Sermon for Friends Congregational Church
“Be Careful What You Wish For”
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Isaiah 60:1-6; Matthew 2:1-12
I bought my first bass guitar when I was 15 years old. I wanted to be in a band, and all the other guys my age were learning how to play electric guitar. Kids who could play the opening riff to Crazy Train, or Sweet Child O’ Mine, or Stairway to Heaven were a dime a dozen. I didn’t want to compete with them, so I took up the electric bass, and sure enough I was in a band before I got driver’s license, playing the riffs to Money and Smoke on the Water over and over and over again. My parents couldn’t have been more pleased.
At the time, that was my wildest dream: to be in a hugely successful band, playing on a big stage. That’s why I picked up the bass guitar. Of course, Gene Simmons of KISS would say that any guy who says he picks up the guitar for any reason other than to get girls is a liar. I guess when I was 15, that was true for me, too.
I played in bands for many years after that, always chasing after success, whatever that was. I wanted to succeed.
Well, one night about six years ago I was playing in a band called the Defenders in a nightclub in Austin. The show was really lackluster. We were playing to a crowd of about 20 and only 4 of those folks would clap for us at the end of each song.
But there was one guy who sat at a table right in front of us and watched our entire show. He wasn’t really enjoying our show so much as observing it; made me a little uncomfortable really. When our first set was over I hopped down from the stage and this guy got up from his table.
He came up to me and said, “I really liked your music. Do you have a CD?” I said, “Sure, here you go.” He looked over the CD for a few seconds with his eyebrows raised, and then he said, “The Defenders, eh? How married are you to that name?” I said, “I’ve never been too crazy about it. Why?” And the guy told me that he was a promoter for some record label, and he wanted to see about signing us. I was bowled over, so I said, “Sure! Our contact information is in the CD there.” He told me he’d be in touch, and then I got back on the stage to play our second set.
For some reason during that second set of music that night, I could barely play and I just stood there like a statue strumming the notes robotically on my bass. I had just received some of the most exciting news of my life, and it scared the life out of me.
What I’m saying is, “Be careful what you wish for.” Sometimes the things we think will bring us all the joy we’ll ever need can be the same things that conjure up our deepest fears. Sometimes the same things that bring us joy can scare us to death.
Getting accepted to a good school can bring us immense joy. But to step onto the campus of that intimidating university with students racing this way and that can fill us with fear.
Having a child can be one of the greatest joys in the world. But when an adult holds their newborn baby and they realize that they have to take care of this fragile, helpless poop machine, fear hits them like a hammer in the face.
When a teenager or a co-worker or a friend comes to us with a secret and they want our advice, our counsel and our trust, the honor of being the one they came to can fill us with joy. But when we realize that we’re supposed to be the wise sage, then what we say or don’t say to this person can scare us to death.
When we are seeking something in our lives educationally, relationally, spiritually, finding it can bring us just as much joy as it brings us newfound fears. So, we should be careful what we wish for.
The three wise men weren’t careful, and look at their story. Three magi from the East, stargazing magicians, are called on by the treacherous King Herod to seek out a child born in Bethlehem, rumored to be the king of the Jews. The magi are Gentiles. The child’s kingship doesn’t have to do with them. They’re just excited about witnessing it; witnessing the majesty of this baby.
But this scene, this child, this Savior is more than they wished for. They discover that this king of the Jews is not exclusive to one facet of culture, but his birth is the great joy to the Gentiles, the magi and the whole world. This child is the fulfillment of prophecy, as well as a simple wish, and so the magi bow down and worship this baby, opening their treasure chests at his tiny feet.
The story of the three wise men is our benchmark for how we are called to worship the Christ: humbly bowing before him in service, and giving the greatest treasures of our lives to him; because this child—this offering—is more than we could have ever wished for.
The magi realize this, and it fills them with fear. They realize how important this child is, and they’re scared that Herod will find him and kill him. They have to conquer that fear, so they go home by another way to avoid Herod.
We know this. This comes as no surprise to us. The story of the three wise men teaches us to worship Christ and give him our best. Simple. What we overlook, though, is the other lesson from the magi: they go home by another road. They change.
Scripture calls them the magi, but we call them the three wise men. The magi are wise because they are given great joy and then they experience deep fear. Given what they discover in Christ, they do not succumb to their fear. They don’t go back to Herod. They change. They change their moral compass and go home by another road.
Friends, we have a lot to learn from the three wise men, because wisdom is the reconciliation of our deepest fears and our greatest joys. When we get what we wish for, we experience great joy, but we might also be introduced to a new set of fears. Whether we will grow in our faith, whether we will grow in Christ depends on what we do with those fears. Will we do something cowardly, something indifferent? Keep things the way they are? Not change so we can hold onto our comfort? Imagine if the magi had done that.
Or when our wish comes true, will we face our fears and change? Will we wrestle with our fears and go home by a new way—changed? To do so would be wise, and wisdom grants us new joys that are greater than anything we could ever have wished for.
Power is a joyful thing. If it wasn’t, then so many people wouldn’t want it! That seems to be the wish for a lot of people: more power. Lord, give me more power and more control! Power should be a great joy, then, right?
We all want power: the power to change people’s minds about things that we hold dear; the power to make people respect us or just notice us; the power to be heard; the power to be happy; the power to make our lives perfect; the power to fix our families; the power to be great; or, in to borrow that claim from Gene Simmons, the power to pick up a guitar and romantically turn heads. We all want power, but we must be careful what we wish for.
If power is such a wish-come-true, then what can we say about our world leaders? It doesn’t look like they are experiencing that much joy. There is not much joy going on with Pakistani Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto or her family in these weeks after her tragic assassination. And in our democracy, where we elect the officials who serve us, our politicians, who hold the greatest power in our land, don’t seem to be having much fun. There’s not a lot of joy on Capitol Hill; no apparent joy in their decision-making that is fashioned for changing our nation and our world for the better.
Where is the joy? The joy is being snuffed out by fear. But fear alone can’t stop the joy that God grants us. It’s how we respond to fear that can make or break our great joy. Right now, at the beginning of 2008 on this day of Epiphany in the Church, it appears that our world has caved and continues to cave to fear. Fear is winning.
King Herod’s wish had come true: he was the most powerful man in the land during the time of Jesus’ birth. He should have been joyful, right? He had it all! But just like any leader, he was afraid of losing that power.
Herod heard the people talking. He heard the prophecies about a child being born from the lineage of David, a child who would grow up to be ruler of all, King of kings and Lord of lords. Herod was scared.
Now, he could have faced his fears in positive ways. He could have joined those magi to witness the glory of this child. He could have pledged his support of the child and perhaps become even more trusted, respected and even loved by his people for doing so. But instead Herod responded to his deepest fear of losing power by snuffing out anything that threatened it.
Herod had every male baby under the age of two killed in the region, hoping to destroy the Christ child in the process. Instead of being known as a joyful king, Herod was looked upon with dread. He was the Stalin of his time. Herod was so paranoid about people usurping his power that he had his wife killed and three of his own sons, as well. It was said in those days that it was better to be Herod’s sow than his son—the pig in the royal barnyard had better hope of survival.
Herod’s wish for power came true, and he had a shot at being a wise ruler of the people, but he blew it. He gave up his chance at wisdom because he caved to fear.
We just spent four weeks of Advent wishing for Christ to be born again into our hearts. And we just spent two weeks of Christmastide celebrating that Holy birth of Jesus. Now that we’ve reached this shining mountaintop of Epiphany, we have to choose how we will move forward: Will we change? Given what we’ve discovered in the joy of Christ, will we go home by another road? Or will we give in to our fears and do nothing?
Friends, Christ is born. Christ is born into a world that is broken. Christ is born into a world torn by war; a world plagued with poverty; a world shackled with inequality and racism; a world hogtied by divisions; a world that is more concerned with self-preservation than with providing hope for future generations of children; a world that is gripped by fear.
And Christ is born at the heels of the Angel messenger who says, “Fear not!” And this Jesus is born so that the world would witness to his majesty and realize that to be indifferent to our neighbor is unjust; to look at any human being in this world as less than human is unjust; to think that the decisions we make and the lives we choose to live have no consequences on the people near to us and far from us is unjust—and injustice is sin.
Christ teaches us that turning a blind eye to children is unjust; that pointing out the flaws in others before we name and claim our own shortcomings is unjust; that raising a hand of violence before extending a hand of friendship is unjust; that placing the love of money over the love of neighbor is unjust; that whatever ignorant mischief we do to the least of these as we do also to our Christ is unjust—and injustice is sin.
And what does that John the Baptist say to us to prepare for this Christ to come into the world? “Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand!” Change! Change and sin no more. Be like the magi and go home by another road!
I hope you didn’t tune out the sermon because you were waiting on me to tell you what happened with that record company guy. It’s not an exciting ending, really: the guy never called. But even if he had called to offer my band a record deal, I know what I honestly would have said: ‘no.’
I still play music, and I still sometimes enjoy playing in a band, but my wishes have changed since I was 15, and thank God for that. All I wanted was success, but when I was offered a shot at it, I realized that it wasn’t that important after all. I changed, but it took me having my wish granted and my fears realized to make that change. What I’m saying is that joy is not about the destination, it’s about the wisdom of the journey.
Wisdom is the reconciliation of our greatest joys with our deepest fears. In 2008, may our wishes all come true, and may we have the strength enough and the humility enough to practice wisdom when we receive such great joy. Amen.