No fear

Our celebration of Christmas is nearly complete. Tuesday is the feast of the Epiphany, which we’re anticipating a bit today with our gospel reading. It’s the story of the next visit to the baby Jesus, after the shepherds went back to their fields – this time it’s the magi, the wise men, the 3 kings, who come to see the child. And so begins the season of Epiphany, the season when we celebrate this epiphany of Jesus the king, the light to the world. The word ‘Epiphany’ means a divine manifestation, or also a moment of sudden revelation or insight. So the feast of the Epiphany is the revelation of Jesus as God’s only son, the great ‘aha’ moment to the world.

We’re familiar with Matthew’s story of the kings, because we usually blend it together with Luke’s story of the nativity – and we sing ‘We Three Kings,’ which tells the story too. The magi bring those familiar gifts, gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Funny gifts for a baby, but symbolic of course. Gold – a gift fit for a king; frankincense – something with which to honor a deity; and myrrh – for death. That’s the odd one. Myrrh, of course, is the spice for embalming a body, and this gift casts a shadow over the other gifts – this kingship will end in tragedy. The story of the magi has an edge of darkness to it.

In the story, the three magi first go to Herod, seeking this child. Jesus isn’t the only king in the story. Herod is the other king, and he is frightened by this news, and all Jerusalem is frightened with him. Apparently no one wants this epiphany. Once the wise men leave and fail to return, Herod figures out they’ve tricked him – he can’t efficiently go and snuff out this contender to his throne. So instead, Herod has all the baby boys of the region killed; warned of this, Joseph and Mary flee with their infant Jesus to Egypt. If this is the first showdown between King Jesus and King Herod, King Herod wins the day. The bloody tyrant dominates the scene.

So the feast that celebrates the appearance of Jesus, good news to all the world, is laced with fear and uncertainty. And there’s plenty of reason for the fear. The Magi ask, where is he who is called ‘King of the Jews’? That title will next be heard when Pilate is questioning Jesus during his trial, then in the mockery from the soldiers who torture him, and finally as a sign posted on the cross over his head. The sweet story of the Christmas baby has Good Friday close on its heels.

So much fear. Herod is frightened. Fearful that he will lose power and be revealed as the imposter that he is. He’s a puppet king, no real legitimacy or power on his throne – just a despot out to enrich himself. Jesus’ birth is a sign that his cushy status quo will change. It’s never a stable, easy thing, being a tyrant – someone else is always out to depose you.

And all of Jerusalem is frightened. God is coming on the scene, the thing foretold by the prophets through the ages is happening. But that’s not entirely welcome news. When God comes, things change – we are called to account for our lives, our priorities are forcibly shifted, our defenses and our piles of stuff are cast down. As John’s gospel says it, ‘He came to what was his own, and his own did not receive him.’ No one really welcomes change – but as the great leadership consultant Ron Heifetz said, ‘what people resist is not change per se, but loss.’ When something new comes, even something good and longed-for, we lose something. We lose what was, the familiarity of how things worked, even when they didn’t work. And certainly when we don’t know what’s coming, we fear that change even more.

Fear brings out the worst in us. As any number of dystopian novels show us, as history shows us, when people are afraid, we are apt to do anything to save ourselves. Turning against one another, going along with the tyrant, laughing with the bullies, because we’re afraid of what might happen to us. Hoarding riches and resources, addicting ourselves to distractions, blocking out uncomfortable truth because we are afraid of losing power and status; afraid of being alone; afraid of suffering and death. It is hard for us to believe that God holds open possibilities and life on the other side of all of that loss.

But the shadow of fear in this story, the wickedness and the frightened reactions, that’s not all there is. There is also light, the light that comes to all people. Light that shines in the darkness. 

There’s a wonderful poem by Denise Levertov that speaks to this, called ‘On the Mystery of the Incarnation’:

It’s when we face for a moment

the worst our kind can do, and shudder to know

the taint in our own selves, that awe

cracks the mind’s shell and enters the heart:

not to a flower, not to a dolphin,

to no innocent form

but to this creature vainly sure

it and no other is god-like, God

(out of compassion for our ugly

failure to evolve) entrusts,

as guest, as brother,

the Word. 

The good news of Jesus’ coming is just this. The Epiphany isn’t an announcement that because we’ve all behaved well, Jesus is here – we’ve been nice and not naughty so here comes our reward. It’s an announcement that Jesus is here for everybody despite everything. For Gentiles as well as Jews, not just the ones inside the boundaries (however we construct those boundaries), but all of us. Here to give hope to us living under tyrants and dictators – the tyrants of our political world, of technology, of our own inner demons. Here to give hope to us who struggle with fear of loss, whether it’s grief for the world as it used to be or fear of our own mortality. None of the worst of what we are or the worst of what we suffer can separate us from God’s love in Jesus. Nothing separates us. All we stand to lose is what we never needed anyway.

So thank God for this good news. Emmanuel is come, God is with us – and not just with us, but with all, the whole world. In the midst of our fear, bringing us hope: light to all the nations. Amen.