So here's the final product....

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Sermon for Epiphany, January 6, 2010
Our gospel lesson for today focuses on the story of the Magi, the wisemen who traveled a great distance to worship the baby Jesus. This story is probably most commonly known to us and to our congregations through the hymn “We Three Kings of Orient Are” - which we will be singing a little later on. Actually, there is no basis for us assuming that there were only three kings, other than the fact that three gifts were brought to the baby Jesus – it is very possible, and likely, in fact, that the Magi travelled in slightly larger groups. After all, if one person had to handle the gold, one the frankincense, and one the myrrh, who would deal with the luggage? “We Three Kings” may have been more accurately “We Thirty Kings of Orient Are.” At any rate, three kings or thirty, this much is undeniable: they came from a great distance: they were not Bethlehem locals, like the shepherds who first saw the star and hurried to the stable, paid their respects and made it back to the fields before too many sheep went astray. No, these Magi -folks traveled many months and more miles to meet the infant King, even though interestingly they weren’t Jewish and frankly had no idea what kind of a reception they would receive when they crossed the international boundaries, much less what the volatile King Herod would have to say about their presence. Still, they saw the sign, the star – and to them it was an undeniable invitation – perhaps a calling? – to put down their books filled with Zoroastrian wisdom, to leave their well-ordered and likely prosperous lives and go in search of a deeper truth, a richer meaning.
Could this lesson relate any more directly to us gathered here today? How many of us were busily living our lives, our days full of worldly wisdom, when somehow, someway, we caught a glimpse out of the corner of our eye of some sort of sign, and upon closer inspection realized that we, too, were invited – called? – to put down whatever we were foolin’ with, leave our well-ordered lives, and go in search of a deeper truth, a richer meaning? How many of us are foreigners who caught a glimpse of the star in our lives and thought “Would this, Could this be a sign for me?”
Yes. Yes, this star is for you, you who come from afar. You who come from across the oceans, and you who come down from Route 15 or over from Route 30 or up from Virginia. This star is for you, no matter how unlikely it may seem…
I will never forget my first few days of seminary, my Junior year. How happy I was to be surrounded by members of the community of faith and how excited I was to learn all I could… and yet, I wondered if I truly belonged, if the calling really was for me. To my right was the son of a bishop; to the left was the daughter of two pastors. Behind me was the man who would become my husband – a fifth generation pastor-to-be, whose grandfather has a scholarship named after him at Trinity Seminary in Columbus. They talked about the sermons they had preached and the church camps they had worked at and I thought “Oh, my. Not me. Never preached a sermon. Never worked at a summer church camp. Never went to a National Youth Gathering. Heck, my dad wasn’t a pastor – he was a Pentecostal! Must be I was mistaken. Clearly, I am a foreigner. Surely, that sign I saw- that star – was not intended for me.”
Some of you may have felt this way; or if you haven’t yet, you might, someday, if you are from the busy Pittsburgh suburbs and you are called to serve a rural church in North Dakota – lutefisk? Lefse? Are you sure this call is for me? Or if you are used to a tiny country parish and you find yourself in the throes of the city – five hospitals? Twenty weddings in a year and twice that many kids in confirmation? Are you sure this call is for me?
Yes.
Ever since the first wise men packed up their bags and headed out to find the infant king, the star has called not just to the expected, local folk, but to unsuspecting others and foreigners as well, compelling us to step out in faith, calling us to forge a deeper relationship with our creator, the God-made-flesh who lived among us.
And those who come from a great distance often bring with them unusual and unexpected gifts – items that you can’t find at the local supermarket and talents that don’t appear in on every corner. The kings brought unusual, foreign, mysterious gifts to the baby Jesus, valuable gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, but they left with even more valuable treasures. They left with a deeper knowledge and an understanding which they demonstrated when they went home by a different route, rather than traveling back to King Herod.
You too have come with gifts for the king- your own unique, valuable treasures, which you have brought from afar – because isn’t the truth of it that we are all a little bit foreigners in this land? We are saints and sinners, children of God and human, too. And from and through our experiences, we bring our gifts – some of you have the gift of preaching, some the gift of compassion, some the gift of keen Biblical insight, some the gift of patience which will serve you well in a congregation. You have come with gifts for the Lord, and I guarantee that you will leave with more gifts than you brought here.
Yes, this call is for you, you who come bearing your gifts from afar, and this call is for you to carry to the people you serve. It is interesting how the very end of the Gospel of Matthew echoes and inverts this story of the Magi. Jesus has called his followers together, and he has a final commandment for them: Go, and make disciples of all nations. Go, now that you have heard, and spread the word. Just as the Magi received an invitation from afar to come and meet the savior, now those near are being sent far to share the good news.
Again, how fitting a word for us. We were called here to this place; we were led by a star that we saw in our hearts. Here, we see the king, we come to better know the Lord. We study, we preach, we pray, we worship. We offer up our gifts, and we are gifted in return. Then, we go forth, following the command to make disciples of all nations. We scatter across the country – indeed, across the world – carrying with us an invitation to all, to those who can’t come here, but can come to hear: your Savior is born. Into the darkness, comes light, into the brokenness, comes healing, into death comes life.
We all belong in the family of God. This might sound simplistic, but that doesn’t make it any less true. The invitation is not limited, but open-ended. The star shines in the night for all; blessed are you stargazers because you have seen, and followed. You have put down your lives, and packed up your bags, and gathered together your treasures, and set out to meet the Lord. And more fully blessed will be the world, when you share that starlight with those you meet on the road ahead. Amen.