28 years ago
to this very day, I lumbered into church, feeling like a beached whale. Our sanctuary didn’t have wooden pews but
soft backed chairs, so I was able to get through the service in some
comfort. Then my brother in law invited
us to Costco, a real treat as we didn’t have a membership. But the big warehouse and cement floor had me
stopping at every chair I could find for a rest. Back in the car, with minus 25 temperatures,
I was not impressed when my brother in law’s little hyundi refused to
start. I’m going to have this baby here
if you don’t get the car started, I sulked.
Somehow the three Rosborough men got the car going, I went home and 12
hours later, I had a baby.
So my Epiphany
Sunday started in a sulky mood of entitlement.
I was not in a good space. I felt
entitled to kid-glove handling and a certain level of sympathy as I waddled around
church and store. But when that baby was
finally put into my arms, all the sulks disappeared in the sheer wonder of the
miracle of holding a beautiful child.
It took the
hard work and pain of labor to shake me out of my entitlement mind set. But Herod did not have that pain and
agony. He stayed stuck in his entitlement
and was so threatened by the visit of the magi that he turned violent. The suggestion that there was a new and
different kind of leadership out there, an alternative king to him, was so
threatening, Matthew says, that Herod resorted to the worst crime against
humanity; he targeted small children for slaughter. All because of three wandering philosophers
who asked too many questions in the wrong place.
It was a
natural mistake for the Magi to make, assuming that the palace would be where
an infant king would be born, and natural to assume that Herod would be the
father, or perhaps even the grandfather.
After all,
that’s where kings and rulers are born, not in an insignificant town full of
dirt poor people.
And this
story would have resonated with Matthew’s audience who all knew the tale of
their greatest leader, Moses, who also survived a tyrant targeting small
defenseless children.
What is it
about children that leave us shaking when they are attacked? Whether it is a drug addict in Edmonton
attacking his girlfriend’s children, or a Syrian toddler drowned on a beach as
his family tried desperately to flee war, or children held in detention centres
for illegal immigrants dying needlessly, these stories cut to the heart of what
it means to be human. All too often
children are the victims of willful, entitled people grasping for power and
control.
We don’t
need to look too far back in Canadian history to see the damage done when we as
a society were so threatened by children that we put them into schools to teach
them what we thought would make them most like us. And the TRC calls us to become educated about
how that has impacted generations of families.
But we also see children at the Mount Cashel orphanage, or the Nova
Scotia Home for Colored Children, and even here in Athabasca where a coach is
alleged to have targeted his young athletes.
For whatever reason, some people feel like they are entitled to take out
their negative emotions and lust for power or control on humans least likely to
be able to stand up for themselves.
Matthew
placed Jesus firmly in the camp of folks who knew what it was like to be
threatened by powerful people. He shaped
his understanding of Jesus from Matthew background in the stories of
Moses. He showed Jesus not as a powerful
king and leader, but as someone so threatening that his parents became refugees
just to save their child’s life, to protect Jesus when he was most vulnerable.
But Jesus
never stopped being vulnerable. He never
stopped identifying with the poor, the powerless, the folks who had little to
no say in what happened in their lives.
The ones who
knew pain and suffering. The ones who
struggled to live by higher principles than just power, control and
accumulation. The ones who look
elsewhere than palaces for direction.
The ones who recognized when they were in a place where
self-aggrandization is more important than doing what’s right. And even the wise philosophers who recognized
that maybe where they think they will find answers in glorious places of pomp
and circumstance, turned out to be places of greed and selfishness.
We are
called by Matthew to turn from the palaces and the powerful, as the Magi did,
and search again by a star of wisdom and wonder. To humble ourselves enough to go into a
stable where the hope of the world should never be found. We are called to ward against our own attitudes
of entitlement and instead choose the surprise of finding epiphany in strange
places.
In the end,
the Magi chose a humble path, and that humbleness was what led them to what
they were truly seeking. But, as I found
out 28 years ago, it’s when we are most humble, most honest with ourselves, and
most prepared to face the pain of being truly vulnerable, that we can find the
deep joy of an encounter with a God that so loves us, that pain and
vulnerability is worth the risk to reach us.
The scandal
of the Gospel message, and the scandal of the Magi’s search for meaning is that
the Divine is not found only in lofty places, but also in the lowliest times,
the earthiest and most humble of places.
And that divine reach right down into our deepest pain and suffering is
a reach of love that brings healing and joy.
May we all be transformed by such joy as we follow our Epiphany stars.
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