Christmas 2C: Matthew 2:1-12
The Rev. Cameron Partridge
January 5, 2025
Good Morning, St. Aidan’s and St. Cyprian’s, and Merry Christmas: welcome to the close of Christmas. We have reveled or rested through these last twelve days. The gospel passages associated with these days and their Advent lead-up have steeped us in the stories of Jesus’ nativity, especially as told by Luke. We have also been invited to glory in the cosmic reading of creation and the dwelling of the incarnate Word among us through the prologue of the Gospel of John. Now, on the final day of Christmas, we return once more to the nativity tradition with a story from the Gospel of Matthew, anticipating the Feast of the Epiphany which is tomorrow, January 6th. We will hear more of Epiphany next Sunday, as we step into it as a season, launched by the story of the Baptism of Jesus. But today we dwell with the story of the famous visit to the baby Jesus by the Magi. In it we might hear an invitation to honor and receive the gifts of such visitation, to be uplifted and upheld by it and to join in its train.
The story of these mysterious visitors is unique to Matthew’s gospel. The Greek word Magi, plural of Magos, translated as wise men, can be rendered as sages. They may have practiced some form of astrology, allowing a particular star to guide their journey from “the East” – the story does not say where they came from beyond that. Their number is not clear either – the assumption that there were three emerges from the three gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh that they offered to bring Jesus homage. And despite the famous lines of our iconic opening hymn, it is far from clear that these wise ones were kings.[1] They were observers of the stars, visitors from lands whose eastern origin links and opens Jesus’ future ministry to Gentile as well as his own Jewish contexts. These were sages who came in respect to welcome and worship the newborn one whom they identified in kingly terms. With an unfolding twist, their visit expanded into protection. For Herod, the treacherous Roman-backed king, was deeply threatened by news of a baby “born king of the Jews” (Mt 2:2). He connivingly sought to spin his paranoia into a shared reverence: “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage,” he declared (Mt 2:8). But the Magi were wise to him. They heeded not only the stars but a dream, shared in some way among them, warning them to steer clear of Herod and go home by an alternate route. This newborn king would be protected, at least for the time being.[2] God among us, Wisdom enfleshed in fragile humanity would grow up to offer his own life and ministry, to journey with us, binding up and transforming a world filled with uncertainty, injustice and pain.
As I reflected on the gifting journey of the wise ones, who honor and protect the launching of Jesus’ own journey, I thought of a certain cast of characters from a novel I recently read: Sourdough, by local author Robin Sloan.[3] Kateri recommended it to me over the summer, when we were steeped (mired?) in weeks of the Bread of Life passage from the sixth chapter of John’s gospel. As its title suggests, the novel features truly amazing bread generated by highly unusual sourdough starter. Early on in the story, that starter is gifted to the book’s protagonist, a young woman named Lois who had moved to the Bay Area from the Midwest to work night and day for a tech company. Her life revolved so utterly around her work, that other than the sourdough starter itself and its original custodians – those who paid it homage and gifted it to Lois – the only people she knew were a group of other Loises. Her mother, also named Lois, had suggested to her that she join the San Francisco branch of… the Lois Club. This was a multigenerational community of women named Lois. “Do other names boast affiliated clubs?,” our protagonist wonders. “Certainly there is no Rachel club. Maybe Persephones have a club. We Loises do. It's real! There are chapters scattered around the country.”[4] (It’s true, by the way, the clubs really do exist, I just learned).[5] Since Protagonist Lois knew next to no one in the Bay Area, why not seek out folks who could be a source of connection to her midwestern home? After initial resistance, she decided to attend a meeting, climbing a hill to the house of its host “Hilltop Lois.” These gatherings are sparsely scattered through the book, and they convey not only quirky connections to home and origins but also, ultimately, support to protagonist Lois as she discerns the direction of her vocation. Toward the end of the book, she finally tells the women all that had been unfolding in her previously predictable life. In characteristic response, “they each had a different opinion.” Professor Lois thought one thing, Compaq Lois another, Hilltop Lois, yet another. Finally, the oldest among them, whose years earned her the title “Most Respected Elder Lois,” pursed her lips and held up her hand to prevent interruption. “You must go…” she announced. Protagonist Lois needed to follow this new possibility, to risk stepping through the new threshold opening in her life. “Somebody get a mirror,” Elder Lois declared with “a vibration in her voice that [suggested] a whole story … ‘If you could see your own face when you talk about [this possibility], you’d know it, too.’”[6] And if it didn’t work out, at least there were Lois Clubs all over the world. This backup plan launched the group into a cacophony of cackles.
Visitation and gifting run in multiple directions in this story. So too does wisdom. The youngest among them had come to the elders rather than the reverse. All of them had been on, and remained upon, journeys across the years and the miles. They had uplifted a young woman finding her way, creating hospitality in an all too hostile world. They had joined one another, nourishing community and possibility in the wake of exhaustion and in the face of vulnerability. Together, the wise ones had launched one of their own into a new journey of unfolding wisdom.
On this 12th day of Christmas, as we welcome the Feast of the Epiphany, the revelation of divine Wisdom incarnate among us, this invitation extends to us: may we receive, give thanks for, and join the journey of the wise ones among us. Across generations and contexts, giving and receiving, in the face of uncertainty, pain, injustice and foreboding, may we recognize the wisdom in community, both long present and emerging, and be freed by it. May we be liberated to seed new life and possibility in a world that seems to foreclose it, to share hospitality and nourishment in a world that preaches scarcity. May we rejoice in the wisdom of the Loises in our midst. Christmas blessings to you all.
[1] The Oxford Companion to the Bible (New York, NY & Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1993), 483; The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church (New York, NY & Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press,1997), 1020.
[2] Anna Case-Winters, Matthew: A Theological Commentary (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 2015), 27-30.
[3] Robin Sloan, Sourdough (MCD, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2017) https://www.robinsloan.com/books/sourdough/
[4] Sourdough, 53
[5] See https://midlifeattheoasis.com/personal-essays/lois-club/ There is even a Lois fight song! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_2JZhZe6jgU
[6] Sourdough, 250-251
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