Star Search

This sermon was preached on January 6, 2008 at Northminster Presbyterian Church in Portland, Oregon. The gospel reading was Matthew 2: 1-12 . As a preacher's note: I did take a "shortcut" as I wrote this sermon, borrowing several paragraphs from my sermon for Dec. 30 (preached at a different church). I again used the image of "traveling" from Sue Monk Kidd's novel The Mermaid Chair--changing the emphasis and focus to fit in with the Epiphany theme.


How far would you go to follow a star?

A colleague of mine here in Portland who works as a bereavement counselor travels thousands of miles each year following her favorite star—musician Bruce Springsteen and his E Street Band. “I’m taking an extra day off this weekend,” she’ll tell the folks in her office, “So I can go see Bruce in Minneapolis”—or Atlanta, or Buffalo. No, she doesn’t know him personally—she just loves his music and follows him and his band around the country, when she can, to be refreshed, renewed, and energized—to save her sanity in the difficult and emotional profession she works in every day--and, I think, she follows Bruce just for the fun of being on the journey and seeing him play in different places.

Today’s gospel passage from Matthew is about following a star—but a different kind of star than Bruce Springsteen. Our gospel today is about what we would call The Christmas Star—the Star in the East—the Star of Bethlehem—the astronomical phenomenon that, according to Matthew, blazed out on the night of Jesus’ birth and showed forth to the world that something amazing was going on in Bethlehem.

Our passage for today opens after Jesus’ birth, with wise men, Magi from the east, travelling to Judea. The wise men--astrologers, philosophers, scientists, kings—opinions on exactly who they were varies--are following a star. They are searching for the One they believe has been born under the star, whom they call “king of the Jews.” Their search brings them through Jerusalem, where they encounter the fearful and desperate ruler Herod, and it culminates in finding the Christ child, worshipping Him, and returning to their homeland forever changed.

Early Christians reading and hearing this story from Matthew’s gospel would have received two important messages. First, they would have recognized from Matthew’s quoting of Hebrew Scripture—“ from you, Bethlehem, shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel”— Matthew’s firm belief that Jesus, the baby of Bethlehem, is the Messiah, the Son of God, the Savior long awaited by the Jewish people.

But early Christians would also have seen in this passage a second message—that the salvation Jesus offers is not just for the Jews, but for a much wider audience—as they heard Matthew describe these star-searching visitors who are obviously pagans, non-Jews, foreigners, wise men from the East, bowing down to worship the baby Jesus as Lord.

Matthew proves to those early Christians, and to us, that Jesus is the promised Messiah—and he also shows us that Jesus’ message, and his kingship, and his offered salvation are for all people--no matter who they are or where they come from--who seek to know and honor him.

So how far did the wise men go to follow their star? Most scholars who have studied this topic seem to think that the Magi most likely started out in Persia—modern-day Iran—which would put their journey to Bethlehem at between 1000 and 1200 miles.

Such a distance wasn’t crossed in a day, or even the “12 days of Christmas” we allow between Christmas and Epiphany. The wise men’s journey might have taken any time between three and twelve months—traveling, of course, by camel. And their journey no doubt included more than just the time of travel--there were probably many weeks of preparation. All in all, the Magi could scarcely have reached Jerusalem till a year—or perhaps quite a bit longer--had elapsed from the time of the star’s initial rising.

So how far would you go to follow a star? Would you go as far as Minneapolis, or Atlanta, or Buffalo? Would you go for 12 days, or for 12 months, or for 12 hundred miles? Would you go to the ends of the earth, or the end of your life? Do you need to?

In yesterday’s paper, advice columnist Ask Amy printed a letter from a woman who called herself “Confused After 25 Years.” This woman said,

“Dear Amy,
When I first got married all I wanted out of life was love and a little security. Now it’s 25 years later and I’m finding myself wanting more. I want to travel the world, move to a large city and make a lot of money doing what I love. I don’t want to have to be home by 5:30 to make dinner for my spouse. I have big goals and ambitions, while my spouse loves staying home every night and is looking forward to retiring and staying in our small town. I love my spouse but I feel my life is being stifled if I stay where I am.”


Now that letter is pretty vague on the details—but the pain and yearning that are going on in this woman’s heart and soul are pretty clear. She’s got a vision and she wants to follow it—she’s desperate to get moving, to start her journey to somewhere else, pretty much anywhere else—and yet--it seems to me that what this woman who calls herself “confused” is yearning for is more than skyscrapers and frequent-flyer miles.

What I hear in that letter is a woman whose life as she is living it no longer has meaning for her—that she’s desperate to find that meaning again, and that she’s willing to leave her home, her husband, and everything familiar--to set out on an uncertain journey—in order to find not the life she seeks, but the MEANING that she seeks.

It’s a yearning that we can all relate to. We all want to have that sense that our life is meaningful, that what we do is important, that we have a place in history and the universe, that we are known and loved and valued.

What kind of star would you follow in your journey for meaning?

And what would you expect to find once you reached your destination?

Today’s gospel reading makes it clear that the wise men, like “Confused” and like us, were more than star-followers. They were star-searchers—or maybe star-seekers—but what they were seeking was more than an astronomical anomaly.

Matthew tells us that the wise men were overwhelmed with joy -–the Greek literally says “and they rejoiced with a joy, a great one, indeed an exceedingly great one"; he tells us that these pagan foreigners knelt down and paid homage to the infant Jesus; that they opened lavish gifts that they poured out at his feet.

Clearly the wise men were doing more than trying to solve an problem or answer a question of science. They were more than curiosity-seekers or rubber-neckers or paparazzi or groupies.

Their hearts were involved, and their souls; they were sincerely looking for the truth; they were genuinely seeking for a divine one—The Divine One—the Light of the world, revealed by a rising star. Like us, the wise men were seeking meaning—they were seeking God and his certain presence in their world—and they found that meaning, and God’s presence, in Jesus Christ, the Holy Child of Bethlehem.

The lesson of today’s gospel passage is not about following a star, any star. The lesson of today’s gospel passage is not about leaving home, or ambition, or skyscrapers, or frequent flyer miles. The lesson of today’s gospel passage is not about how long we travel or how far we go.

The lesson of today’s gospel passage is that our best and most exciting destination; our truest source of meaning and purpose; our searched-for star and our eternal home—all of these are found in the person and the presence of Jesus Christ, Savior, Light of the World; and that our greatest inspiration, our greatest commission, and our greatest fulfillment are only truly found when we kneel before the Son of God, and worship him, and pour out our treasures, and our burdens, at his feet.

How far would you go to follow a star? How far would you go to find the meaning, and purpose, and joy that will transform your life ? How far must you go to find Jesus? Maybe a long way. And then again, maybe not far at all.

I want to leave you with an image that came to my mind as I was reading this passage from Matthew in preparation for today’s sermon.

Lately, because my office has moved over to Mall 205, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the car—maybe too much time! So in an effort to feel like I’m doing more than driving, I’ve been listening to audiobooks on CD during my commute to the office and back.

One of my recent audiobooks was The Mermaid Chair by Sue Monk Kidd, a wonderful book set on an island in South Carolina, full of the images and atmosphere of that region. One of the characters is an African-American woman, an expert on the island’s culture and traditions, who says during a tour of the island:

“There’s an old Gullah practice. . . Before our people can become church members, they go to a sacred place in the woods three times a day for a week and meditate on the state of their souls. We call it ‘traveling,’ because we’re traveling inside.”

Traveling.

For those of you who don’t know anything about Gullah, it’s a unique African-American culture found on the Sea Islands off the coast of South Carolina and Georgia, where descendants of slaves from different tribes and countries in West Africa still speak a Creole language—called “Gullah”—that mixes English with African dialects, and their Christianity blends with spiritual traditions from Africa.

I find it evocative and powerful to think about the Gullah people—people who were slaves, isolated on islands, unable to really go anywhere—maybe you could describe them as people in exile—naming their time of spiritual discernment, their spiritual quest, ‘Traveling.’

So maybe that’s how we should think of our star search, our yearning for meaning, our journey to Christ--a time for “traveling inside.”

We may not be able to leave behind our ordinary lives and look for Jesus in Minneapolis, or Buffalo, or Atlanta; those 5:30 dinners with family may keep us from skyscrapers and frequent flyer miles and glamorous careers. We may not be able to go 12 hundred miles, or 12 months, or even 12 days.

But the good news of the Gospel—the good news of salvation we celebrate and share at this communion table and at our kitchen tables—is that we need not go far in our star-search-- to know the King the wise men sought and found. Jesus Christ, the Son of God, our Savior and Lord, is here already, among us, within us.

No matter who we are, no matter where we are, no matter what we have done, we can always find Jesus by “travelin inside”—and we can always find meaning, know salvation, and experience true joy by opening our hearts, and acknowledging him Lord--laying our gifts, and our burdens, at his feet.

Amen.

What Makes A Family?

Thoughts on
Louise Allen's novel
"Virgin Slave, Barbarian King"

This is a bit of a departure for me, as usually my writings on this blog extrapolate spiritual truths (or some vague approximation thereof) from analysis of a sacred text (i.e., the Bible). However, my blog rubric does promise “sermons and other writings”—so here is the exception that proves the rule, my observations and comments (nothing so formal as a review) on Louise Allen’s recent book for Harlequin Historicals, Virgin Slave, Barbarian King.


In general, though it's off my well-beaten historical romance track (I generally prefer 18th and 19th century-set historicals), I enjoyed this novel. Set in 410 AD with the sack of Rome as its backdrop, the book tells the story of Julia (a Roman senator’s daughter), who is abducted by Wulfric (a Visigoth leader). As Julia lives in the midst of Visigoth society, she comes to appreciate Visigoth ideals, falls in love with Wulfric, and embraces a future with him. As Wulfric assimilates Julia into his household and his life, he in turn undertakes a journey of self-discovery, falls in love with Julia, and embraces a different vision of the future than he has heretofore imagined for himself.

Despite the dreadful title that conjures up salacious images of bondage and submission, the book contains relatively little sex, instead focusing on the themes of honor and freedom, the growing emotional and physical interdependence of Julia and Wulfric, and their mutual journey of sacrifice and commitment. (I find it particularly curious that, by the novel’s end, Julia is neither Slave nor Virgin, and Wulfric is neither Barbarian nor King! Perhaps it should be called "Virgin Slave, Barbarian King, Not Really" ?)

Many folks in the blogosphere have analyzed and reviewed this novel, and made, as my English professor Richard Johnson would have put it, “shrewd and felicitous points.” So instead of reiterating what has already been said, I will confine my comments to a theme in the novel, not yet dealt with elsewhere, which I found particularly intriguing: author Allen’s exploration of what it means to be a family.

The notion of family, as Allen presents it in the novel, is a central value of Visigoth life and serves as the primary organizing principle of their community. The author makes this theme plain early on: at the novel’s beginning, when Wulfric saves Julia from being raped by her fellow Romans, he is shocked that she does not know the name of the slave who has accompanied her into danger: “But she was one of your family . . .your responsibility” (pp. 11, 12). Julia is puzzled by this: “She was one of the household. . .a slave,” she replies, attributing their different views to difficulties of language, “the niceties” of Latin (p. 12).

Author Allen makes it clear from this interchange that the Visigoth idea of family is different from the Roman concept, and goes on throughout the novel to explore this difference in a variety of scenes and verbal exchanges. This conversation between Una and Julia makes the question of family explicit:

“’Have you seen a slave being mistreated while you have been among us?’ (Una asks Julia).
‘I have seen no slaves. . . ‘ (Julia replies).
‘That is because you cannot tell the difference by looking. Slaves belong to families, are part of families. . .’ Now (Julia) began to understand. Once you were in a barbarian household, however you got there, everyone had a responsibility towards you, just as you had duties to them” (p. 102).

Later on, after Julia and Wulfric’s first sexual encounter, Julia realizes that “. . . It was days since she had thought of escape, but it was not apathetic resignation or fear that was keeping her here. It was, she realized, a sense of belonging” (p. 135)—something Julia has not experienced in her Roman home, but is finding instead in the Visigoth camp.

For the Visigoths, the concept of family is inclusive, not exclusive—a family includes all members of the household, men and women, slaves and children, whether related by blood or not, who “belong.” “This is a people, a nation. . .and now you are part of it,” Wulfric tells Julia (p. 28), to which Berig adds: “. . . you will be quite at home here” (p. 29).

Being “family” requires interdependence, responsibility and accountability between all members of the household or “kin group.” This mutual obligation is expressed in communal living, distribution of responsibilities among family members, and in vigorous mutual defense. Allen’s description of Julia’s Roman family life, and her comparison of this to Julia’s experience as a member of a Visigoth household, makes this vision of family an unmistakable feature of the novel.

“Involved In Something Momentous”: A Sense of Purpose

Julia’s rapid integration into the Visigoth community illuminates another feature of Visigoth family life as Allen imagines it: the notion that, in an interdependent environment where each person’s work is necessary and each person’s contribution valued, each member of the family is strengthened and inspired by a sense of meaning and purpose.

As Julia begins her first night as a captive in Wulfric’s tent, she readies herself for sleep by removing her tunic and sandals, washing her feet, and preparing the bed, activities which Allen describes as “unfamiliar work” (p. 44) to her as a Roman senator’s daughter. At Julia’s Roman home, we are told, a slave would prepare all this for her, unpin her hair, assist her with face cream, and leave out flowers: “It would all be perfect. Cool, tasteful, perfect” (p. 45).

As part of her duties, Julia must learn “. . .how to wash clothes, how to turn up a tunic and how to deal with a rabbit for the pot” (p. 88). She is also called upon to stitch up Wulfric’s arm when he is wounded in a fight, to pack up Wulfric’s tent when the community takes to the road, and to drive the heavily loaded wagon. And as Julia develops more expertise in these tasks, she comes to see that she is no longer “ . . .clumsy and helpless and ashamed of her pampered, heedless existence” (p. 88), no longer “. . . a gaming piece on the board where family and civic status were decided” (p. 103).

Instead, Julia begins to see herself as useful, resourceful, and an integral part not only of Wulfric’s household but of the Visigoth people as well. She begins to think of herself not as a powerless pawn, but as a person of value, and purpose, and self-determined life.

“I have come to enjoy the way we live now,” Julia tells Wulfric. “I am a slave and yet this seems like freedom. I like the people in my life now, I feel well and fit, I am involved in something momentous” (p. 146). By finding a sense of meaning and purpose, Julia has come to see herself as an important part of the Visigoth family.

Not “Lonely All the Time”: Community and Consistency

In Virgin Slave, Barbarian King, members of the Visigoth community live in a mobile camp, constantly on the move in search of land and in service to their king. Their “homes” consist of tents, wagons, and fireplaces, humans and animals crowded close together, with little or no privacy in which to isolate oneself or hide from others.

On her first evening in the camp, Julia makes note of this: “Outside she could hear the murmur of conversation, could make out Wulfric’s voice amidst a number of other men. . .Further away a baby cried and was hushed, dogs barked, someone came past on a horse, its feet slow and tired sounding” (p. 45). Later, after she and Wulfric have had an argument, Julia wonders: “Wulfric’s voice raised in a roar would not have been stopped by canvas walls. How much had their neighbours heard?” (p. 72).

Julia notes how children and women are part of the community’s activity, helping one another in daily activities and chores, and mentions several times her surprise that Wulfric would interact so naturally and playfully with children of the camp when she cannot “imagine any of the senators of her acquaintance stopping to talk to a grubby child” (p. 29).

Julia contrasts the sound, energy, and mutual involvement of the Visigoth community with memories of her Roman home, where “From outside there would be nothing to hear. Slaves padded silently, all too aware that to be heard was to arouse the wrath of the mistress of the house. . . The house was as tranquil, and as lonely, as the grave (p. 45).” Julia “had felt lonely all the time at home. Here (at the Visigoth camp), she had never felt that sense of distance, the chill of her parents’ house” (p. 102-103).

There is more to this contrast between Visigoth community and Roman isolation, and it relates to another of the novel’s themes, that of personal and political honor.

In the Visigoth camp, little can be hidden from others, and honor is seen as truthfulness and consistency whether in public or in private. Julia tells Wulfric: “For you and your people, I do not think there is that separation—you are the same at your own hearth and in the king’s Council, making love or making war” (p. 145-146). Julia also describes the Roman sense of honor as she understands it: “’It does not matter what a man is behind closed doors—he can beat his wife, fornicate with his slaves, create elaborate schemes to make himself rich at the expense of his neighbours—so long as his public face is correct. . .’ (p. 145).

The ability to be “behind closed doors,” to have a public and a private face within the political sphere and even within the family unit itself, is impossible in the Visigoth camp; the “inconsistency” (as the Visigoths see it) that characterizes the Roman sense of honor rises out of the silence, the privacy, and the isolation of the mansions and corridors of life in Rome.

Julia's growing consciousness of the importance of involvement in community life, authenticity, and accountability to one another give her, and us, insight into Allen's vision of Visigoth family life--a family life that, in one experience after another, dispels Julia's Roman expectations and prejudices and draws her into the Visigoth circle.

A ‘Bristling Wall of Iron’: Vigorous Mutual Defense

Allen’s portrayal of vigorous mutual defense as a defining feature of Visigoth family life is particularly striking. Julia’s Roman family is wealthy, privileged, and secure—and yet, as the novel begins, Julia is on the street and vulnerable to attack during the sack of Rome because her mother, instead of keeping her inside and sheltered, has sent her out of the safety of their home “on this insane errand . . .” (p.8)

Julia muses, “I just did as I was told while she stayed behind the high walls, directing the family treasures to be buried beneath the paving slabs in the peristyle. Mother always knows what her priorities are” (p. 11). Obviously the “family treasures” to be secured and kept safe in this time of danger do not include Julia.

Furthermore, Julia’s family is unconcerned about any trauma or pain she might have experienced as a result of her time with the Visigoths, instead expressing dismay that her loss of virginity has diminished her value as a commodity—a commodity to be used by her family to improve their status and position in society (pp. 274-277).

It is also worth noting that even as Julia’s parents fret about her diminished value, Julia’s father makes it plain that she is far from the most valuable commodity possessed by the family: “Between my banker’s secure vaults and your mother’s skill in hiding the household silver, we lost nothing,” he says (p. 276). Clearly the importance of losing Julia herself for many months pales in comparison!

On the other hand, vigorous defense of family members is seen as an expectation of Visigoth community life, and is not an activity confined to men or warriors. When the Visigoth family caravans are attacked, Allen describes the women as active participants in the defense of their men and their wagons, hauling their children to safety, forming a defensive line, and “lifting the long boar spears and turning to confront the cavalry with a bristling wall of iron” (p. 264).

Wulfric defends Julia at their first meeting by killing her would-be rapists, protecting her more immediately and definitively than her Roman family has; Berig protects and defends Wulfric in various challenges and dangerous situations; and Julia herself takes up a knife in Wulfric’s defense after his confrontation with Rathar (p. 87).

Julia, nominally a slave, is included, protected, and valued in Wulfric’s family, the Visigoth community, in a way she has never been included, protected, and valued in her own Roman family or community.

At the novel’s end, Julia can choose between staying a part of her family of origin and making her permanent home in Rome, or rejoining Wulfric and her new-found Visigoth family. For Julia, the choice is easy.

In Rome, she has known “. . . the things that made life survivable—a proper bathhouse, a proper latrine with running water, civilized food, and someone else to cook it, clean clothes” (p. 29), but she has also known loneliness, felt useless, and been valued and protected only as a pawn or a commodity.

In the Visigoth community, Julia has found “ . . . The beautiful handicrafts, the skills that produced them kept alive despite the dangers and difficulties of a nomadic life. The sophisticated interweaving of family and alliance, kingship and loyalty, the laughing children and the dignified women, having their say, fighting alongside their men” (p. 271).

Here with the Visigoths she has been embraced as a family member and welcomed as a part of a community. Here she has learned meaningful skills and found a purpose for life and work. Here she has been valued and defended, as she has valued and defended others.

So it is no surprise that the book’s end finds Julia moving “into the night, out of Rome, and into a new world” (p 292)--returning with Wulfric, who loves and has sacrificed for her, to the Visigoth community where she has found family, and home, and a sense of belonging.



NOTES: In thinking and writing about this novel I have employed a "hermeneutic of generosity" and found in its exploration of slavery/freedom, involvement/isolation, civilization/barbarianism, honor/betrayal, and purpose/uselessness (among others) much food for thought. It was well written, well researched, and thematically rich.

As much as I enjoyed this novel, however, I acknowledge its limitations. For one thing, the novel's format renders it far too short for its historical era and subject matter, and would have benefited from some additional character history and exposition to fully flesh out Julia's and Wulfric's backstory and make them real characters in my mind. I was disappointed by the ubiquitous bathtub scene, and by Wulfric's convenient "bedroom lie" to Julia (the only time he ever lies to her in the novel, and at such a crucial moment of trust). I was also disappointed in the many, many run-on sentences (perhaps the book should be called "Virgin Slave, Barbarian King, Comma Splice"?) and felt it could have used a good final editing.

The title itself, of course, is the ultimate offense, although I must admit that it has really caught my husband's imagination in a way few romance titles have!