Fragments of Wisdom: Sermon Preached on Sunday 7th January 2024 (The Epiphany)

Preached at St John’s Devizes; my final sermon as curate there.

Isaiah 60.1-6; Matthew 2.1-12

“Wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?’”

We know nothing about them, really. They are only mentioned once in the whole of Scripture, in the part of Matthew that was read as this morning’s Gospel. We don’t know what made these men wise, or whether they were learned at all in the conventional sense – the Greek word used to describe them, ‘μαγοι’, is the root of our own word ‘magician’. Bible translators have always struggled with it. I explored some modern translations of this passage when preparing my sermon – a German translation called them astrologers, all four French translations I checked called them magicians, while the Spanish New International Version opted for “some wise men”.

Three men dressed in medieval Near Eastern clothes, including breeches, carry gifts in their hands, as their horses walk behind. There is some Armenian writing above and behind.
The Wise Men as depicted in the an illuminated Armenian Gospel of 1391 in what is now Akdamar Island in Lake Van, Turkey; the Gospel is now kept in the Matenadaran in Yerevan.

That last is particularly interesting, because we don’t even know that there were ‘three’ Wise Men. In the churches of the West, that has always been taken as read given that they left three distinct gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. But the Bible doesn’t say how many of them there were. In fact, in parts of the East, and especially in Syriac Christianity, known to have particularly deep connections to the Church of the earliest times, they are adamant that there were twelve wise men bearing those three gifts.

All sorts of other things we take for granted about the Wise Men weren’t reported for many centuries after Matthew wrote his Gospel – that their names were Caspar, Balthasar, and Melchior, or that Balthasar was Black. Indeed, while we in the West have linked Balthasar with Africa for more than a thousand years, in Armenia – another Eastern land with a very ancient Church – they identify the Wise Men as Caspar of India, Melchior of Persia, and Balthasar of Arabia.

Wherever they’re from, once they’ve played their part in this morning’s Gospel reading, they walk off the biblical stage, never to be mentioned again.

It’s obvious why Matthew makes the Wise Men a significant part of His story of Christ’s early life – he wants to show us that even while still in a makeshift cot, this little baby is already not merely King of the Jews, but destined to be worshipped by peoples from every nation.

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A Few Wise Men: Sermon Preached on Friday 6th January 2023 (The Epiphany)

Preached at St John’s Devizes, and on Sunday 8th January at St Peter’s, Poulshot and Holy Cross, Seend

Isaiah 60.1-6; Matthew 2.1-12

“Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn…”

Epiphany (1940) by Max Ernst.

The Epiphany is the fourth most important date in the Church’s year, after Easter, Christmas, and Pentecost. Yet it is often neglected by secular society, and church-goers don’t generally turn out in great numbers for Epiphany services in my experience. Yet it’s a feast of great significance because, with Christ still in His cradle, it established Christianity as an explicitly universalising religion: by that, I mean one that seeks to make followers of people of every nation and language, rather than just from the Palestinian Jewish community who supplied Christ’s followers while He was on earth.

A lot is going on in our two readings this evening, so let me try to unpack some of it.

The fact that these men are identified by St Matthew as coming from the East, specifically, has interesting implications. The East was a place associated with wisdom and spiritual insight. The Wise Men are being identified by Matthew not as any old gentiles but some of the holiest and most intellectually gifted representatives of the entire gentile world. They already know that the new-born child they seek is destined to be king. In contrast, Herod, the temporal king of the Jews, is spiritually blind. This short-sighted and intolerant man can’t see anything in the arrival of these foreign visitors beyond a potential threat to his power. Wisdom and holiness do not come through ancestry: early in his story of Jesus’ life, Matthew has established an important principle.

Yet there is an obvious tension between universalism and the particular here. If Christianity is a universal religion, one might ask why Jesus should have been born as a Jew, as a male, in the Holy Land, in the 1st Century. Why there, and then, and in the form of this little baby born of Mary? Part of the answer must be that if Christian faith truly does encapsulate God’s plan for humanity, then God had to become human as someone in particular. None of us are blank slates. All of us have a culture and a heritage, and no single one of us can be everyman or everywoman. Indeed love can only truly be love if it is directed towards someone or something in particular; love in the abstract remains something unconsummated and unfulfilled.

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