Epiphany Sunday

Once upon a time there were some astronomers sitting at their respective telescopes, minding their own business, and gazing up at the sky. Suddenly, they caught sight of one of the largest, brightest, most glorious stars they had ever seen. They were not particularly religious, but they were familiar with the Hebrew prophecies about the promise of a Messiah. They became so captivated by this dazzling luminary that they knew immediately that something powerful was calling them to begin an adventure. Little did they know that it would dramatically change their lives.

Their pilgrimage would lead them, by way of that bright star, to Jerusalem—the location they believed the Messianic prophecies identified—where they would make a pit stop at the palace of King Herod to water up the camels and inquire about this newborn king of the Jews, unaware that Herod was so insecure and so full of jealousy and greed, that he would plot to kill the baby, pretending that he, too, wanted to pay homage, and eventually slaughter many newborns in the hope that he would annihilate what he perceived as a threat to his throne.

By hitting the fast-forward button on our remote, and listening to Matthew’s account, we learn that these oriental visitors did, indeed, find the child Jesus and his parents, presented him with the precious gifts they had brought with them, and, warned in a dream of Herod’s evil intentions, went home by another way.

What is intriguing about these twelve verses in the second chapter of Matthew’s Gospel are the particulars we assume to be true yet are not mentioned at all in the text.

We typically think of the “Three Wise Men,” yet Matthew never put a number into the story. There may have been many more of them.

Actually, scholars tell us that they were magi—that is magicians—and were not only involved with watching stars but in making astrological predictions, reading omens, maybe even telling fortunes. Some think the gifts they brought were things they used in their incantations. They were well read and well-bred but they were not Jews, had no affiliation with the Hebrew religion, dealt in alchemy and magic, and may well have been agnostic—or just very curious pagans.

Here in the earliest chapters of Matthew’s Gospel we have a profound example of God’s radical invitation and grace extended to the outsider and the non-believer. The wonder of this story I think lies not in the sentimentality of their journey or the legends that surround it or the meaning of the gifts they bring but rather in the fact that God used their conviction and knowledge to bring them to the Christ.

More ironic, God used scientists who practiced other religions to let King Herod and the chief priests and scribes of the people in on the news that their Messiah had been born. God reaches beyond shepherds to Wise Ones. God reaches beyond people scared witless by God’s glory to those who observe the glorious star at its rising, and systematically, persistently follow it to the infant Christ.

God does whatever it takes to ensure that all people -- all people-- receive the good news of Christ’s birth because God embraces, God loves all people, no matter who they are or where they may be on their faith journey. God shines divine light with abundant generosity and never asks to see our passport or our family genealogy or questions our culture, class, gender, race or sexual orientation.

I want to raise up the deep meaning and implication this Gospel has for the Episcopal Church and the Church Universal. God’s radical grace is wondrously frightening as is God’s call to the church to be radically welcoming. The litmus test for our faithfulness to that call I believe, and about which I’ve had great conviction for a long time, is in our commitment to an open Communion Table where no one is ever turned away or excluded from the sacred meal, the Holy Food, God gives us here.

Typically, we cite the fact that Jesus ate with outcasts and sinners, touched people who were sick and shunned by society, and advocated for the marginalized as evidence that all should be welcomed to the Eucharistic Table. I think that is still a good argument and yet I see the roots of the doctrine of radical welcome in this Epiphany Gospel and the deep meaning it holds for the church.

The Church like Herod can slaughter peoples’ experiences of God’s grace for the sake of its tradition, practices, perspectives, even its paranoia.

And, sadly, one of those practices too many churches adhere to is to restrict the Sacrament of the Eucharist to those whom that denomination or local church deems acceptable. These are churches where, as unbaptized, quirky strangers, the magi would have never made it to the “A” list or the communion rail.

And so here we are, beginning a new year together as God’s people who have received the light and are called to illuminate the darkness in the lives of those who enter our doors—whether they travel afar or live around the corner, whether they come with great faith or serious doubt, whether they were here last week or never before, whether they are baptized or not, whether they come with a smile or in tears—all of us gathered around a table where there is plenty of room for everyone.

Because there is really only one tribe, the People of God, God’s beloved, and that’s all of us—without exception.