Spiritual Entrepreneurs

January 06, 2008

Epiphany of the Lord
Isaiah 60:1-6; Ephesians 3:1-12; Matthew 2:1-12
The Reverend Stephen P. Bauman

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Josh told me he grew up in a nominally Christian household. Though his father was a non-practicing Jew, his mother identified herself as Presbyterian and attended the nearby church once in a while where she had Josh baptized as an infant. He went with her sometimes and attended the youth group when they took work-trips to Appalachia in the summertime. Now in his late-twenties and working the Wall Street beat, Josh described himself as increasingly “spiritual”, but he wasn’t sure what that had to do with religion per se.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the undeniable tug he felt when he had stepped into church here one Sunday sort of by accident - he had been walking by as folks were gathering. Uncertain of what to make of this inner awakening, one day between trades he decided on the spur of the moment to shoot me an email asking for an appointment. When we met, among the things he wanted to talk about was “this whole Jesus thing.” “Jesus seemed to have it going on,” he said. But he just couldn’t put the whole thing together. We’ve been having some good conversation.

Meredith is a 60-something professional woman. Married once and divorced, no children. Reasonably successful, affable, and thoughtfully alert. She told me she had grown up a “rock-ribbed Baptist” – that’s the way she put it. Religion was big in her family’s household, as was racism and sexism and a whole amalgam of stuff that had been smashed up together. Much of what her father practiced was given the patina of scriptural righteousness, so his semi-abusive treatment of her mother was peppered with quotes from the Bible about how the man was head of the household and stuff like that.

On the one hand, she had always felt God-connected when she had been in worship. On the other hand, when she went to college she couldn’t wait to throw off the claustrophobic trappings of her family’s neurotic religion. She still prayed. She wondered if I would be surprised to learn that she had studied Tai Chi for a decade or so and had immersed herself in several spiritual traditions over the years, one or two she felt sure I would not approve of. Still, to some extent, these had sort of scratched that religious itch that had never left her alone.

But the day she came to church at the suggestion of a friend, she had been unprepared for the tears that welled up starting with the first hymn. They just started to flow and they didn’t stop until after lunch. There was sadness in them she realized, but also gladness and hope and maybe most of all, relief. She didn’t quite get that, but thought it had something to do with finding home. That night she said she went to her apartment and before she fell asleep spontaneously went to her knees and offered a prayer of thanksgiving. She had never done that before, she said. It had never occurred to her before. But it seemed the right thing at the time. Now, she wanted to make some sense of all this.

I’m guessing that you’d agree with me that we live in a time of great spiritual agitation; our culture is rife with spiritual seekers of every sort who attempt to make their way to the most fulfilling destination they can, as they respond to a deep interior longing. Notwithstanding all the current political chatter about the contours of evangelical America, many follow or dabble in myriad spiritual approaches, including ancient esoteric traditions like astrology and psychic phenomena, as well as amalgams of eastern practices and western science. Every variety of religious expression is as available today as a click of a mouse or meeting one’s next-door neighbor. I suppose this is especially true within the astonishing diversity of New York City

Over the years, the church has often condemned these alternative spiritual means and their practitioners, yet it occurred to me as I re-read the famous story of the wise men’s trek to Bethlehem that Matthew takes a different measure of the integrity of their purpose. From Matthew’s point of view the three magi were authentic spiritual seekers. Even though their methodology was star-gazing, they discovered a remarkable truth that transcended their immediate context and led them into alien territory. In a surprising location far from home they found what they had been searching for in the birth of a child to a young peasant woman in a foreign land.

Even Jewish scholars are summoned to confirm the potential in the magi’s quest. From Matthew’s perspective these foreign exotics have better instincts about the nature of this child than most inhabitants of Jerusalem. At the end of their journey, of course, these so-called wise men from the east discover a truth that transcends all reasonable expectation - their seeking is honored and rewarded.

In the Sermon on the Mount Matthew reports a mature Jesus saying this: “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you” (Matt. 7:7). Jesus was addressing a crowded hillside of people, no doubt representing every sort of background. He had no litmus test for their seeking and, after all, Jesus himself was eventually excluded from the accredited list of rabbis and teachers of his day, ultimately led to the cross as a condemned outsider. Those who would follow him broke with established religious norms. The seeking that he advocated was a radical departure from status quo thinking.

This suggests an important corollary for today: any seeker, either by chance or authentic pursuit, can lurch into the stable holding the Christ child. I’m thinking that includes any number of persons present today. Certainly the church would not exist but for the simple faith and subsequent determination of seekers who stumbled into the hay surrounding Jesus’ birthing trough. On any given Sunday the congregation invariably includes a number of persons who could be classified as seekers rather than, say, the fully committed, or the truly knowledgeable.

And yet, the truth is, that among the various amateur spiritualists who attend may be some who are better able to kneel at the manger than those who have gawked there for a lifetime. Not every committed Christian-in-name has a taste for actually kneeling in the dust and muck of a barn in a backwater town, in astonished recognition that this is where God prefers to make an entrance, rather than more acceptable and presentable venues for the high and the mighty, or those esteemed as especially righteous.

The musty sentimentality with which this story has been swathed for cradle Christians obscures the radical implications in God’s condescension to humanity. Everyone has been invited to God’s natal party, even those who have been traveling radically different paths on their search for their true home. And those who have visited the manger many times as a matter of rote habit can sometimes miss the promise held in honest seeking; surely even the most well-schooled Christian needs regular reminding that no one is above another, that no one has a corner on the complete truth and that even the baptized travel a path with many distractions, some leading to disastrous ends with pious-sounding names.

Given the ingrained repetition of this story for many church-goers, it’s worth remembering that this child-savior will grow into a man who will say things like, “The last will be first, and the first will be last,” (Matt. 20:16) and, “Whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave.” (20:26-27)

God’s compelling hospitality constantly regenerates the family of faith. The insight that prompted St. Augustine’s famous claim that, “Our hearts are restless till they find their rest in Thee…O Lord,” [1] exudes a passionate spiritual modesty that reflects the universal human quest for reunion with our creator, the author of our lives and the lover of our souls. In this, I think, we are all alike.

This is the longing I sense in the famous story of the magi. This authentic search for truth and reunion with God challenges the assumptions of the first and satisfies the thirst of the last. Churches that characterize such hospitality reflect the radiance of the Christ child and serve as a beacon for all who are restless for their true home. In this way the star of Bethlehem is replicated a thousand-fold over those churches, or shall we say, mangers, scattered here and there in cities and towns near and far away.

Everyone who happens to be worshipping today has their own idiosyncratic story to tell concerning their pathway to the manger. Some may have no idea who lies there. Others, perhaps, have mistaken ideas about the swaddled child. Nevertheless, all are present due to the prompting of God who welcomes our asking, our seeking and especially, our finding. The magi’s journey to Bethlehem exposes God’s intention to welcome everyone home. Even you and me.
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[1] Saint Augustine, Confessions, trans. F. J. Sheed, (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1942), 3.

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