Star of Wonder

The wise men, those mysterious visitors from the East, remind me of those astronomers. I’m sure they knew all kinds of mathematical formulas, but what stands out most is their wonder. Their openness to discovery. Their curiosity and patience. Matthew tells us very little about these star-gazers. We have filled in the details with our imagination, but we have no idea if there were two or three or more of them. We don’t know if they were kings, magi, or scholars. We don’t know what religion, if any, they claimed. But what matters is that they notice things. They are adventurers. They see a new star that doesn’t belong to the constellations they know. And they follow it until they come upon Jerusalem and meet King Herod.

King Herod is not a fellow star-gazer. He’s a navel-gazer. He thinks only of himself—his own power, his own small world, and his own wealth and legacy. When the wise men tell Herod of the star and what it might portend, Herod responds not with wonder, but in fear. He pretends to be curious about the new king, but behind the scenes he plots to kill all baby boys under the age of 2. And yet for all his efforts to eliminate this threat to his power, we are told that Herod dies. His light goes out before the end of the chapter that began with the words, “In the time of King Herod…”

I heard a quotation yesterday from an artist named Michael Podesta. He says, “If we fill our lives with things…and every moment of our lives with action, when will we have time to make the long slow journey across the desert as did the Magi? Or sit and watch the stars…?”

Christians, on this great feast of the Epiphany, see the wise men as the first Gentiles open to seeing the significance of Jesus. Their gifts reveal who Jesus is: gold—he’s a king; frankincense—he’s the Son of God; myrrh—he will die an unusual death. And yet their real gift is the wonder and openness to discovery.

We, at St. Albans, have so much to learn and discover together. We do that in science labs, in studying ancient myths, in exploring the beauty and order of math. But when we gather here together in chapel, a community rich in religious diversity—people sitting side by side from different backgrounds, we have a chance to be still and wonder. To remember that we are on a long, slow journey together following God’s light. It does not burn out like the light of worldly leaders. It burns as brightly for us as it did for the people who wrote these ancient stories and will burn long after us.

Today a very young boy and his father and mother, who teaches with us, have joined us on this journey to follow that light. We will pray in a few minutes for this child to have “the gift of joy and wonder” in all God’s works. He was blessed in his own congregation shortly after he was born, but his parents have asked us to bless him here in this community. What a gift! Plenty of people feel sentimental about this building. They come back to the Little Sanctuary for baptisms, weddings, and funerals. But this boy’s parents see more than this building. They see the light in all of you gathered here and want their son to be part of that. I hope that he grows up knowing the richness and diversity of this community, bound together in wonder and our openness to discovery beyond what we think we know in this world.

So let us kick off 2019 with the gifts of openness and wonder. I hope that we will use our time together in chapel this year to take a break from our action-packed days and remember that we are on a long, slow journey together. “Star of wonder, star of night, star of royal beauty bright, westward leading, still proceeding guide us to thy perfect light.”

Amen.