“A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’

And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow…

And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it…

With voices singing in our ears, saying

That this was all folly.

As you can see at the back of the church, the figures of the Three Kings that have been slowly traveling down the south aisle for the past few weeks have now arrived in the creche. Today we celebrate The Epiphany; the arrival of the Wise Ones in Bethlehem to present their (extravagant, impractical, and symbolic) gifts to the child Jesus—now a toddler since the Magi’s’ journey has taken them quite a long time. On a deeper level, the Epiphany also marks a manifestation, or sign, of Christ’s divinity; the Star of Bethlehem that led the Wise Ones to Jesus, showing where God’s light had come into the world. Finally and crucially, the Kings/Magi–who may actually have been astrologers–were outsiders to Israel and its faith and worship—they were Gentiles from lands to the East whose gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh acknowledged the Christ Child’s kingship, divinity, and self-offering for all people of the world, not just the Jews. 

So Epiphany is multifaceted. But these are the shiny bits of the story—the parts that are the most picturesque; nothing like T.S. Eliot’s description in his poem, “Journey of the Magi.” As Eliot shows us, any story worth its salt will reward deeper scrutiny with rich and perhaps disturbing treasure, not unlike the gifts laid at Jesus’ feet. Epiphany invites and challenges us to engage our imaginations in such a way that we can see more clearly its claim upon our lives and our journey of faith. 

In order to do that it may be helpful for a moment to ponder the events of Incarnation and Resurrection. At first these would seem obviously to be the chief identifying bookends of the life of Christ; God’s coming into the world in human form through the Incarnation, and God’s raising the crucified Jesus from the dead through Resurrection. These are separate divine actions, with separate implications for the Christian life. As People of Resurrection—a phrase I use frequently during the Easter season—we are called to live without fear of death because we know that death no longer has the last word. Whatever awaits us after our physical life is over is a mystery, but we have faith that it will be new life with the God who loved us into being. As People of Resurrection we are invited to live our lives courageously and joyfully, confident in—and as part of– God’s reconciling Dream for all of Creation. 

What, then, does it mean to be People of Incarnation? How is it different, and how does that matter? If you go to the Chapel of the Shepherds’ Field near Bethlehem, you can follow a trail down the hill from the chapel to a small grotto, in which you will find a Nativity scene. At first it looks like any Nativity, perhaps similar to the one on St. Martin’s front lawn. But look closer at the baby Jesus, smiling up from where he lies—in a traditional manger? No. It’s a little white coffin, with the coffin lid resting next to it, a red cross marking the top. 

This is a jarring image, bringing home the fact that Jesus’ life and death were inextricably linked. Of course that is true for all of us, in spite of our persistent efforts to deny it. Incarnation by definition makes us aware of our mortality. This is an uncomfortable and necessary realization, because as People of Incarnation, we celebrate God’s inbreaking into our frail, finite, humanity. Living into that awareness means saying yes to God’s challenge to live boldly and presently as co-creators of the Dream of God, knowing that we have only so much time in which to do God’s work, and also that God’s work is to bring healing and justice to the suffering bodies that share Creation with us.

So, we are both people of Resurrection and of Incarnation. We cannot choose to be one or the other. Resurrection draws us beyond time, while Incarnation draws us within time. They are the utterly interdependent and intertwined both/and of divine life, and of our faith. 

That being said, it is Incarnation—God With Us—in particular, that draws us deeper into the story of the Wise Ones; the shadows beneath the outward appearance of the starlit desert landscapes, the royal finery, and the glittering gifts. Because incarnation is not just mortal, it is messy. God has said yes to squeezing all of God’s God-ness into our frail nature; taking on our flaws, fears, wants, longings, selfishness and suffering. And it is this that illuminates the vital truths underlying the journey of the Magi that we celebrate today.

What truths?

The truth that the Magi journeyed from their own land into Roman-occupied territory to visit a child born under an oppressive regime and marked for death. The truth that Herod and all of Jerusalem were shaken by their news of a rival king who was attracting worldwide—no, cosmos-wide–notice. The truth of looking furtively over their shoulders as they approached Bethlehem on their exhausted camels, and later wasting no time obeying the divine instruction to return home by another road. 

The truth of coming face to face with Incarnation, of realizing that the king before whom they prostrated themselves was challenging them to a new life of vulnerability, humility, sacrifice and service; a life that would require courage, yet that would call forth from them joy like nothing they had ever known. 

The truth of what it would truly mean to “go home by another way”, knowing that home would never be the same, because they were no longer the same. The truth of the death of their old selves and their rebirth as someone new.

Eliot’s Magi perfectly articulate what it is to be transformed by the entwined realities of Incarnation and Resurrection through their encounter with the Christ Child:

All this was a long time ago, I remember,

And I would do it again, but set down

This set down

This: were we led all that way for

Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly, 

We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,

But had thought they were different; this Birth was

Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death,

We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,

But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,

With an alien people clutching their gods.

I should be glad of another death.

Perhaps these are strange words with which to greet the New Year. But the times we live in are no less challenging than those faced by the Magi who sought and greeted the One who said yes to us by becoming one with us; the One whose love was so great that he faced and conquered Death itself for us. How shall we respond to these Gifts of divine love and solidarity? Will we respond by clutching our gods of fear and despair, saying it is all folly? Or will we open our hearts to renewed faith, hope and love as the light of this new year dawns, and resolve to go on by another way, of courage, perseverance, and joy?  

T.S. Eliot’s “Journey of the Magi”: https://poetryarchive.org/poem/journey-magi/