains, “and I am your king.” But the peasant refuses to acknowledge the authority of the man who has bounced his way across the countryside, pretending to ride on a horse. And that leads me to my question for Epiphany: what good is it being a king if you have to convince people to treat you like one?
The magi weren’t kings, but they were sages from the east. They were probably Persian astrologers who had seen a celestial event like an exploding star or a passing comet, and they interpreted it as a sign that a new king of the Jewish people had been born. So they set out on their long journey to find the one whom this astronomical phenomenon had signified. When they started their journey, what sort of king do you think they expected to find? Whose birth would the stars of heaven foretell?
When they arrived in the region of the Jews, they went to the first place that anyone would go to look for a king—the palace. But, instead of finding an infant ruler, they found Herod. “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” they asked. “For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” And Herod looked around nervously. “King? You’re looking for a king? I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I think you may have misread your star charts. The Jews already have a king, and I am he.”
That’s where Matthew begins his account of the good news of Jesus Christ—with a showdown between two kings—the one who lives in a palace and the one whose birth was revealed in the stars. Matthew brings us to this tension filled moment, wanting the reader to sit on the edge of her seat, desperate to find out how this exceedingly awkward moment will be resolved. Judea already had a king…sort of. Herod the Great had been proclaimed “King of Judea” by the Roman Senate. He had worked his way into a position of power by eliminating all of his rivals and buying the favor of the Empire, which made him its vassal king. Rome liked him, which meant that his own people did not. He tried to impress them by building lavish structures, including many fortresses and a huge expansion of the temple, but the taxes he needed to raise in order to fund his pet projects undermined his attempt to buy the affection of his people. Plus, it was rumored that his family had converted to Judaism a few generations back in a politically expedient move, which gave the Pharisees and Sadducees, the two leading religious groups of the day, an excuse to write him off. He may have been a king in title, but, when Matthew uses the label “king” to describe Herod, he does so with a heavy dose of irony. Everyone knew whose king Herod was, and it wasn’t the king of the Jewish people.
Meanwhile, in Bethlehem, a child was nursing at his mother’s breast. A carpenter’s son with no particular path to power or glory, the young Jesus was being raised in modest circumstances. After learning from Herod that the king was to come from Bethlehem, the wise men set out, celebrating that the star went with them. When they arrived in the small town, no one knew where to direct the strange-looking travelers who had come from afar. “King? You’ve come to Bethlehem to look for a king? I’m sorry, fellas, but you’re about a thousand years too late. We haven’t had a king in these parts since David was a boy.”
Somehow, which is to say miraculously, the star led them to an ordinary house in an ordinary part of town, and they rejoiced. When they entered the house, they found the child, lying in his mother’s lap, and they threw themselves down on the ground, worshiping the young boy. It must have been quite a sight to see these sages from the east, prostrating themselves before a baby, whom no one else except, perhaps, his parents thought of as anything special. They gave the child gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh—presents of representative value that demonstrated their admiration of the infant king. And then they left, going back home by a different road because of a terrible dream that they had had.
When the magi left their home in search of the Jewish king, they couldn’t have expected to find a child being raised in a working-class neighborhood by a carpenter and his young wife. Even from the moment of their birth, kings belong in palaces, but the palace in Jerusalem was already occupied. Instead, God’s king was born a few miles away, in a humble suburb, and God used the brightness of a star to lead the wise men to the real king’s lowly abode. The so-called king who lived in the palace was little more than the shell of a true leader for God’s people. A puppet of Rome, Herod wielded power to his own benefit and to the benefit of his higher-ups. A baby whom no one else had noticed, Jesus had no power and no claim to it, yet God would use him to bring the light of salvation not only to his people but to the whole world. And some pagan star-gazers were the only ones who knew the truth.
What sort of king are we looking for? Are we expecting God’s light to shine on one who needs power and wealth to convince us that he is a king, or will we see that God is leading us to a different sort of ruler? In God’s reign, those who wield power have it taken from them, and those who are surrounded by wealth are turned on their heads. Those who have a claim on preferential status discover that they have none, and those who think that they have been discarded by God and God’s representatives find that they are the ones who belong closest to God’s heart. God brings the light of salvation to those who see the haughty powers of this world being shaken and replaced by the humble power of God, but that’s a light that many people do not want to see. They reject it because it heralds the loss of their privilege and their grip on power. They react to it violently just as Herod did, ordering the murder of every male child in Bethlehem in an attempt to preserve his status. But those who rely on exertions of power to maintain their status in the eyes of their subjects aren’t really kings at all.
The true king is one whom God uses to bring the light of salvation to those who dwell in darkness. The true king is one who breaks into the order of this world in order to bring hope to the hopeless. If that’s the king we are willing to find, we shouldn’t look for him in a palace or in the halls of government but in those humble places where God’s saving light shines brightest. Which king is God’s light leading us toward? Where will we find our true king? At whose feet will we fall down in worship?
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