Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72:1-14; Matthew 2:1-12; Colossians 3:12-17
What child is this, whose birth is marked both by royal gifts and by royal slaughter? We know the answer, of course; at least, we know the answer given by centuries of Christian tradition. This child is God in human form. And in his presence all human powers have two stark options: to offer him their homage, or to take up arms against him.
Isaiah's prophecy foreshadows the first possibility. Speaking to the ruins of Jerusalem, the city of David, the city of God, awaiting rebuilding after exile, he promises that God's presence there will gather in all the lost of Israel from the four corners of the earth. He foresees a time when foreign nations who have always been hostile to Israel will queue up with heavy-laden camels, offering their richest treasures to beautify her.
Yet while Isaiah saw the power of God dwelling in the temple, in the holy city, in Jesus we see the vulnerability of God dwelling in human flesh, in the holy child. For what becomes flesh is vulnerable to the ills of flesh. Jesus and his family escaped from Herod, as did the magi, by heeding an angel's warning. Yet the boy children of Bethlehem and its surrounding area were not so well protected, their lives cut short by the paranoia of an earthly power which feared opposition above all things.
This is no new story. If earthly powers always acted for the common good, there would have been no need in our psalm this morning to attribute to God's king the defence of the poor, the deliverance of the needy, and the crushing of the oppressor. And even in this very psalm we see the corruption of human power by violence. In the set lectionary reading verses 8 and 9 are missed out. Why? Listen again: May the king have dominion from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth. May his foes bow down before him, and his enemies lick the dust. According to the psalm, God's king's dominion involves humiliation of those whom the king has subdued: they are not only to bow before him, but to lick the dust trodden under his feet. Yet when God's king did come, he was mocked and spat on by those who caused his death.
The choice to honour or to defy God through our treatment of Jesus, the true human being, in neighbour or stranger, is not only there in Scripture, but in our modern world too. Consider the HARC project, where again I've been volunteering this year: a crisis drop-in at the Broomhall Centre where people in Sheffield with no roof over their head are served and befriended by volunteers from all walks of life, of all faiths and none, who choose to treat all who come through HARC's doors as worthy of respect.
Or consider, on the other hand, a recent Christmas card sent by the Border Agency, that government department charged with processing people who wish to find sanctuary in the United Kingdom and deciding whether or not they should be allowed to live here, which has made our Zimbabwean church member Nobi wait more than six years for leave to remain. The card uses the shape of a Christmas tree to speak proudly of the agency's tough enforcement policies, ignoring the irony of treating all asylum seekers with suspicion while celebrating the birth of Jesus, who had to flee his country and find asylum abroad precisely because of a well-founded fear of persecution.
But where do we fit in here? We are in no position to bring caravans of camels laden high with gold, incense and myrrh in procession along Upper Hanover Street - the very idea seems ludicrous, like a fairytale spilling over into everyday life. Not everyone has the time, or the energy, to give themselves in active service to Jesus through the service of others. And, thank goodness, unlike Herod, or the Border Agency, we do not hold the power of life or death over anyone. What can we offer to Jesus?
One power each of us has, though not each of us exercises, is power over our thoughts. I don't mean the ability to think through a problem, but to notice what thoughts run through our minds, and to decide whether what we are thinking is constructive or destructive: whether it turns us towards or away from God. The letter to the Colossians puts the positive side of the equation like this: As God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.
It's as if a spectrum of thoughts is laid out for our mental shopping experience. Some will help us act towards others, whether fellow church members or strangers, as though we were dealing with Jesus. Others will do the exact reverse. And it's up to each of us to decide which set of thoughts to choose. For example, if I find myself thinking, as I should be writing my sermon, ‘I really want another bar of chocolate,' I can dismiss the thought, or allow it to distract me. If, however, I'm so aware of my greed that all I can think of is how useless I am, that's no better; I need to be loving with myself as well as others.
Our reading reminds us of the sort of attitude our thoughts should produce in us: Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful.
Sounds fantastic. But I know myself, and my inability to keep to my New Year's resolutions about exercise. What can make this resolve to treat others as Jesus any more successful? Prayer, that's what: asking God to help us do what we cannot do on our own, even control our thoughts! Colossians suggests many ways into prayer. The words of the Bible; the words of wise friends; the words of worship, the power of music can all lead us to conversation with God. But like any conversation with a good friend, we don't need to wait to pray till we need help, for God can share our joys as well as our trials. When we choose to turn our thoughts Godwards, all our lives can turn into prayer. Walking the dog, changing the nappy, lying awake at night, we can ask ourselves: where is God in my life? What gives me hope? What makes me more loving?
The Magi brought costly gifts to Jesus. Herod sent a regiment after him. We may not be able to give God anything on that scale, either positive or negative. Yet the gift of our thoughts and the gift of our attention directed towards Jesus in others and towards God in prayer is beyond any price. For that is the reason Jesus came to earth: to offer us and everyone friendship with God.