A Perspective the Magi from Long Ago Might Speak to Americans Today

Today marks a one-week anniversary that is far from celebratory. Last Wednesday, your nation watched as it seemed to lose control of itself. Those scenes from Washington, D.C., will most likely redefine the 6^th of January — far from how it has been observed for centuries. January 6 should be a day of celebration, but the annual recollection of those images at the U.S. Capitol might forever overshadow a very special anniversary and occasion.

January 6 is supposed to be the day to celebrate a holy moment in faith, the day of Epiphany. It is the annual observance of my personal appearance before the Christ Child. The reason my visit back then warrants its own day of commemoration is that you would certainly not imagine that I, of all people, belonged there. I only made the trek from the east because I was a student of the stars. Our findings pointed to this unusually brilliant star as a monumental marker of extraordinary historical value, so I dared not miss it. I was part of a mysterious group known as Magi, and we were far from being considered followers of Jewish traditions.

Indeed, it is that vast contrast between the Jewish baby and me, a sage of the stars, that created a lasting impression in your faith.

The day of Epiphany traditionally marks the occasion when Jesus revealed himself to the world. My presence with the child unveiled the revelation that his mission would reach far beyond the followers of the Jewish faith. Our brief experience together symbolized that the love of Jesus was for the entire world. That seismic revelatory insight into Christ’s purpose was truly an epiphany.

Yet, on Wednesday, January 6, 2021, the day of Epiphany took a much darker tone. Instead of love, there was hate. Instead of peace, violence. Instead of joy, anger. The day of Epiphany is about the child’s coming to widen the embrace of love, not narrow it.

On our way to see the child, King Herod met us secretly with the ominous instruction: “…Go and search carefully for the child. As soon as you find him, report to me, so that I too may go and worship him” (Matt. 2:8). When we finally found Jesus, there was something unique about him. I cannot begin to put it into words; it was an experience like no other. This child emanated a spirit of love, even for those of us who were foreign to his family’s beliefs. When our eyes met, a captivating aura of love and light enveloped me with such force that I immediately knelt in reverential response.

After giving our gifts, we dreamed of King Herod, cautioning that he did not mean well for the child. Instead of reporting back to him, as directed, we followed our premonition and intuition and returned home “…by another route” (Matt. 2:12). In retrospect, we now know that to be the wisest thing we “wise men” did.

So that brings us to today. What does the day of Epiphany have to do with the riotous behavior in your nation’s capital? Nothing, and that’s the point. It is hard to reconcile such violent anger on a day which you historically have spent embracing the Gospel of love for all people.

Even though you call me a wise man, I don’t know all the answers to your problems. But here is what I do know: what happened last Wednesday is not the solution. I only know of one vaccine for the hatred that has divided your country, damaged your friendships, and even destroyed your own family bonds.

The answer lies in what happened that day in Bethlehem. As the brilliant star shined, the presence of the child wrapped me with love. We shared very little in common, but his love found me when I found him.

When it was time to depart, I could not go back to the king’s odious plotting. My new road was now illuminated by the love that the child projected. I now knew to walk within the path of love, even when, or especially when, my steps might intersect with those who differ from me.   

Perhaps there was an epiphany last Wednesday after all… when you have been in the presence of the child, you cannot continue your journey the same way. If you have bowed to Christ, you must resume your journey “by another route.”

________

Scripture references are from the New International Version.

I can’t breathe. The words instantly conjure the horrible image of the desperate cries of a dying man. In the following days, George Floyd’s words have come to symbolize the shouts of our Black brothers and sisters whose centuries of racial mistreatment are epitomized in the death of Mr. Floyd. It is about how we treat each other. It is about how we should love each other.

It shouldn’t escape us that this moment has occurred during the time of a worldwide pandemic. We have been wearing masks for several months now in an attempt to keep from breathing on each other. We are told that the mask is one way to protect people around us. It is about how we treat each other. It is about how we should love each other.

Converging on these two images of breathing is the current season of the church’s worship. Many Christians around the world mark this time of year as the season of Pentecost. Sundays are identified by their date in relation to Pentecost, i.e., June 14 is the Second Sunday after Pentecost. As recorded in the second chapter of Acts, Pentecost marks the occasion when God sent the Holy Spirit to imbue His people with His presence and purpose in the world.

When most of our English translations mention God’s Spirit, the word translated “Spirit” is the Greek word pneuma and its variations. The word means breath, wind, and spirit. To be filled with God’s Spirit is nothing short of being filled with God’s breath.

I’m not smart enough to figure out what must all be done to end racism toward my fellow Black citizens. I also don’t understand how to reopen our country without increasing the cases of the virus. What I do know is that an answer involves improving how we treat each other and love each other.

We must no longer accept the often-repeated excuses of white Americans: It’s just the way things were when I grew up; I don’t voice my feelings about racism, but I’m not a racist; I’m not Black, so I will never understand racism; I don’t know many Black people. The list of statements we use to avoid our contributions to racism goes on and on.

When we recognize these statements for what they are, false justifications for our actions and inactions, we can begin our own individual efforts to make our corner of the planet better. We can start to live as Pentecost Christians, breathing deeply the life-sustaining oxygen of God’s Spirit. 

What does being infused with the breath of God look like? Our actions will bear the fruit. We will be driven by love, not hate; by joy, not cynicism; by peace, not violence; by patience, not prejudice; by kindness, not indifference; by goodness, not suspicion; by faithfulness, not inconsistency; by gentleness, not callousness; and by self-control, not impulsive distrust (see Galatians 5:22-23). The fruit is about how we treat each other. It is about how we should love each other.

That kind of world is one in which we can all breathe.

I’ve never heard so many questions for answers that I never knew existed. Questions about how far cough droplets travel. What is a contact tracer? How do I fold a homemade cloth face covering? Who should self-quarantine? We are under daily bombardment of questions and answers, perhaps more of the former than the latter, with differing opinions on how to restore “life as we knew it” without losing life itself.

As we take steps into the reopening light of this dark pandemic, every day brings its own unique questions. The world on the other side looks familiar, but not completely the same. 

In spite of our weariness of all the talk, we seem drawn to it, even engaging in our own diatribes on social media at times. (It doesn’t escape me that here I am adding to the deluge of pandemic conversation.)

The tension seems to be tautest between economics and health. Three months ago it would have been impossible to imagine a day in which going to work could create conflict between earning an income to put food on the table and placing public health at risk. But alas, these are the times.

To the already crowded dialogue, there is yet another perspective which Christians might ought to consider in this worldwide obsession. It is a mostly missing moral conversation that centers on what I’ll call the integrity of Christ. Integrity means to be whole, fulfilled, and undivided. Think of the words integer and integrate as ideas that contribute to the whole of something. As the body of Christ in the world, we have the responsibility to complete His presence in the world, to fulfill the integrity of Christ.

Believers should ask the question: Who should I be and how should I act in this moment to bring Christ’s character full circle? Even though we may arrive at different answers, it is vital that we ask the questions of the role of Christian morality in these days.

What does it look like for me personally to fulfill my responsibility in the integrity of Christ? At the very least, the character of Christ in Scripture reveals His constant focus on the other person. He told stories, gave instruction, and made decisions that always took others in account before Himself. That means that whatever I decide about living in the world’s new normal, I must seek the betterment of others first. That defines if I will wear a mask, or walk the correct direction in the store aisle, or wear gloves, or hug my grandchildren.

How would you answer the question, “As I emerge from pandemic separation, what behaviors of mine best further the character of Christ?” We will arrive at different answers, depending in part on the personal circumstances that we take to our reading of Scripture. The important thing is that we ask this ethical question and allow it to be a civil part of our public conversation.

And one more Scriptural truth that is part of my fulfilling the integrity of Christ: when you arrive at different answers and contrasting behaviors than I, I should respect the decision that you make.  

To be masked, or not to be, is not the only question.

Remember those days of sitting down in a restaurant?  Or dropping the kids off at school?  Or hugging grandchildren?  Or walking into a store to buy toilet paper?  Life, between the first stay-at-home order and the yet-to-be-determined release dates, put so many of our normal routines on intermission.  What used to be is gone; what is yet to come is unknown.

The Israelites also found themselves in an in-between place when they were exiled to Babylon, far away from life as they knew it in Jerusalem.  Their situation was more of a stay-away-from-home order.  They surely grieved the loss of their traditional culture, customs, and especially their temple, the centerpiece of their faith.  They had no idea what life might look like if they ever returned.  Sound familiar?

Through the prophet Jeremiah, God responded to their paralyzing sense of loss with these instructions: “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce.  Marry and have sons and daughters…” (Jeremiah 29:5-6).  They did not want to hear about finding purpose in their exile, rather, they only wished for life to return to “normal” as soon as possible.  Sound familiar?

In a letter to the exiled people, Jeremiah sent these oft-quoted words: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (Jer. 29:11).  God knew that they would one day return to Jerusalem, but not before 70 years had passed, along with a generation or two of Israelites.  But God was also offering them hope in the present, a prosperity during this in-between time.

And so might be God’s message to our 21^st century exilic quarantine.  Live your life.  Enjoy the time with family.  Find the blessings in the abnormal.  Celebrate prosperity.

Prosperity?  What does financial well-being look like when the economy is shut down?  How can we prosper before the country opens back up?  The word that is translated “prosper” is the Hebrew word shalom.  It’s a Hebrew word that most of us know as a greeting of peace.  But shalom is so much larger than that.  Shalom means to experience peace that comes only to the life that is lived as fully as God means it to be.  But peace in quarantine?

Yes.  God’s plan for us, now and in the post-coronavirus days, is to know this peace that comes from being completely who we were created to be, even now.  Instead of spending our current days longing for what could have been or fretting over the unknown future, real hope is built on finding God’s peace in the in-between.

Shalom.  It is what we need right now.  Shalom.

For the most faithful among us, who may be uttering ancient, Job-like prayers…

O God, we know You are our God of healing.  We are struggling, God, with the news of thousands of people dying around the world.  Is this an ominous result of our not having enough faith to be healed?  If we had more faith, would You flatten the curve of this illness?

O God, we know You are our God of blessings.  We are trying, God, to recognize that Your blessings come in many different forms.  In our currently narrowed perspectives, though, our cups appear to be shrinking, instead of overflowing.  We know You are not the treasurer of a prosperity gospel, but grappling with the news of shuttered businesses, climbing unemployment, and shrinking retirement dreams frightens even those who have steadfastly given You the glory for every perfectly good gift.

O God, we know You are our God of worship.  You delight in the assembly of Your children, gathered to worship You.  Some of the most elaborate buildings on earth are the sacred spaces dedicated to You.  We place such value in our centers of worship that many of us even have “our own pew.”  Since we need to close our sacred spaces right now, couldn’t You simply kill the virus so we don’t have to forsake our meeting together? 

O God, we know You are our God of companionship.  We thrive together because You deemed it not good that we should be alone.  In these days of social distancing, we are experiencing the reason that You didn’t create us to be people of isolation.  Shouldn’t You destroy this disease so that we can emerge out of isolation and return to live in connection and community, as You made us? 

O God, we know You are our God of judgment; we know You are our God of mercy.  In these days of pain and uncertainty, we wonder if the entire planet has become the modern-day Sodom, where there are not even ten faithful souls to redeem your Noah-like wrath.  We know that Jesus Christ is the embodiment of Your mercy over judgment.  Help us in our unbelief. 

What might be God’s response to these honest prayers?  He is still the God of healing, blessings, worship, companionship, judgment, mercy, along with many other divine manifestations.  The suffering in these days in no way diminishes who He is.  Consider what He said to His servant Moses in another time when His children were suffering.  He simply and profoundly said, “I AM WHO I AM.”

Certainly, God was in our past, even though the most recent past days seem forever ago.  He will also be in our future, despite our inability to imagine quite yet a future without distancing.  For now, let us celebrate that God is in the present.

I AM is still I AM.

__________

For further study of the references above, see Job 23; Matthew 17:19-20; Psalm 23:5; James 1:17; Hebrews 10:25; Genesis 2:18; Genesis 18:22-33; Genesis 6:5-8; Matthew 5:45; Exodus 3.

“No man is an island, entire of itself;
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. …
any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind,
and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee”
(John Donne, Meditation 17).

The Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral wrote these timeless words as part of a longer meditation during a personal, nearly fatal, illness.  His own mortality underscored his link to the wider human family.  When the London church bells rang to signal another death, Donne recognized that a part of himself died as well … “No man is an island.”

The namesake of Donne’s cathedral, the apostle Paul, also wrote words of our interconnectedness: “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit.  Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others” (Philippians 2:3-4, New International Version).  Paul envisioned a church where believers focused more on what others needed than on their own preferences or opinions … “No man is an island.”

Ultimately, Christ Himself commanded us to act on our interwovenness: “… Love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:39, NIV).  Faith places us in a bilateral world, where love for others is measured by love for ourselves.  The word “neighbor” indicates anyone whose path we have come near.  The person may be a believer or unbeliever, friend or enemy, Democrat or Republican, Boomer or Millennial, Facebook friend or close family member.  The internet has created a world where our neighbors can live across the globe.

In these days of self-protection, our well-being ironically depends on the altruism of other people.  Before we speak, before we post, before we walk out the door, our next act should depend on what is best for others.  Our heath care workers express this well in their context: “We stay here for you, please stay home for us!”  Adapted for all of us: “I make decisions to protect you, please do the same for me.”

In a COVID-19 world, where isolation is the new abnormal, the words still rings true: … “No man is an island.”

Looking past someone’s outward qualities to focus inwardly on the heart sounds divine (see Looking to Change the World), but it requires some major human mind shifts.  When God told Samuel that he would learn the identity of the next king of Israel by looking at the heart, not scrutinizing appearance or outward traits, God was calling for such a mind shift within his prophet.  One of the greatest prerequisites to making any colossal pivot in thinking is humility, then and now.  To see others as God sees them demands that we abandon “doing it our way” and move forward “doing it His way.”

The account of Samuel’s anointment of David as the new king of Israel (1 Samuel 16) was filled with characters who had to relinquish their pride.  It couldn’t have been easy for them to get out of their own way; but God had a plan, and that strategy included their humility.

First, Prophet Samuel needed to humble himself.  Since God sent him decades earlier to anoint Saul as king, Samuel figured he knew how to recognize royalty.  Experience has a way of making all of us self-appointed experts.  Experience is one of life’s most powerful instructors; but when used to inhibit personal growth, it instead can become a paralyzing impairment.  Samuel needed to humble himself by submitting his reliance on his personal history to embracing God’s new future direction for him instead.

Next, Jesse had to humble himself.  Jesse was the father of these eight boys; and he clearly thought that Eliab, his firstborn, should be the choice for Israel’s new king.  His presumption went beyond even his personal preference.  Primogeniture was part of the Mosaic law that added value to the first son’s position (see Deuteronomy 21:17).  Not only was the firstborn to receive a double portion of the inheritance, but he was also an indicator of his father’s strength.  When Samuel passed over the eldest, it could be perceived as a potential blemish on Jesse’s reputation.  Jesse needed to humble himself by letting go of what others thought about him and substitute his trust in God’s plan for him.

And then, there was the critical humility of the brothers.  When their youngest brother was selected as the king of Israel, they were at a crossroads, of sorts.  They could submit to him as their king, or they could forever treat David as their baby brother who took away what could have been their own honor.  David’s anointment was not easy to accept, as revealed when Eliab confronted David on the front lines of the battle with Goliath.  Accusing David of being conceited and wicked, Eliab clearly struggled with prerogative, giving up what he must have thought was his rightful position.

Could God have accomplished His plan without the humility of Samuel, Jesse, and the other sons?  Of course he could, but God was offering them the blessing of being a part of His story.  To join God’s plan, it appears humility was demanded: Samuel would be required to humble the pride of his experience, Jesse the pride of his potential reputation, and the brothers the pride of their possible entitlements.

God continues to carry out His plans today, often requiring humility from those He calls as participants.  Just as in the story of David’s anointing, we can choose to engage actively in God’s work or to watch the divine work as mere bystanders.  The challenge for us is that our involvement will require a similar mind shift, one that transfers the focus away from us and toward God’s line of sight.  Humility may be a key characteristic within us that needs realignment.  There may be some other obstacles that hinder us from our willing contribution in the movement of God.  If we ask Him what is in our way, be careful, He just might tell us.

 

“But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him.  The Lord does not look at the things people look at.  People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7, New International Version). 

God sent Prophet Samuel on a mysterious quest to find Israel’s next king, an individual whom God had already identified.  If God had already decided the next monarch, why would He not simply tell the new king directly or announce it from the mountaintop for the whole world to hear?  Why involve Samuel at all?

God’s activity almost always intertwines His truth and our trust.  The story is not just about a new king; it is also an account of Samuel’s faithfulness.  Samuel only knew one detail of God’s truth: the new king would be one of the sons of Jesse.  For Samuel to determine which one, he would have to trust God’s decision over his own assumptions.

When Samuel met the first son, he thought his task was one and done.  Not only was Eliab the firstborn and most logical choice, but his outward presence also met Samuel’s standard for royalty.  But before Samuel could anoint his new king, God stopped him: “People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”  God challenged Samuel to look from a divine perspective.

After seven sons failed their interviews, Jesse dubiously acknowledged that he had one more boy.  This one was so unlike a king that Jesse had instructed him to babysit the flock while his older brothers met the prophet.  When the young son answered their summons, God told Samuel that he was looking at Israel’s next king.

How did God speak to Samuel?  That detail is missing, so it must not be vital to our understanding of the story.  What we do know is that Samuel received God’s word when he trusted God over his own preconceived notions of what a king looked like.  He stopped looking at the outside and began to look at the heart.

Within David and within each of us lives a reflection of the divine presence.  We are all vessels of the image of God Himself, for “…God created mankind in His own image…” (Gen. 1:27).  When Samuel recognized that image within David, he saw the young man whom God had created for the task.  To look at the heart is to see the divine presence of God that yearns to reveal His mark in this world through each of us.

We know that Samuel’s trust played a major role in the birth of our Lord, when Joseph and Mary traveled “…to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David” (Luke 2:4).  The way we see someone may also be vitally important.  The world is filled with individuals yearning to be free of society’s shallow, preconceived notions of who they are.  You may be the one person, following God’s mandate to look at the heart, who gives inspiration to that individual’s fulfillment of God’s purpose in their lives.  Your look may change their world.

I’ve learned more about caregiving in the last few years than I did in all my years as a pastor. When I used to visit people in the hospital, I knew enough about the difficulties of caregiving to address the needs of the patient AND caregiver through my words and prayers. I sensed that the one in the bed was receiving necessary medical attention, but who was caring for the person in the family chair? Who even knew the caregiver’s needs? Who even asked about them?

I’m learning about the caregiver firsthand through the selfless presence of my wife, my caregiver. I can only share our story, because no one walks another’s journey. All journeys are not equal. My health condition means that Laurie’s journey as a caregiver is permanent, not temporary; it is progressive, not stagnant. But I write with the hope that these and future words will resonate with others, no matter how different our journeys may be.

One of the first truths that I’ve learned is that every decision a caregiver makes is complicated, layered with factors that most people never need to deliberate. What most of the world considers a “no brainer” decision is, for a caregiver, a conscious repetition that demands weighing a multitude of circumstances. For example, Laurie doesn’t go to the store, walk down the hallway in our home, or even close a cabinet without measuring the impact that might have on me and my condition at the time. It’s a thought sequence that she lives all day, every day.

As most of you know, Laurie is a health coach. She has touched thousands of lives over the last several years. Her company recognizes her exceptional work by rewarding her with trips, including a trip to Greece last year. Another one, a trip to the Dominican Republic, will take place this month. Even though Laurie always meets the qualifications for these trips for herself and a companion, she has never gone. An all-expense-paid trip for two to the most beautiful places on earth…a no brainer, right? Not so for my caregiver. She has made the decision that since my health prohibits me from going, she will not go. We’ve always done life together and that doesn’t stop now, she says. Again, every decision that a caregiver makes is layered with many dynamics.

But a caregiver’s decision-making is usually much deeper than merely working through the pros and cons of a situation. There is something else more powerful going on within the mind of a caregiver. I’ve learned that for Laurie, the most difficult decisions are not decisions at all. They fit in that part of the “in sickness or in health” that we promised each other 38 years ago. In my caregiver’s mind, the circumstances of our journey may have changed, but the commitment to it has not.

I’ll write more lessons from my caregiver later. For now, we should all learn from the caregivers out there, who turn decisions into non-decisions, all because of love.

I appreciate so much your comments and your sharing of the Hurricane Harvey blog. I was especially moved by comments from people in south Texas, who lost so much and are yet unsure of their future.

I had planned to write a follow-up to that blog regarding the role of faith in the inevitable months and years that lie ahead for residents of the Gulf coast area of Texas and Louisiana.  But, here comes Irma. In a few days, there will be many more people in crisis…people whom we must not forget.

Hurricane Irma provides a harsh backdrop for faith.  What is faith’s place in the storm, whether a storm such as Harvey, Irma, or Jose?  Or how does faith matter in storms of life, such as crises of health or finance or relational conflict?  What ought people of faith do while staring into the long face of calamity, especially as that storm goes on for days, weeks, months, and even years? When the news cycle moves on, but the pain remains, remember this word: ὑπομονὴ.

I’ll spare you the Greek going forward; but in English, the word sounds like “hupomonay.” If you asked congregants in the five churches that I pastored over the years, “What is Allen’s favorite word in the New Testament?” I would hope that most of them would be able to tell you “hupomonay.” (For some examples, see Matthew 24:13; Romans 5:3; Hebrews 10:36; 1 Thessalonians 1:3.)

When I read the Scriptures, I can’t find the parts where people’s lives were made comfortable because they were believers. If anything, their journeys were more calamitous because they were believers. Jesus said, “I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33, New International Version).

God has promised so much, and He ALWAYS comes through; but He did not promise that we would have trouble-free journeys. He did not promise that Harvey would miss Houston or that Irma would spin out harmlessly into the Atlantic. He did not promise that disease would pass over our families. What did He promise?  We will have trouble.

But God refuses to leave us drowning in our trouble. God promises that in faith, we will find peace in the midst of it all.

As best I understand Him, peace comes to those who embrace hupomonay in our faith. Peace comes to those who persevere faithfully through our trouble. For those who are looking personally at Harvey’s destruction, hupomonay. For those who are leaving their homes, anxious about what Irma will or won’t spare, hupomonay. For those whose deteriorating physical condition has altered the course of their plans, hupomonay. For those whose lives have been forever changed in one moment, in one phone call, in one bit of news, hupomonay. For those who currently stand unaffected on dry land, pray for others with hupomonay.

Perseverance. We will face adversity; that is God’s promise. What matters is what we do in response to it. I suggest that peace comes to those who respond with hupomonay.