St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD
January 2, 2022
The Second Sunday after Christmas
Jeremiah 31:7-14
Psalm 84:1-8
Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a
Matthew 2:1-15, 19-23
Building Bridges and Bigger Tables
Well, Happy New Year, everyone!
And, Merry Christmas, too!
Although the world has definitely moved on to the next thing, here in church it is still Christmas, for a few more days, anyway.
This past week was relatively quiet at St. Thomas’, giving me a chance to reflect on all that we experienced during Christmas – all the many ways that we have been so richly blessed.
Although the ongoing pandemic definitely dimmed our celebrations, it was still one of the best Christmases of my life.
So many parishioners and our church staff worked very hard to make Christmas beautiful for all of us.
Everyone who was here seemed so excited and joyful.
The music was over-the-top fantastic.
And, as many of you know, my parents were here with Sue and me.
So, I mean, really, what more could I ask for?
And, on top of all that, we got to hear the Christmas story.
On Christmas Eve we heard the Christmas story according to Luke – the story of Joseph and a pregnant Mary journeying far from home, unable to find a an appropriate place to give birth, placing the child in a manger, a pretty word for the harsh truth: the Son of God spent his first night on earth in a feeding trough meant for animals.
We heard about angels appearing to startled shepherds, and Mary pondering all these amazing things in her heart.
And then on Christmas Day and last Sunday we heard the Christmas story according to the Gospel of John – a cosmic Christmas, taking us all the way back to when God’s Word created all things – and now that Word has come among us in a flesh and blood human being, Jesus.
There is just one last missing piece of Christmas, and that’s the story according to Matthew.
It’s Matthew who tells us about Joseph.
When Joseph learned about Mary’s pregnancy, we can imagine his hurt, his sense of betrayal, his disappointment and anger.
But rather than publicly disgracing Mary, Joseph chose to quietly end their engagement – that is until he dreams of an angel telling him the identity of the holy child.
And then, at great cost to himself – you know how people are, they all would have heard the rumors that the child wasn’t his – they all would have gossiped about who the real father might be – at great cost to himself, righteous Joseph sticks with Mary and the holy child.
Both Luke and Matthew emphasize that Jesus was born in a particular time and place – these events did not happen on some heavenly plane but here on earth, when Augustus was emperor and Quirinius was governor.
These events happened when the brutal Herod was king of Judea – a king who was ready and willing to crush any would-be rival, even a newborn child.
Today we pick up Matthew’s Christmas story with the arrival of the Magi. Studying the sky they had spotted a new star, which they interpreted as announcing the birth of a king. And, with their gifts, the Magi made their way to greet this newborn king, who would surely be found in the capital city, born among all the comforts of a palace.
Eventually, of course, the Magi find the newborn King, far from royal splendor. They present him with their gifts – gifts that were maybe not so appropriate for a child but perfect for a king, for a god, and for one who will die.
Death – the Cross - is never far from this story.
The ruthless and wily Herod was eager to eliminate his newborn rival, giving orders to kill all the young sons of Bethlehem – and forcing Joseph and Mary and the holy child to flee for their lives.
They fled to Egypt, once a place of captivity and now a land of refuge.
In telling the Christmas story, Matthew makes important theological points:
Right from the start the authorities will be hunting Jesus.
The Good News is meant not just for Israel, but for the whole world, including the Magi who know enough to pay homage to the newborn King.
And, the story of Israel is retold in and through Jesus. Just as the Israelites had gone down to Egypt, Jesus goes to Egypt. And just as the Israelites returned home, so will Jesus return home.
These are important points, but let’s not miss the harsh truth that, like so many others, past and present, political violence forced Joseph and Mary and Jesus from their home, made them run for their lives.
Joseph and Mary - and Jesus the Son of God - were refugees.
You may have heard that some of us here at St. Thomas’ have been thinking a lot about refugees lately, specifically the many thousands of people who fled Afghanistan - the many thousands of Afghans who assisted our country and have now arrived here needing our help.
We have been looking at the possibility of using the Assistant’s House as a home for a refugee family.
As you’d guess, it’s a big project – the house needs a lot of work, and refugee resettlement is definitely complicated, and it would be a very heavy responsibility to care for a family that has traveled far from home.
But, as I’ve been thinking about Joseph, Mary, and Jesus as refugees, I’ve wondered about the people who must have helped them along the way – the people who offered hospitality to a young family far from home – the people who shared what they had with no guarantee of payment – the people who welcomed God’s Son without even knowing it.
The names of those generous people are lost to us, but of course God will never forget the help that they gave.
Along with reflecting on Christmas and thinking about refugees, this past week I’ve also been reading some of the many tributes to Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who died last week, and whose funeral was yesterday – his small, simple pine coffin one last lesson in humility.
One of my favorite tributes to Tutu was a wonderful memory shared by the journalist Michelle Norris.
She told the story of spotting Tutu one morning at a hotel where he was having a quiet breakfast with two other people. She worked up the courage to go over to his table, to say hello to one of her heroes.
Unlike many celebrities who crave privacy, Tutu didn’t mind the interruption. In fact, he tells her to pull up a chair.
When she politely declined, he asked a waiter to bring a chair for her.
So, there she sat as other people also approached the table and each time Tutu said, pull up a chair. As Ms. Norris put it, “What started as a two-top is now a buffet with more than a dozen people.”
She saw the experience as a metaphor for how Archbishop Tutu lived his life:
“Building bridges and bigger tables.”
And, my friends, isn’t that what Christmas – isn’t that what our Christian faith - is all about?
Building bridges and bigger tables.
At Christmas, God builds a bridge to us – a bridge that overcomes our sins and failures – a bridge that joins heaven to earth and earth to heaven.
At Christmas, God builds a bigger table – a table not just big enough for Israel but a table big enough for the whole world.
And, over and over, God invites us to build bridges, to build bigger tables.
Joseph the carpenter had to build a bridge from what he thought his life would be to the life God called him to.
Joseph the Carpenter had to build a table far bigger than he ever dreamed, a table for Mary and the Son of God, a table that will surely cost him, but a table that will change everything.
Long ago, the Magi were welcome at the table.
And, today’s visitors from faraway lands are welcome at the table, too.
Now, with all of our troubles and responsibilities, we may feel like our table is already pretty crowded, but Archbishop Tutu and so many others teach us there is always room for more.
So, in the new year, with God's help, let’s build more bridges.
With God's help, let’s you and I build a bigger table - and invite everyone to pull up a chair.
Merry Christmas to you all.
Amen.
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