The scriptures for this sermon are listed below.  To read them in the NRSV, just click the links.

Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14; Ephesians 3:1-12; Matthew 2:1-12

Just who do they think they are?
I ask again, who do they think they are,
these wise men, these “we three kings of orient are”
coming to worship the newborn king Jesus.
A king, who of course will never rule an earthly domain during his life,
but nevertheless,
a king, and a Jewish king at that.
So who do they think they are to come and force themselves into the stable with the shepherds and animals and Mary and Joseph.
Even if they come reverently upon the knee, so to speak,
and even if they come bearing gifts,
especially since they come bearing gifts,
who do these guys think they are.
Don’t they know they’re not welcome here at the manger.
Don’t they know they don’t belong.
Don’t they know they don’t fit in?

Oh I know that after almost 2000 years,
we have gotten comfortable with their presence.
In fact, after all these years, we have come to expect them,
even to anticipate their arrival.
After all this time,
we have lost the since of scandal these guys brought with them to Bethlehem;
we have forgotten who they really were,
and why they would not have been greeted with open arms.

You see when we sing “we three kings”
or even when we call them wise men,
we are blissfully ignoring their true nature.
We gloss over who these guys were every time we sing a Christmas carol with them in it.
I have yet to see a song that celebrates these guys as they really were.
Of course that could be because we don’t really pay attention to the story as Matthew tells it.

Brian Stoffregen aptly puts it this way:
“Our Gospel Lesson is a story people have heard many times –
or, at least, they think they’ve heard it.
And that can be a problem,
because as soon as I, or any other person, start reading this text,
they can tune it out with: “I already know that story.”

But do we really know this story — the story Matthew tells —
the biblical story?
In fact, we are probably more familiar with the legends that have sprung up from this story than we are with the actual biblical account.
How many men are there?
Most people will answer, “Three.”
They might be right, but they could just as easily be wrong.
The Bible gives no number.
There could have been two, three, five, ten or twenty for all we know.
The number three comes from legends.

What are their names?
The Bible gives no names.
One legend lists them as: Melchior, Gaspar, and Balthasar,
who, the legend also tells us was a black man.

We sing, “We three kings of Orient are…”
But the Bible never says that they are kings.
Matthew calls them “magi,”
and though magi were many different things, they were not kings.

“Originally, in Persia, Magi were dream-interpreters.
And by Jesus’ time,
the term referred to astrologers, fortune-tellers, or star-gazers.
In fact, our word “magic” or “magician” comes from this word “Magi”.
They were horoscope fanatics –
a practice condemned by Jewish law.
We might correctly compare them to people in fortune-teller booths,
or people on the “psychic friends hotline” or other “occupations” that fore-tell the future by stars, tea leaves, Tarot cards, or even palms.

They were magicians, star-gazers, astrologers, pseudo-scientists, fortune-tellers.”
Magi in Jesus’ day were not “wise men”.
They were not models of religious piety.
but Matthew makes them the heroes in his first story following the Savior’s birth.
The Magi should not be there.
They are heretics.
They don’t worship the right God.
They are the wrong race, the wrong denomination, the wrong religion.
They don’t know how to worship rightly.
Certainly they give the child gifts — gold, frankincense and myrrh,
but those are elements used in their magic.
The Magi should not be there.
They would have been much better models of unbelief and false trust;
than models of faith, trust and worship.”

Another writer describes the Magi this way:
The Magi would thus represent, to the early Jewish reader,
the epitome of Gentile idolatry and religious hocus-pocus —
dabblers in chicken gizzards,
forever trotting off here or there in search of some key to the future.

This same word “magi” occurs in Acts 13.
Barnabas and Saul come to Paphos.
There they meet Elymas, a Jewish Magi (or magus in the singular).
This is how Paul describes him in verse 10:
You are a child of the devil and an enemy of everything that is right!
You are full of all kinds of deceit and trickery.
Will you never stop perverting the right ways of the Lord?

So once again, I ask:
who did they think they were?

Of course that’s the question that many Christians and churches ask every year at this time and around Easter as well.
Who do these people think they are?
These Christmas and Easter Christians,
these little better than pagan folks who crowd our churches on these holy days and yet disappear by the next Sunday only to been seen again at the next high holy day?
Who do they think they are?
Coming here,
acting like they belong.
Pretending that they are one of us?
Who do they think they are?

Of course, we welcome them to an extent on these days.
After all, they bring some money with them,
and they don’t really do us much harm,
unless of course you count the fact that they mess up our seating arrangements by sitting in our favorite pew or chair.
But mostly they’re harmless, a nuisance.
And so we grin and bear it and tell them we’ve missed them and that we hope to see them next week,
knowing full well that they will be long gone.
Knowing that their commitment just isn’t as great as ours,
and so we end up wondering aloud or just to ourselves,
who do they think they are?

Why did those Magi of old show up at the stable?
Why do the masses come around to church only once or twice a year?
I think I know why.

I think the Magi came and those C and E folks come because they know in their hearts, deep in their hearts,
that this Jesus,
this babe in a manger,
and man on a cross,
is their only hope.

Oh they might not be able to put it into words like that,
and it may be buried so deep within their subconscious,
that were you to say anything like this to them,
they would deny it,
not realizing the truth deep within their own souls.
But I think that is it.
They know that this babe born in a manger,
this son of Mary and Joseph’s adopted boy,
is also the only one who can give them life,
life with anyone real meaning and joy.
They know, and we do too, don’t we,
that this Jesus is a gift of God’s own love,
and that he offers to us,
to all of us,
grace and mercy and forgiveness and wholeness and peace and joy.
We know, as do they,
that there is nothing or no one else who can fill the emptiness of life.

They know, even if they won’t or can’t admit it,
that Jesus is our only real hope.

Not just my hope,
or your hope,
or the church’s hope,
or the hope of all who believe in him,
but the hope of all the world,
of every man, woman and child.

I think that is why they come.
On that first Epiphany as magi,
on Christmas and Easter as twice a year Christians,
and even why people come here from time to time th
at we don’t know,
people we take one good look at and say to ourselves,
and maybe to others,
who do they think they are,
why are they here.
Don’t they know they’re not like us.
They don’t look like us.
They don’t dress like us,
smell like us.
They’re black or Hispanic,
poor or mentally ill,
recovering drug addicts or people just off the streets.
They’re not like us at all,
and yet sometimes they come in these doors and plop themselves down and worship,
they pay him, Jesus, homage,
as if they belonged,
as if they fit in,
as if they were welcome

And though they may not find it in the hearts and minds of us good Christians,
please know one thing.
They are welcome,
welcomed by God,
welcomed by the Christ child himself,
welcomed by his sweet spirit,
whether or not we would welcome them ourselves.
They are welcome,
be they magi or murderer,
astrologer or drug dealer,
stand-up citizens or poor, white trash,
they are welcome because this is Christ’s church,
and they have come to look for the things that only Christ can give them:
grace and mercy and forgiveness and wholeness and peace and joy and above all, hope, precious and holy hope for their lives and the lives of those they know and love.

SO for their sake,
for god’s sake,
let us be as welcoming as God dares to be when he not only lets the magi in the front door,
tools of their trade in hand,
but when he first places a star in the sky to guide these old sinful codgers to Bethlehem in the first place.

My friends, this story of the Magi is not just a sweet tale that gets acted out at Christmas time in children’s programs.
In fact, it is one of the most powerful stories in the gospel.
One person has called is “the entire gospel crammed into a few paragraphs.”

As Brian Stoffregen says,
If God has magi — foreigners and pagans — come as the first to recognize and give Jesus the proper respect as the King of Jews,
we should know that there is nothing in our lives that would keep God from bringing us to Jesus —
and if there’s nothing in our sinful lives to keep us away from Jesus,
then there is nothing in the sinful lives of those other sinners we meet every day that will keep them away from Jesus.

Oh may it be so here in this church.
May it be so here.