Christmas is over, right? It’s been twelve days, it’s time to pack up the ornaments, turn off the lights, return to the regular CBC schedule as the echoes of carols fade for another year. Epiphany just marks the end of all things Christmas, right?
Matthew ends the story of the birth of Jesus with the wonderous arrival of the magi creating a lovely and gentle epilogue rounding everything out. The magi and their gifts drive home the importance of this birth, right? I mean, you don’t just give gold, frankincense and myrrh to just anyone. What would you think if I told you that Matthew didn’t place this story to be the ending, but rather just the start of something – a disruption. Epiphany isn’t meant to soothe us, it is meant to be the start of the disruption caused by the birth of Jesus. It is also meant to reveal something – to the listeners of the time, and to us. Epiphany and the arrival of the wise ones, reveals the deep fear that was present.
We don’t talk about that part. It’s way easier to stick with the star, the curious gifts, and the mystery that surround the whole story. But the author of Matthew doesn’t let us stay there for very long – in the star centered mystery. Jesus has been born into a world shaped by empire, anxiety, and violence. The arrival of the magi is not some sweet bible story aimed at wrapping up Christmas. It’s a political story that moves Jesus’ story forward.
Let’s talk about Herod first. King Herod, ruler of the land, caller of the census, co-conspirator with the Romans. You would think that he would be secure in his position as King, but when he heard the baby described as King too, well, everything in him tenses. Matthew describes is this way: When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him. Now the people of Jerusalem weren’t feeling the same fear as Herod about this child, rather they are feeling fear OF Herod, a fear of what his fear will push him to do. Often, when powerful people are afraid, it usually becomes a very public and oppressive reality for everyone else. Fear mixed with power becomes something potentially very dangerous.
Herod doesn’t lash out in fear, though. In our story, Herod’s fear becomes the need to control, to manipulate, to watch. He calls together his religious advisors, seeking ways to fix the problem rather than to seek the truth about what he is hearing. He wants them to be his eyes and ears so that together they could work towards getting rid of the problem. Herod’s problem. He wraps violences in the language of religion and worship, and when that doesn’t work to his advantage he turns to brutality.
Now, this is part of the story that we tend to skip on Epiphany – we end the story with the Magi returning home a different way because they had been warned in a dream of the danger of returning to Herod. The situation was so tense that just a little while (hours, days, who knows) after the Magi leave, an angel warns Joseph in a dream that they need to leave, to head toward Egypt, because Herod was going to start searching for Jesus. The holy family fled to Egypt and stayed there until Herod dies.
In the meantime, Herod figured out that the magi weren’t coming back, and he was mad. In his fear and anger (remember fear+anger=danger) Herod sends out the order that all children in Bethlehem under the age of two years were to be killed. Jeremiah had prophesied: A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more. Herod just made the prophesy come true. It’s easier to turn away from this awfulness, but Matthew insists that we look at it. Epiphany is not just about divine light – it’s about what the light shows us.
Jesus is born into a landscape of fear, violence, political unrest. The Magi arrive to the same environment. These outsiders, foreigners with a different religious affiliation, come to the center of the story (which is where they really don’t belong according to the world) without really intending to. They just wanted to pay homage to the child the star pointed to.
So let’s focus on the magi, who Matthew calls magoi from the East. I want to point out that Matthew doesn’t say how many came, he doesn’t indicate gender, or religion or anything really. Just magi from the east. It’s later Christian tradition that turns them into kings, but Matthew leaves them wonderfully undefined. The word Magoi has its roots in an ancient Persian priestly tradition that included both men and women. So, knowing this we can imagine that the scene might not have been men arriving in splendour but rather women, or even men and women. No matter, these border crossing sky readers have come with a sense of vulnerability and humility. They followed that star without any guarantees.
And they are scared too. They know the risks of being foreigners in a strange land. They feel the unstableness of Herod and they know what empire does when it feels threatened. But the fear doesn’t stop them, it moves them forward. Instead of turning inward in fear like Herod, the magi move out into community, toward curiosity, toward hope. They trust in dreams and listen for God’s voice in the unexpected places of the world.
And when they arrive, they don’t worship power, but rather turn to the vulnerable – a child, a young mother, a new life born in a land of occupation. And they bring gifts that act as a declaration of God’s presence being with the powerless, not the powerful, that holiness is found in ordinary places where love is doing its quiet work, not in the noise and glamour of palaces.
If we imagine the magi as women – or at the very least not kings – the scene shifts even more. Mary, recovering from giving birth, welcomes in people who become companions rather than the powerful demanding access. She welcomes in people who come to accompany instead of dominate or coerce.
Epiphany becomes a story of solidarity, of companionship, of support and that is where it meets us. I think you’d agree with me when I say we live in a world where fear is loud – dominating headlines, shaping policies, creeping into conversations between friends, at church, even sometimes our prayers. So often, fear encourages a closing of ranks, to pull inward and to be suspicious of difference. But this story tells us of another way.
Matthew story has fear trying to control and destroy, and it has fear choosing courage, curiosity and community. The Magi show us that fear doesn’t need to paralyze but can be what motivates us to move forward – toward justice, toward truth, toward healed and healing relationships.
Rumi once wrote: “don’t move the way fear makes you move.” The magi move by starlight, by a hope that is trembling yet real.
So, who are the magi among us -those willing to cross boundaries for love and truth?
Who are the Mary’s, that hold something precious and vulnerable, waiting for some one to approach with gentleness?
Where do we still see Herod’s fear at work – in systems that value control over compassion, power over people?
The Good News of Epiphany is that fear doesn’t get the last word – love does.
So we travel together, our community, our solidarity acting as resistance. Let us follow the star so that we might continue to lift up the vulnerable and prove that hope still holds power in the world. And let us believe – with trembling, unstoppable hope – that fear doesn’t stop us or the world.
May this be so. Amen.
