The Choice Between Fear and Joy

A sermon on Matthew 2:1-12

for an audio recording of this sermon, click here. Photo by James on Unsplash

One of the core concepts in Lutheran teaching is the Theology of the Cross.

When I ask what people think this refers to in the New Member’s class, I usually get some version of connecting the cross to the means of salvation, but this theological concept is not about salvation; it’s about revelation.

It teaches us that on the cross God offers us the most complete expression of who God is and of where God is made known:

God is the one who joins us in pain and loss, not in self-protection.

God is the one who identifies with the despised and oppressed, not with the privileged.  

God is the one whom we find on the margins, allied with the victims of empire, not at the center of power and influence.

On this Sunday that bridges the gap between the seasons of Christmas and Epiphany, we hear a story that, I think, embodies the Theology of the Cross.

The revelation of God’s presence in this story is all about showing up on the margins, among the least expected, and revealing how these people and places are central to what God is doing.

First, consider the location.

Jesus is born in Bethlehem, not Jerusalem where the magi expect.

When they come seeking the newborn king of the Jews, they assume they will find him in the capital city, the center of both political and religious power in the region.

But he’s not there, and even the prophecies that redirect them to Bethlehem hint at how insignificant the town is. The prophet has to make a point of saying Bethlehem is NOT least among the rulers of Judah.

Then there’s the contrast between Herod and “the child.”

Did you notice that, after introducing the context of Jesus’ birth, the narrative does not name him again for the rest of this story?

In an account whose subtext screams with the conflict over who gets to claim the title of king of the Jews, Herod is repeatedly referred to by name, but Jesus is just “the child.

It’s like a spotlight on his presumed insignificance.

Herod has the chief priests and scribes at his beck and call. His moods guide the reaction of the whole of Jerusalem. The child has only his mother.

Yet he is the one before whom the Magi kneel in reverence, and to whom they present their gifts.

And then there are the Magi themselves, who reinforce the unexpected, marginalized nature of God’s revelation.

In their own country they are clearly people of wealth and prestige, but in Judah they are outsiders.

And this is an important part of their identity to the gospel’s author.

For all that Matthew’s gospel is deeply grounded in the Hebrew scriptures, its vision grows from these roots to include all humanity.

Jesus’s outreach to foreigners is a consistent theme in Matthew’s telling of his life, starting here with the Magi and continuing all the way through to Jesus’s final great commission to “make disciples of all nations.”

And the magi contribute a powerful layer to this theme by virtue of their willingness to make themselves outsiders in order to experience God’s revelation.

They travelled from the center of power in their reality to the margins of another, in order to draw close to what God was doing.

Which is the whole point of the theology of the cross: not just to notice where God shows up, but to follow God’s lead.

To abandon our instinctive attachment to power, and status, and privilege, and to be willing to loosen our grip of these false idols that we think will give us security… so that we can instead get invested in the ways that God is working to destabilize those centers of power in order to rebalance the world.

Of course, that’s where the theology of the cross gets uncomfortable... when it demands something of us.

When is suggests that there are consequences to the revelation of God’s pattern of choosing the people and places with the least access to power.

Because that revelation means that we have to choose between God’s way and the way we are used to.

Today’s gospel demonstrates two potential reactions to this revelation.

The first reaction is Fear.

This is Herod’s reaction, of course, but not his alone. Matthew tells us that When Herod heard about the cosmic proclamation of a royal birth, “he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him.”

And that fear makes sense, because Jesus’s birth is a threat to the status quo.

That’s why the whole city is afraid.

A rival king, and a rival who comes from the margins, from obscurity, from poverty… and who even so draws worshippers from far away lands is a king who will destabilize the established order.

Anyone who is attached to their accustomed lifestyle, who has figured out how to flourish in a world marked by imbalance, and oppression, and the benefits that derive from proximity to power; anyone who is comfortable in the status quo will have something to lose by God shifting the balance.

The predictable response to such fear is what Herod does: he tries to exert control, through scheming and deception and leaning into the familiar patterns of power.

He tries to use people for his own ends, so he can find the threat and eliminate it.

The irony is that the only reason that Herod and Jerusalem take this threat seriously is because of how it was revealed:

Through a cosmic sign, recognized by the wise, and reinforce through sacred scripture.

These are not the kinds of forces that human mechanisms of control can overcome.

They can do a lot of harm, and they do. But they cannot derail God’s plan.

So, the wise people in the story choose the other response: they choose joy.

Not that this is an easy or expected reaction, especially when we consider what it costs the Magi.

Like the people of Jerusalem, they were close to the centers of power in their own land, people of wealth, leisure, and status.

But rather than clinging on to their privilege, they willingly abandoned it: undertaking a long and arduous journey, investing in expensive gifts to demonstrate their devotion, and coming as outsiders to a place that would not welcome their intrusion.

But Matthew tells us that when they arrived in the place where Jesus was to be found, “they were overwhelmed with joy.”

They valued the chance to see God’s work up close more dearly than they valued their own advantages.

And because of this wisdom their response was not an effort to take control, but rather a willingness to give honor.

To offer what they had to serve the holy mission they gave up so much just to witness.

The power of the story is the lesson that such giving is the response of joy.

So many of the messages in our world cater to fear, rather than to joy, but joy is what we actually want.

And the contrast of the two responses in this story show us why joy is so hard to experience.

Because when we LACK joy, we try to cling on.

We feel afraid to lose what we DO have.

We try to exert MORE control to force our lives into the shape we want them to take.

But that pattern is the way of fear.

Joy lets go. It willingly gives. It finds fulfillment in getting to witness that over which is has no control.

It sees the revelation embodies by the theology of the cross and says, Wow! That’s worth the journey. It’s worth whatever I have to give up to draw close to what God is doing.

The good news for us is that we don’t have to journey as far as the Magi did to witness the birth of God’s revelation in the world.

We just have to look to the margins, the outsiders, the despised in our world, and figure out how to give what we have to God’s work there.

Thanks be to God.