JC Disciples
Not What You'd Expect
John 1:(1-9)10-18
For those of you who think Christmas lasts too long, I have some bad news: It's still Christmas time. We have a few days left for celebrating this wonderful season -- for those of you who can't have enough of Christmas. In the church year, the season of Christmas begins on Christmas Eve with the announcement to the shepherds of Christ's birth in Bethlehem. It concludes twelve days later on Epiphany, January 6, when the church celebrates the visitation of the magi, those sages from the east who presented gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to the Christ-child.
Whenever I think about the visitation of the magi, my thoughts always turn to the poem "Journey of the Magi" by T. S. Eliot. I read it years ago as a college freshman in my English class. Tonight, I'd like to share it with you.
Journey of the Magi
by T. S. Eliot
"A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp.
The very dead of winter."
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on the slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it all again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
There is a wealth of symbolism and metaphor in this poem. In fact, I could probably spend an hour or more exploring it. However, tonight I'd like to focus on the parallels between Eliot's disturbed magus and John's soaring tribute to the Word made flesh. The two passages, our gospel text and this poem, seem so different on the surface, but I believe they touch upon the same ideas.
John's gospel doesn't mention the visit of the magi, nor does it speak of angels, shepherds or any other "factual" details regarding Christ's birth. The Gospel of Matthew reports that the magi came from the east seeking a child born to become king of the Jews. A star, possibly two or more planets in close alignment within the constellation Leo, had alerted these sages to the royal birth. So they came to the land of the Jews to honor the new king.
It seems logical that the first place they would seek the child was the palace in Jerusalem. After all, that's where you usually find kings, isn't it? But the king on the palace throne had no idea whom the magi were seeking. After consulting with experts in Jewish Scriptures, the magi were directed to Bethlehem, a town about five miles south of the royal city of Jerusalem.
We don't know if Mary and Joseph were still out in the barn with Jesus when the magi arrived. But wherever they were living would have been more of a hovel than a palace. Surely the magi must have been a bit bewildered when at last they found the child and his peasant parents in some rented room -- or worse, a stable. This scene was not at all what they expected. Kings are not born to peasants living in rented rooms or barns. It simply isn't done that way. Despite what must have been a disappointment for them, the magi presented their gifts and then returned home almost as mysteriously as they came.
In Eliot's poem, the magus who speaks is troubled by what he encountered. He and his fellows had come to celebrate a birth, yet the situation seemed more like a death. What they found was not what they expected. In some ways, it was a disappointment, at least for this magus, yet he does say that he would do it all over again. It was much less than he expected, yet, in a way he does not fully understand, it was far more than he ever imagined. When the magi return to their homes after their encounter with the Christ-child, they are changed. Home isn't homey anymore. They are uncomfortable with their own people and with the ways of their culture. Something about the encounter with the Child of Bethlehem has profoundly changed them, and life can never be the same as it was before.
Likewise, in John's gospel, we hear that Christ, the Word made flesh, was not what people were expecting. For years on end before the birth of Jesus, the prophets had foretold the coming of the Messiah. But the texts were confusing. Some passages spoke of a conquering a hero, another King David; others spoke of a suffering servant. In fact, some scholars concluded that there would actually be two messiahs: one to suffer and the other to reign.
It was into this environment that Jesus was born. A child born into the lineage of David, the great king, as prophesied, yet born in unkingly circumstances. The child grew to be a teacher who taught ideas that the religious officials deemed contrary to Scripture. The very people who should have recognized Jesus for who Christ was did not. Why? This simple carpenter-teacher was not what they were expecting.
Jesus appeared to be less than what the people were expecting, yet, as John writes, Jesus was something far more. John writes that "though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him." The Creator of all had now become a created thing. The Word, the voice of God that spoke all of creation into existence, now cried without words for milk, clean diapers, and warmth. The One who formed man and woman was now cradled in a woman's arms. God had come to literally dwell among God's people. Who could have expected this? The whole idea is beyond anything we could imagine.
John goes on to say that those who did believe in Christ, those who recognized Jesus as the promised Messiah, were changed by the experience. They became children of God. In Jesus, they were able to see the glory of God. How could anyone ever be the same after seeing this vision? Like the magus in Eliot's poem, believers in Christ have been forever changed and life can never be the same.
In Eliot's poem, the magi perceived a link between the birth of Christ and the death that was to come. Indeed, the birth of Jesus in the stable would only be a touching story (if remembered at all) had it not been for Jesus' death and the resurrection. There is an Easter sunrise liturgy I remember from years ago that asks the question: "People of God, why are you here?"
I could ask that same question of you tonight: People of God, why are you here? The carols have been sung, the candles have been lighted, the sweet story has been told of a baby born in a stable, most of the world has packed away Christmas for another ten or eleven months. Yet here we are tonight, still basking in the glow of Christmas, still marveling at the miracle of Emmanuel, God-with-us.
Perhaps the reason why John didn't include the nativity stories in his gospel was because he found them superfluous, unnecessary. Instead, John chose to peel away the veneer of the factual details to reveal the true reality of what happened. And that reality is why we are here tonight. We have seen God's glory, "the glory of the One who came from the Father full of grace and truth." Whatever it was we sought, we have found it in Christ. Through the grace given in Jesus Christ, we have indeed received one blessing after another. We have become children of God. We are heirs to the light of Christ.
On Christmas Eve, we passed around candlelight as a symbol of Christ's light which has come into the world. In the December issue of The Lutheran, there was an article by a woman recalling a Christmas Eve from her childhood. After the service, she tried to keep her candle burning for as long as possible. But as she walked to the car, a gust of wind extinguished the flame. At that same moment, she had a feeling that the flame from her candle was burning inside of her. Those candles we lit are now packed away, yet that Light still shines.
"The light shines in the darkness," John wrote. Like John, we have seen that light, we have held it in our hands. That light now shines in us. We can keep Christmas in our hearts all year long-- for God is truly with us. The message of Christmas is true for all time. Let us shine our lights against the darkness, for no darkness can overcome the Light of Christ. May we stand as beacons, lighting the way for others so that they too may come to find in the Child of Bethlehem, in Jesus the Messiah, more than they ever expected. Amen.