by William Klock

Have you ever wanted to live in another story?  For me the high point of Second Grade came every day after our lunch recess.  We’d sit down at our desks and Mrs. Andrews would sit on a stool at the front of the class and read us a chapter from C. S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia.  From the get-go, I was completely drawn into this story of four kids who stumble through the door of an ordinary wardrobe into another land of magic and talking animals.  And pretty soon I was obsessed.  Now, in 1979 there was no Narnia “merch” like there was in the early 2000s after The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe movie came out, but I still had everything I could get my hands on.  Pretty soon I had my own set of the books, because our teacher wasn’t reading them fast enough.  I had a calendar.  I had a giant map my dad laminated so I could hang it on the wall.  My mom even spent months making me a quilt with all my favourite characters sewn on it.  And I couldn’t open a closet door without a little tingle of hope: maybe this time there’d be a path to Narnia.  I’d even reach in and push on the back wall.  I remember blowing out my birthday candles at least once and wishing Narnia would be real.  But Narnia wasn’t my story.  It wasn’t even real.  There was no escape from my real-life story.

 

Decades later I reconnected with one of my old school friends from those days.  “Remember when we wished Narnia was real?”  And he said, “You wanted to get into Narnia.  I just wished I could be part of your family.”  His home life wasn’t good.  His family was kind of a mess.  It didn’t help that they were poor—not that we were rich, but it’s funny that he thought we were even though we weren’t.  But he wanted out of his family and his story and into mine.  “That’s why I used to hang around your house so much and hardly ever invited you over to mine,” he said to me.  I felt really bad when he told me that.  I knew his life wasn’t easy, but it had never occurred to me that he might think mine was.  And I wonder: How often do we wish we could escape our story and live in someone else’s?  I guess if we were to go by things like Pinterest and Instagram, by the prevalence of all the home and garden and renovation shows on cable TV, by all the ways our culture gives us to try to escape reality—when you think of all the fantasies we obsess over that aren’t real and aren’t ours—a lot of us long to live in a story that isn’t the one we were born into.

 

But here’s the thing.  Raise your hand if you’re baptised.  Put that hand on your head—on the place where the priest, the pastor poured those baptismal waters on you.  Martin Luther used to say that when the devil caused him to doubt his standing before God, he would put his hand on his forehead where the baptismal waters had been poured, and he would say to himself, “You are baptised!”  A tangible fact, an historical event in each of our pasts, that has objectively marked us out as God’s own.  Not fantasy.  Reality.  You belong to God.  And not just that.  Our baptism marks us out as the people, as the sons and daughters of the God of Israel, made one with the Messiah—with Israel’s anointed king—and filled with the God of Israel’s own Spirit.  And Brothers and Sisters, that means that you have been transferred into a story, into a family, into a household that is not your own.  I think of my ancestors.  A few of them were Sephardic Jews who eventually became Christians.  But most of my ancestors were born into a story of paganism.  They danced with druids or worshiped oak trees.  One branch of my family comes from a place not far from where Thor’s Oak was said to be, that sacred tree that St. Boniface set out to chop down with his axe.  I’ve wondered if my ancestors were amongst the pagan who watched, expecting him to be struck down by the gods for felling their sacred tree and then stood in awe as, instead, a great wind blew it down for him.  Were they amongst those first German converts who gathered to worship Jesus in the church Boniface built from that fallen oak tree?  One way or another, they heard the gospel, the good news about Jesus the Messiah who died and rose again and they were invited to pass through the waters of baptism.  And they weren’t just captivated by this story and its good news—by this family that was filled with riches they never could have imagined.  When they passed through those baptismal waters in faith, they stepped out of their old pagan stories and into a new story, not one that was theirs by birth, but one that was now fully theirs by faith and by the grace of God.  Just like the Israelites leaving behind their slavery in Egypt as they passed through the Red Sea to be named God’s beloved firstborn, so we’ve passed from a story of idolatry and sin into a new story of redemption and of light and of life.  What my friend longed for every time he came over to my house, what I longed for every time I pushed on the back wall of my closet, it’s happened for real in Jesus.  By faith, I—and you all—have been given a place, a home, a part in a story not originally our own.  And in that, Brothers and Sisters, God has revealed his glory.  But now I’m getting ahead of myself.

 

What’s this got to do with Epiphany?  Epiphaneia is a Greek word that means “appearing” or “appearance”.  Or you could say, “manifestation” like the Prayer Book does when it gives the subtitle for the Feast of the Epiphany: the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles.  That’s us—most of us, at any rate.  We’re gentiles.  And that makes Epiphany our great feast.  The day we remember the wise men—those Persians astrologers—who came to worship the new-born King of the Jews.  And I have to think that if Christians had observed Epiphany in the First Century—they didn’t, it came along later, but not all that much later—I think Paul would have had a special place in his heart for Epiphany.  Because proclaiming the good news to the gentiles and offering them a welcome into this story that was not theirs by birth, that was—as we say today—that was Paul’s “thing”.  He was even in prison because this was so much his “thing”.  Look at our Epistle from Ephesians 3.

 

He writes: “It’s because of all this that I, Paul, the prisoner of Jesus the Messiah on behalf of you gentiles…”  He trails off at that point.  He needs to say something else before he goes on.  But what we need to know is that the Church at Ephesus was predominantly a gentile church.  Paul had started it when he visited the city on his second missionary journey.  Now he’s in Rome, under house arrest, waiting to be able to appeal his case to Caesar.  He goes on: “I’m assuming, by the way, that you’ve heard about the plan of God’s grace that was given to me to pass on to you?  You know, the mystery that God revealed to me, as I wrote briefly just now.  Anyway…  When you read this you’ll be able to understand the special insight I have into the Messiah’s mystery.  This wasn’t made known to human beings in previous generations, but now it’s been revealed by the Spirit to God’s holy apostles and prophets.  The mystery is this, that, through the gospel, the gentiles are to share Israel’s inheritance.  They are to become fellow members of the body, along with them, and fellow sharers of the promise of Jesus the Messiah.”

The great mystery, Paul’s passion, is the message that in Jesus, the gentiles are fellow heirs with the Jews.  A lot—most—of Paul’s fellow Jews would have gasped at this.  He could have gotten himself stoned, proclaiming this in Jerusalem.  Imagine your family is really wealthy.  And then imagine that you’ve got a brother—let’s call him Paul—who goes to the house of some strangers.  They’re not even remotely related to you.  They’re poor and miserable.  Maybe they’re even slaves.  But worst of all, they don’t share your values.  In fact, they laugh at your family’s values. They scoff at the very things that made your family rich.  But Paul goes to them and announces: My family’s riches?  Yeah, they belong to you as much as they belong to me and my brothers and sisters.  That’s what Paul’s doing here.  And that’s why he calls it a “mystery”.  The old Paul—Saul of Tarsus—would be gasping at the thought that he’d be saying these things a few decades later.  Even the Jewish believers in Jesus had trouble with this mystery.  Yes, gentiles could share in Israel’s inheritance, but to do so they had to become Jews.  Ritually purified, circumcised, observing torah so that they weren’t gentiles any longer.  But Paul’s now saying you don’t even have to do that.  The great “mystery” of the gospel is that it brings the gentiles—through Jesus—into the family, into the people of the God of Israel.  The law, torah, is no longer the defining mark of the family of God.  Faith in Jesus the Messiah is.

 

“This is the gospel,” he writing in verse 7, “that I was appointed to serve, in line with the free gift of God’s grace that was given to me.  It was backed up with the power through which God accomplishes his work.  I am the very least of all God’s people.  However, he gave me this task as a gift: that I should be the one to tell the gentiles the good news of the Messiah’s riches, riches no one could begin to count.  My job is to make clear to everyone just what the mystery is, the purpose that’s been hidden from the very beginning of the world in God who created all things.  This is it: that God’s wisdom, in all its rich variety, was to be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places—through the church!  This was God’s eternal purpose, and he’s accomplished it in Messiah Jesus our Lord.  We have confidence and access to God in him, in full assurance, through his faithfulness.”

It took Paul a while to sort it out after he met the risen Jesus and realised that he really was the Messiah, but what Paul realised is that his people had got their own story wrong.  The way Israel told her story, it no longer had a meaningful place for the gentiles.  As far as they were concerned, they—the Jews—were God’s people, God cared about them, God would deliver them from their oppressors and put them on top, and one day he would rain down destruction on all the unclean people of the world.  Salvation was for the Jews, they might have said.  But judgement was for the gentiles.  Even those first Jewish Christians were still thinking in this vein.  Jesus was their Messiah.  There were a few gentiles who believed, but they had to first become Jews.  And there were the Samaritans who believed.  That was a challenge to this kind of thinking, but until Paul, no one had this vision of the deliverance, of the salvation of the Gentiles—at least not on a large scale.  But Paul, when he met Jesus, it started to sink it.  If Jesus had risen from the dead, then he was the Messiah, and if he was the Messiah, he had redefined the people of God around himself.  Jesus and the Spirit now define “Israel”.

 

The irony is that today we’ve made the opposite mistake.  We’ve so dehistoricised, flattened out, and universalised the story that we’ve all but forgotten that “Salvation is of the Jews.”  Jesus spoke those words—Salvation is of the Jews—to the Samaritan woman and they ought to be a rebuke to much of the Church today that has forgotten our own story.  St. Paul writes in today’s Epistle to explain his unique apostolic ministry to proclaim the good news about Jesus to the Gentiles.  It has been my experience that many Christians have never stopped to consider just how odd Paul’s ministry would have seemed at the time.  They’ve never stop to think, because we have largely removed the gospel from its narrative and historical context and unnecessarily flattened it to communicate its universal nature.  Occasionally we need to recall that, even though “God so loved the world,” it is also true that “salvation is of the Jews”.  Out of a world that had lost all knowledge of him, the Lord chose and called Abraham and from him created a people whom he made holy and in whose midst he lived.  He gave this people his law and his presence and made them unique amongst the nations.  Jesus was born a Jew.  He was the Jewish Messiah.  He fulfilled the Jewish law and the words of the Jewish prophets.  He proclaimed good news about a coming kingdom and a coming judgement to Jews and for Jews.  While gentiles were welcomed when they came to him, he made it clear that his ministry was to his own people.  Even in his death by crucifixion, Jesus foreshadows the means of execution that the unrepentant Jewish rebels would face when judgement came a generation later.  Jesus literally took the death of his people on himself in that sense.  It cannot be stressed enough that Jesus, Israel’s Messiah, lived and died for the sake of his own people and to fulfil their story and to fulfil God’s promises to them.

 

We can’t jump over this to get to John’s announcement that God so loved the world that he gave his Son, because when we do that, we short-circuit the story, we leave out most or all of the bits that show us how God, in Jesus, has been faithful to his promises made under the old covenant.  And when we short-circuit the story that way—hear me, because this is incredibly important—when we do that, we cast a veil over God’s glory.  It was necessary for Jesus to fulfil the story of his own people, because only then would the Gentiles see the faithfulness of Israel’s God, be drawn to what they saw, give him glory, and in the process be incorporated into the new people of God by faith.  In this, too, we see that the means by which the Gentiles are incorporated into the new Israel fulfils the message of Israel’s prophets and glorifies the Lord.  While it is certainly true that a dehistoricised and flattened gospel has brought millions to the Lord Jesus, it is also true that communicating the gospel within its context communicates the faithfulness of God as the basis for our own faith with far greater depth and builds upon a firm foundation, in contrast to so much that passes today for evangelism and Christian faith that is merely subjective.  Again, Christians today need to understand just how weird Paul’s ministry would have seemed in his day—even, at first, to the other apostles.  Again, most believed that the good news about the Jewish Messiah was for other Jews, and of little interest (or even relevance) to gentiles.  Jesus radically changed what it meant to be the people of God and this became Paul’s passion—and it should be ours.  Like you’ve spent your life pushing on the back wall of the wardrobe to no avail, but suddenly in Jesus you push through and find yourself in Narnia—you finally find yourself in that story of new life you’ve always longed for and the child of a God unlike any other god you’ve ever known of.

 

To be clear, Israel should have known all of this all along.  Jesus and Paul are both clear about that.  The Lord delivered Israel from Egypt and set her apart before the watching nations.  She was to be his witness.  Through her he would restore and reconcile humanity to himself.  But as Paul points out in our Epistle, this “mystery” was largely lost on Israel—on previous generations.  And yet there it was from the beginning, all the way back in Abraham’s day—if anyone was paying really close attention—that the Lord’s intent was to one day bring the gentiles into his family and to make them fellow heirs with those who were children by birth rather than adoption.  This truth had been revealed by the Spirit to the prophets of old and, in the same way, had been revealed to the apostles—who took some time to parse it out—and to Paul it was a personal commission: to proclaim the good news about Jesus to the gentiles.  Paul adds here that this mission is not simply to ordinary people, nor is it a matter of personal piety.  As gentile believers come into their inheritance in the Messiah, the church becomes both a witness and a challenge to the rulers of the gentile world.  This diverse body of Jews and gentiles of every sort, living in unity the inheritance given them by Jesus, announces that he is Lord and that a new age is breaking in.  Just as was the case with Israel, the lords of the earth can submit in faith to the lordship of Jesus or face the judgement to come.

 

Our Gospel today foreshadows all of this in story form.  Matthew puts the messiahship, the kingship of Jesus at the forefront.  First he shows us Jesus over against Herod.  The true King of the Jews over against the pretender and cheap imitation.  But very quickly, Matthew drives home the point that in Jesus the prophecies about Israel’s King are being fulfilled.  When the wise men go to Herod to ask where this newborn king is, it sparks a discussion of Micah’s prophecy.  Matthew includes a paraphrase of Micah 5:2-4.  This King of Israel, he said, will shepherd the Lord’s flock.  The Messiah is the King of Israel.  It is only once Micah has established that the Messiah will be King over Israel, that he will fulfil the Lord’s promises to judge and to renew his own people, that he will take up the role of King David, that he then goes on to tell us that this King “shall be great to the ends of the earth”.  Why?  Because in Jesus and in how he fulfils the Lord’s promises to his own, the pagan nations of the world will see the living God—a God unlike any god they’ve ever known.  Their idols—and our idols—pale in comparison.  And in the end, the nations can’t help but come to bow before him and to give him glory.  The wise men, the magi foreshadow this.  Matthew bookends his Gospel with the gentiles.  It begins with these wise men from the east coming to worship Jesus and to honour him as King.  And it ends with Jesus sending his disciples to go out and make disciples of all the nations.  The good news is only good news to the Gentiles because it reveals that the God of Israel is unlike the gods of the nations: he does what he says he will do and he fulfils his promises to his own.  Think of the gentiles in the book of Revelation: They worshiped the beast and frolicked with the great prostitute, but they discovered in the downfall of the beast that the kings and gods of this world can’t hold a candle to the God of Israel revealed in Jesus, to his power and might, and most importantly, to his faithfulness.  Specifically, he fulfils his promises to his people in Jesus.  It is this faithfulness just as much as the amazing report of Jesus risen from the dead and the defeat of his enemies that draws the Gentiles to give glory to the God of Israel and to submit in faith to Jesus, the King of the Jews.  Of course, this carries the same ramifications for Caesar and the other rulers and gods of this age as it did for Herod.  This is what Paul stresses in the final verses of our Epistle.  Their days are numbered, for as the royal summons to the King goes out, Jesus “shall be great to the ends of the earth”.

 

Brothers and Sisters, the gospel about Jesus is good news, because it reveals the faithfulness of God.  He does what he says he will do.  He fulfils his promises.  He does so like no other.  And that’s reason for us to trust him, to give him our allegiance, to worship him and to give him glory.  And to proclaim his good news to the world.  And the wonderful part of it is that the gentiles, that we aren’t simply left to look into the windows of this rich family’s house and to wish that we could have part of it.  Jesus welcomes us in.  And there’s no having to go back home to our poor houses and our silent idols when the party’s over.  Through Jesus, we belong.  Later in Matthew 12, Jesus will say to the people with him, “My mother and brothers are those who do the will of my Father in heaven.”  By faith, we become his family.  He is our brother.  His house is our house.  Think about that today as you come to the Lord’s Table.  Eat the bread.  Drink the wine.  And think on the fact that it is our brother by adoption and faith, it is King Jesus, who welcomes us—not as outsiders, but as family.  If we are in him, if he has marked us out by baptism, this is where we belong.  This is our life and this is our story.

 

And if you’re still looking in from the outside and wishing to be a part of it—like a kid who keeps pushing on the backwall of the closet in hopes of finding his way into a new world and a new story.  Stop pushing on the wall.  That’s not the way into this house.  Instead, take hold of Jesus’ hand in faith knowing that in him all the promises of God are fulfilled, knowing that he is supremely trustworthy and faithful.  Take his hand in faith and he will lead you, as he has led so many, through the waters of baptism and into this new story of redemption and light and life.

 

Let’s pray: O God, who by the leading of a star manifested your only Son to the peoples of the earth: mercifully grant that we, who know you now by faith, may at last behold your glory face to face; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who is alive and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.  Amen.