Broadway Christian Church ·Columbia, Missouri
Morning Worship ·January 8, 2006
First Sunday After Epiphany
Prayer of the Day
Fill us with your love so that we may gladly speak for you, work for you, and live our whole life for you, until all the peoples of the earth join with us in endless praise; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Scripture
Matthew 2:1-18
After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the reign of King Herod, some wise men came to Jerusalem from the east and asked, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him.”
When King Herod heard this he was disturbed, and all of Jerusalem with him. He called together all the chief priests and the scribes and asked them, “Where is this Messiah, this Christ to be born?”
“At Bethlehem,” they replied. “For this is what the prophet has written:
‘And you, Bethlehem, are by no means the least of the leaders of Judea,
for out of you will come a leader,
a ruler who will be the shepherd of my people Israel.’ ”
Then Herod summoned the wise men to see them privately. He asked them the exact date on which the star appeared and sent them on their way to Bethlehem. “Go,” he said, “and find out all about the child, and when you have found him, let me know so that I, too, may go and worship him.”
Having listened to what the king had to say, they set out, and in front of them was the star, and they followed it until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw the star they were overjoyed. Going into the house they saw the child with mother Mary, and falling on their knees, they worshipped him. Then opening their treasures, they offered him gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh. Then, being divinely warned in a dream that they should not return to Herod, they departed for their own country another way.
Now when they had departed, behold an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream saying, “Arise, take the young child and his mother; flee to Egypt and stay their until I bring you word, for Herod will seek the young child to destroy him.
When he arose, he took the young child and his mother by night and departed for Egypt and was there until the death of Herod, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the Lord through the prophet, saying: “Out of Egypt I called my son.”
Then Herod, when he saw that he was deceived by the wise men, was exceedingly angry; and he sent forth and put to death all the male children who were in Bethlehem and in all its districts who were two years old and under, according to the time which he had determined from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what was spoken by Jeremiah the prophet, saying:
“ A voice was heard in Ramah,
lamentation, weeping, and great mourning,
Rachel weeping for her children
Refusing to be comforted,
Because they are no more.”
Sermon
The Downside of Good News
Rick Frost
It’s January 8 – Epiphany. Everybody knows about Epiphany, of course. Liturgically, that means we are supposed to be looking for an appearance, a manifestation, a revelation of a divine being.
Epiphany is John 3:16: “For God, the Creator, loved the world so much that God gave his only begotten Son.”
Epiphany is the baptism of Jesus. When the heavens opened up, and the Spirit descended like a dove, announcing, “Good news! You are my Son. You are my beloved, and on you my favor rests.”
It’s Epiphany. It’s a little breather. It’s six weeks before Lent. You know how the Church year goes: Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, Pentecost. That’s how we lay out the Church Year. Being from a culture and a tradition that’s not, quite frankly, very liturgical, we have to have these little lessons every once in a while in our church. And that’s a good thing.
A high school friend of mine, who calls me “Rev,” sent me his annual Christmas letter. It began like this: “In the spirit of political correctness, I wish you a Salubrious Winter Solstice, a Happy Hanukkah, a Merry Christmas, and for all you atheists and agnostics out there, a completely generic Season’s Greetings.”
We live in a culture about as liturgical as corn on the cob.
This, of course, is the day that the Church and Christians all over take down their Christmas decorations. Now, I know some of you jumped on that. You’ve already done that. Some of us don’t. I’ll let you guess who that might be.
What you need to remember is that all of the decorations are from Luke. They are all from Luke! All of those Madonnas, all those angels, all those nativity scenes that you and I have – the Marys, the Josephs, the Babe, the animals, the shepherds. We wrap them up, and we put them in tissue paper. We put them in the box, and we take them to the storage place, wherever that is. They are all from Luke. We put them away. It’s time to put Luke away. Luke has done a wonderful job for us, but now it’s time for us to turn from Luke and to look at Matthew.
So, in your mind today, exit the stable with me. Exit the manger and enter into the king’s palace. Exit the shepherds, and enter the wise men from the east. Exit the angels and the music – the wonderful music – and enter Herod and the lies. Exit Mary, and enter Rachel. Exit the lovely lullaby for sweet, infant children, and enter the screaming, the wailing, the sobbing, the gnashing of teeth.
“I heard a voice in Ramah. It was Rachel weeping for her children.”
Did you get that when I read it? If not, I understand. I understand because we don’t preach these two texts together very often. It may have been a long time since you’ve heard of Ramah and Rachel. I think because it’s so hard to hear. It’s so hard to accept.
We’d much rather have the lovely, uplifting, marvelous music of Christmas. Music comes from Luke, you know. That’s where it comes from. But today’s Epiphany text right here today is Matthew. And it’s just very hard for us to accept. We just don’t like to hear the fact that the gospel, the good news of Jesus Christ has enemies, but there it is. There it is!
Herod intimidated, his grip on power threatened, reminds me so much of the Saddam Husseins, those low-life dictators that pervade the globe, fake it, pump others for information, pretending to want to worship while issuing death warrants for all the baby boys under the age of two. The house-to-house search in Bethlehem, the kicking in of the doors, the chariots in the streets, the mothers clutching their infant in the shadows, yanked out of their arms by soldiers with daggers, the screams, the wailing, the gnashing of teeth.
It’s hard to believe. It’s hard to accept. It’s hard to hear that good news has enemies, but there it is. Read Matthew. It’s unavoidable. Babies are slaughtered. Why? Matthew says because Messiah is born.
Joseph bolts out of bed. “Mary, Mary, wake up!”
“What? What’s the matter?”
“We have to go. Get ready. Wrap the baby.”
“What? What?”
“I had a dream. They’re coming to get the boy. We have to go.”
And off to Egypt they go. What else are they to do? It’s hard to hear. We do not want to believe it’s true, but there is Rachel, in Matthew, crying, weeping, gnashing her teeth inconsolable, because they killed the children.
“My children! They were just children! Why?”
Matthew says it was because Jesus Christ our Lord, our only Lord, the only one we are willing to bow down to, has been born. It’s so hard to accept. It’s so hard to accept that the good news has so many enemies.
But what’s even harder to accept, I think, is that just announcing the good news creates enemies. Did you know that? Just announcing it creates enemies.
All the wise men really wanted to do – they said it – “Where is he? All we want to do is have a little worship service. We want to kneel down, make an offering. That’s all we want to do. We just want to worship Jesus. That’s all.”
And look what happened. Trouble breaks out.
These folks weren’t revolutionaries. These are not pothead radicals. These people don’t paint posters and stand around the post office. This is not a group that sits at the pub and sings “La Bie Boheme.” All they said was, “We want to worship Jesus.”
Of course, everybody in this room knows that all of the great revolutions, all of the great movements of history have never been started by revolutionaries. They’ve never been started by radicals. They are always started by people who simply said, “All we want to do is love.”
Do you know how to really release hatred in this world? Do you know how to stir the serpent that lives in the depths of hell to come out of his cage, to come out and wreak havoc and violence on this earth? Suicide bombers know. Terrorists know. If you really want to stir up hatred in this world, just start loving everybody. Just tell the truth and nothing but the truth. The evil one can’t stand it.
I read a story this week about a Dr. Goider. I never met him, maybe because he was born about a hundred years ago. He spent most of his life in China. He was an amazing man. The Church tried to call him an agricultural missionary, whatever that is. But what he was, they tell me, is basically he was a gardener who loved God and loved people. We went to China to do it.
While he was there, he taught folks about some new vegetables that they had never seen before. He taught them ways to feed their children better than they had before. He taught them how to have a cow that produced milk. He also told them stories about Jesus. He translated some of those stories into Chinese. Perfectly at home in that wonderful culture, he adopted two Chinese girls he found in the trash cans.
One day the police showed up. “You are under arrest.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re dangerous. That’s why.”
“Dangerous?”
This man couldn’t kill a flea. He was incapable of violence, but they said he was dangerous. I guess he was, because he couldn’t just love a few of the folks. He should have known better. He was a smart man. You have to watch who you love. You love the wrong people, and trouble breaks out.
John, the gospel writer knew this. He knew the problem. He said that the crisis in the world is that the “Light has come into the world, and yet people love darkness.” He went on to say in another place that the time is going to come when they are going to drag you out of your church and kill you in the name of God. They are going to kill you and think that they are doing a service to God (John 16:2).
How in the world did John know that? How could he know that 2000 years later a person from a church could take a 30/30 rifle, and aim it at the back of a civil rights worker, and shoot him in his own driveway, go back to church, sing a hymn, pray a prayer, read Scripture, and go home, all in the name of God? It’s hard to accept. It’s hard to hear. The gospel, the good news has enemies, but it does.
Now, here’s the really hard part. The most difficult part for me personally is my own poor record in the face of opposition to the gospel.
It wasn’t always that way. When I was 16 or 17, I went to church camp like some of you, and I fantasized about the enemy. I fantasized about what it meant to give your life to Christ, and who the “enemy” was, and to face that enemy, and to be a martyr. I remember those nights when we stood around Lake Whatever-Its-Name-Was, and we lit candles, and we sang that old hymn:
“Are ye able,” said the Master,
“To be crucified with me?”
“Yea,” the sturdy dreamer answered,
“To the death we follow thee.”
“Lord we are able,” Our spirits are thine,
Remold them, make us, like thee divine:
Thy guiding radiance above us shall be
A beacon to God, to love and loyalty.”
“Are you able?”
Sure Herod, bring it on. When you’re 16 or 17, bring it on. Boy, did I fantasize what it meant to be a Christian.
And in the ‘60s, like some of you, I spoke out in support of civil rights and the women’s liberation movement. I stood in opposition to the Vietnam War, of course, which later has proven to be all correct positions to take. It’s hard standing up for the truth, but we did it, especially when that truth was unpopular. And it was unpopular.
Then things got complicated for me. Something happened. I don’t know exactly what it was. I don’t know whether I just got older or more mature, or I had more to lose, or I became more cowardly. I don’t know what, but things seemed to be more complex. There were no simple rights and wrongs – no simple “yes” and “no.” There was always, “This is the way it is on this hand, but it’s also here on the other hand.” You know what I’m talking about?
The bottom line, folks, is that regardless of the situation, we – you and I – who call ourselves Christ followers, we have a responsibility to stand up for what is true. Sometimes it’s popular, and sometimes it’s very unpopular. It doesn’t matter. The fact is, “God so loved this world that God gave God’s only begotten Son, and that love – God’s love – means you and I, like God, love everybody.”
It doesn’t mean that we have to accept their behavior or the way they think, but we are obligated to love everybody. It’s the most powerful thing in the world. It’s also, as you’ve hopefully heard today, the most dangerous, because to love everybody stirs up the demons in hell. To love everybody threatens the powers and the ways that be. To love everybody arouses the ugliness of sin and lets loose violence in this world. That’s hard to accept, but it’s true. The good news and the gospel have enemies.
Epiphany. It means “God so loved this world – all of this world – that he gave his only begotten son.” Herod heard that news and killed the baby boys in Bethlehem. That’s what the text says today. It’s hard to hear. It’s hard to accept. It’s really hard to accept responsibility.
So… I have one question today. Who here is going to announce the news this week: where you work, where you live, where you play, where you go to church, the meetings you’re going to be attending this week? Who’s going to announce the good news?
May God bless us all.
And we all say together… “Amen.”
Benediction
O God, send us out into the world in peace. Help us to hold fast to what is good. Help us not to return evil for evil. O God, help us so to live, for Jesus’ sake. Amen.
