Word and sacrament Luke 24 36-49

The risen Jesus had appeared to the Emmaus disciples on the first day of the week in the exegesis of scripture and the breaking of bread. From that small beginning developed the tradition of making live the risen presence of Jesus in what became the two core elements of Sunday worship, word and sacrament. When they arrived at Jerusalem Jesus appeared again, this time to the eleven. Despite the testimony of the Emmaus pilgrims, and Simon Peter, to whom Jesus had also appeared, his arrival was still greeted with incredulity. They continued to react in the same way to the women at the appearance of dazzling young men at the tomb: with disbelief and fear. This was an encounter with the spirit world they would rather not make. The notion of a bodily resurrection was obviously totally alien to them. Whatever they believed about life after death, and at the time of Jesus it was still a doctrine that divided Jews, despite having witnessed at least a couple of raisings from the dead in the ministry of Jesus, the presence of Jesus in the room with them was a supremely uncomfortable experience.

Jesus’s attempts to reassure them can only have made their discomfort worse. He invites them to reach out and touch him; to put their hands in his crucifixion wounds. It is surely significant that the risen Jesus carries with him the scars of sacrifice. However he lives and reigns, Luke makes clear that he forever remains the crucified. Thus death and resurrection are made inseparable from each other. It is when the death of Jesus is celebrated (in the breaking of bread and pouring out of wine) that his risen presence is encountered. The place of the skull was transformed into paradise, and the wounds that speak of death become the signs, the evidence, of resurrection.

Then he called for food. For those who remembered his last meal with them this was surely deeply significant. Not only was it a device to show he was alive and bodily present in their midst it also announced the arrival of the kingdom. The eleven were now treated to a detailed exegesis of scripture to show how the suffering of the Messiah and his resurrection lay at the heart of God’s salvation from the beginning of time. And they were made witnesses to the gospel. That gospel was forgiveness and repentance. And it was for all nations. Whether Jesus’s word of forgiveness from the cross is in the best attested manuscripts or not its authenticity in terms of mission cannot be doubted. The significance of the death and resurrection of Jesus is that it opens up to all humanity the gracious mercy of God.

By sending his Son God makes himself vulnerable to our hate. But the willingness of Jesus to absorb our violence and not allow his love to be destroyed by it demonstrates the indestructibility of the love of God. This is of course affirmed by the resurrection. Thus the broken body of Jesus reveals the ever beating heart of God’s love. Jesus commands us to carry our cross daily. The kingdom does not come by crucifying – or by any other violent means – or by playing power games; it comes through cross bearing, absorbing suffering into love. It is in this sense that Jesus “bore our griefs and carried our sorrows.” He bore the squalour of death with the nobility of God. Paul tells us that the mind that was in Jesus should be ours too. This mindset did not seek equality with God but accepted slavery, and ultimately death on a cross. The way of the cross is the authentic route by which we all travel. This we embrace willingly through faith, as Christ did.

the walk to Emmaus Luke 24. 13-34

For fourteen chapters all the traffic has been inexorably heading for Jerusalem. Now it is flowing in the opposite direction. If at times that pilgrimage was made with faces set like flint, this return home is nothing other than a humiliating retreat. Hopes have been shattered. The one in whom they were grounded is dead and buried. A life they believed had been transformed has been sent back to square one, only this time to be lives with disillusion and zero energy. Their return is not purposeful; there are times when they simply stand still, and times when their walk slows, clearly reluctant to be admitting defeat. But a retreat it is.

It is Cleopas and presumably his wife. A stranger joins them in their walk. This story is apart from anything else a sublime piece of teaching on bereavement counselling: about getting alongside, going at the pace of those suffering, stopping where they stop, and moving on when they resume their journey, listening to their stories, before intervening with interpretation. Theirs is not only a story of disappointed hopes but of disorientation. The testimony of the women that the tomb was empty and that they had seen a vision of angels assuring them that Jesus was alive had made that disorientation. The death of Jesus, though deeply disturbing and a loss of all in which they had placed their hopes, had a finality to it that they might come to live with. This new development was not believable so was not a ground for hope, yet it was tantalisingly suggestive, enough so to undermine the certainty with which they had begun the day. If the testimony of the women were true, and they were fairly sure it was not, that would place demands upon them that would be even greater than when they had decided to put their faith in him in the first place. To follow in faith one you had seen and eaten with, conversed with and witnessed doing remarkable things had been demanding. But to follow one whom you had seen buried but were told was now alive required a different order of faith altogether, a faith beyond your Richter scale when it came to moving mountains.

The stranger began to unpick scripture. He talked about the Messiah. There was something about his teaching that made them want more. They reached Emmaus, their home village. He went on ahead but they called him back and invited him in. When supper was served the stranger took bread, blessed it and broke it. Suddenly they knew who he was. The painting in the National Gallery by Caravaggio says it all. The table is laid with chicken bread wine and fruit. The fruit is as fruit always is: it has its blemishes and its bloom, its wormholes as well as its refreshing ripeness. But it is placed at the very edge of the picture. The disciple flings his arms wide in a vibrant sign of the cross. The disciple on the left is caught in the act of leaping out of his seat. The fruit is about to come tumbling off the front of the table. The revelation of the crucified Jesus as risen Lord overturns all our tables.

The two disciples set out with the setting sun behind their backs and heads east to benighted Jerusalem. Their whole life has been turned back round into the right direction and a walk that was laden with sorrow becomes light footed with meaning and purpose. The story they had to tell had been transformed. This was no longer a story that everyone knew – now their testimony was exciting enough to tell the world. The fruit was out of the bowl.

Matthew 28 Women witnesses to the resurrection

All four gospels are agreed that women went first to the tomb of the first day of the week and discovered the tomb to be empty. The plausibility of Mark’s account that they went to complete the embalmment of the body has long been questioned. Indeed Mark himself has the women question the viability of it. Matthew suggests that the women simply came to visit the tomb. The desire to visit the last resting place of a friend is a powerful motive in almost any culture. No other motive need be postulated. However, there developed a tradition in Judaism whereby the tomb was watched for three days to stay with the dead person until the soul left the body. When this became a traditional and habitual practice is disputed. But recent evidence seems to suggest that the practice went back to the 1st century CE and continued up to the Byzantine era. The women, then, go to watch over the tomb. Matthew’s account seems to suggest, also, that they went as soon as the Sabbath was over: that is at the first opportunity. They therefore form the counter witness to the false witness of the guards who had specifically been placed to watch over the tomb – not in mourning or in fulfilment of traditional burial procedure, but for reasons of security. It seems that may have even witnessed the earthquake and the descent of the angel and his rolling away the stone.
The main difference in Matthew’s account from that of Mark is that just as the women were leaving the tomb, in a mixture of fear and joy, to go and tell the disciples the great news Jesus himself appears to them. In marked contrast to other resurrection stories they instantly recognize him and throw themselves at his feet grabbing him round the legs in worship and love. Jesus tells them not to fear but to go and tell. Jesus gives them the same message that the young man gives to the women in Mark’s gospel.
When they do go back to Galilee Jesus meets them on the top of a mountain: Some of the 11 are still in doubt; they wait to hear his teaching. But it is not teaching they receive: Jesus asserts his authority as Lord. What they receive is an ordination: the mission field has no boundaries; their task is to baptize; those baptized are to be taught to obey every command of Jesus. They are to build houses on the rock. It is a renewed warning to all readers of the gospel. Jesus’s teaching as reported in this gospel is not for approval or analysis. It is not directed at the mind but at the will. It is passed on to us as an imperative not an option. And the risen Jesus in not limited in his presence to Galilee or even Palestine. He remains Emmanuel until the end of time.
If Mark leaves us bewildered and fearful of how the resurrection is going to impact upon us a disciples, sending us back to first principles and urging us to revisit old haunts with faith instead of fear, Matthew announces the triumph of Jesus with a fanfare of trumpets and a ring of assurance: in the words of Edmond Budry’s great hymn:

Craindrais-je encore? Il vit à jamais,
Celui que j’adore, le Prince de paix;
Il est ma victoire, mon puissant soutien,
Ma vie et ma gloire : non, je ne crains rien!
À toi la gloire, O Ressuscité!
À toi la victoire pour l’éternité!



He lives for ever, what is there to fear?
Prince of peace triumphant, him whom I adore
My supporting conqueror, hero ever near
He my life my glory, no I shall not fear!
To you all glory, risen Lord for aye
Yours the saving victory through eternity.

Matthew 27. 24 – 26, 35 - 36, 50 – 54. Earthquakes

The main effect of Matthew’s sympathetic treatment of Judas is to shift the blame for Jesus’s crucifixion further over on to the priests and Pilate. But the other changes he makes to Mark’s account of the trial before Pilate also serve to make Pilate less active in the process. Pilate emerges in Matthew’s account as a weak vacillating governor who tries to wash his hands of blame. The intervention of his wife sending word that she has had a dream and encouraging him to have nothing to do with the conviction of an innocent man, his questioning of the crowd, “What then am I to do?” and finally his own public washing of hands claiming innocence show a governor who simply had virtually abdicated decision making finally allowing the mob to make the decision. The people as whole take the unconditional blame: ”His blood be on us and on our children.” These words became the major excuse for anti-semitism which has vitiated the Christian community to some extent ever since. Matthew may well have seen them as an explanation for the destruction of Jerusalem and the fall of the temple.
The crucifixion of Jesus was routine; Matthew mentions it in a subordinate clause; it took place where probably hundreds were crucified at some time or other: The place of the skull. And in the place of skull the soldiers diced for his clothes. Strangely Matthew makes that the main verb in the sentence! This has been beautifully picked up by William Blake in a magnificent picture of the crucifixion; he has set in the foreground the gamblers rolling a dice for the modest prize of Jesus clothing. In the background are the three crosses: the central one of Jesus dominating the picture. But the soldiers are so engrossed in their game that they are totally oblivious of the suffering on the crosses behind them. One man has the smile of triumph from ear to ear: he’s thrown the six that earns him Jesus’s tunic! These soldiers have come to take crucifying slaves, robbers and rebels as routine business in a day’s work: business that has the added bonus of perks like games to divide the victim’s clothes. For the winner the crucifixion in the background is a sideshow to his victory in the game.
We are outraged: crucifixions should never be allowed to become routine: yet the place of the skull was the place where probably hundreds were crucified at some time or other: crosses and the mutilated bodies hanging on them were as much a part of the Roman world as starving Africans is part of ours. Like those Roman soldiers we too live out our petty victories against the background of appalling suffering: we in the Northern world gamble over the clothes of the poorer Southern hemisphere and celebrate our economic success oblivous of the context. Perhaps 2000 years from now people will marvel at the inhumanity of a time like ours when half the world could eat themselves to death while the other half starved: to them perhaps it will rank in obscenity as high as crucifixion does to us today.
Whatever might be let this simply be said: they led Jesus to the place of the skull, and when they had finished crucifying him they divided his clothing. Jesus joined the anonymous victims - those who were considered so low in the ranks of humanity that their bodies could be sported with, they could be nailed up on a cross naked - exposed to a hostile world - in the place of the skull. And he is with the anonymous victims still: for the place of the skull still exists in our world.
With only minor changes Matthew follows Mark’s account of the death of Jesus right up until the moment when the veil of the temple is torn in two. At that point he heightens the drama. A massive earthquake tears open the city, tombs are opened, the dead walk the streets. It is in response to this sign of elemental power let loose at them moment of Jesus’s death that the centurion and the other soldiers cried out in terror, “Surely this was God’s Son.” This is of course a most significant change, not only in the story but in the theology. In Mark the centurion seems to react to the splendour of God revealed in the broken body of Jesus. These soldiers react to a more orthodox and less unusual revelation of divine power. Matthew has already reported when Jesus entered Jerusalem the previous Sunday that the whole city was shaken. And as that happened Jesus took the disabled into the temple with him thus opening it up to those ritually unclean. Now as the city is shaken for the second time the veil of the temple is torn from top to bottom opening up the very heart of the presence of God to all comers. There was to be a third shaking when Jesus is raised: this time the very door of heaven is opened wide.
Josephus tells us that the temple veil had an embroidery upon it that represented the heavens. Just as the high priest tore his clothes when Jesus said that he would see the Son of Man seated on the right hand of God, so now as Jesus dies the temple veil is torn in testimony against priests and temple. This is getting as near as possible to the notion of God himself rending his garments in disgust at what the religious leaders have perpetrated on his Son. And it is a preparation for that much greater rending of veils when the heavens open and Jesus is revealed indeed in all his glory at the end of the gospel.

Judas

Matthew follows Mark’s account of the passion story quite closely but there are some significant changes of emphasis. In particular Judas is given much greater prominence in the narrative. John tells us that Judas kept the money bag, indeed he tells us that Judas stole from it. Matthew tells us that when Judas went to the authorities to betray Jesus at least part of his motive was financial. This interest in financial reward goes strongly against the teaching of Jesus, irrespective of the betrayal: here is a case of mammon seeming to loom too large in a disciple’s affections. The story also shows that the contract he had made with the authorities was stronger than his love for his friend. Having received the money he was duty bound to deliver. With the 30 pieces of silver in the bag he looked for the best opportunity to hand Jesus over to them. When Jesus says at table says “Woe to him by whom the Son of Man is betrayed!” it is Judas who is reported as saying “Surely not I Rabbi,” Jesus knowingly replies, “You have said so”.
In Mark’s account once the arrest has been made in Gethsemane we never hear anything of Judas again. He disappears into the night as do all the others. But Matthew gives us a sequel. In this story Judas suffers remorse, and confessing his sin, seeks restitution by handing back the blood money which he throws down on the floor of the treasury in the temple when the priests refuse to take it back. They will not put it to the temple fund since they recognise it to be blood money – so they use it to buy a field from a potter to use as a burial ground for foreigners. In the meantime Judas hanged himself.
Matthew’s account is easily the most sympathetic to Judas. Many commentators have suggested that suicide was a heinous sin in 1st century Judaism quoting Josephus. His story also is a little reminiscent of that of Ahithophel who went home and hanged himself. But there was also a tradition of noble suicide. In some ways the judgment he placed on himself – since the authorities refused to judge him – certainly arouses more sympathy than the stories in Acts and Papias where God seems to smite Judas down peremptorily. But the main ground for sympathy arises out of Judas’s repentance. Again some have objected that it was only remorse: that he went to the priests rather than to Jesus – but Jesus was now before Pilate and hardly available – and the words he uttered were what amounts to a public confession. Besides the word for repent is straightforwardly the word the New Testament routinely uses for a saving change of heart. It would seem that the Christian community never had any real clue as to what had motivated Judas: other than the financial motive – scarcely convincing – offered by Matthew there is not attempt to explain his actions. His reaction on seeing Jesus handed over to Pilate at least suggests that that was not the outcome for which he had been working. Perhaps he had been hoping for a set battle on the Mount of Olives, a popular insurrection and a Messianic war to remove the Romans: that he was in fact leading the authorities into a trap. Jesus was clearly aware of what was going on and would have had time to prepare an ambush. Whatever his intentions Judas, as portrayed by Matthew, hardly deserves the unforgiving infamy that he has received in the literature and art of the Christian community. As far as they were concerned, it would seem that Judas Iscariot had discovered and committed the unforgivable sin. Matthew offers at worst the repentant tragedy of a man who got it wrong.

John the Baptist Matthew 3 13-17

In contrast to the others coming for baptism, Jesus came from Galilee. The well-attested baptism of Jesus would surely have raised eyebrows in the early church, where his sinlessness was already well established doctrine. John’s baptism was for repentance. Of John’s baptism Jesus surely had no need. Neither Mark, Luke nor John (the gospel writer) take on board that issue but Matthew makes explicit John’s reluctance to baptize Jesus precisely on those grounds. Jesus’s enigmatic reply that in being baptized he is to be permitted to ‘fulfil all righteousness’ prepares us for the whole ministry of Jesus as revealed in this gospel. The word righteousness surely carries not only its Greek meaning of doing good but the Hebrew/Aramaic meaning of bringing about justice, of making right prevail. Baptism then prefigures his death. Jesus is God with us: God fully immersed in our humanity. By his being baptized into the sinfulness of human beings we will be able to be baptized into his holiness. By his being baptized into our death we will be able to be baptized into his life. It is not for his own sins that he repents but he repents for ours, on our behalf. And yet in a sense he also repents on behalf of God for a world tainted by sin. He acknowledges that he has been sent to be part of a humanity that has corrupted the universe: that God cannot for ever stand outside it, over and against the world he made, but has to repent and enter it: to enter it in every aspect and be totally identified with it.

Significantly it is immediately after he is fully immersed in the water as a sign of his identification with humanity in all its sinfulness that he is openly affirmed as the Son of God. After the fiery introduction to Jesus that John has given us, the way in which that sonship was revealed may have been a little surprising. We might have expected fire, or a mighty rushing wind, or a spectacular blaze of God’s glory like that revealed to Isaiah. If a bird was required surely it would be an eagle, the sign of royalty: a bird with power in its claws and a bit of bite in its beak: the sign that this was to be a ministry of power. But it was a dove that appeared: the dove known for its grace, love, and gentleness: a bird of peace - hardly a cutting edge in the ornithological world - not even a rare bird. It was the cheapest form of sacrifice - the bird offered by ordinary people who could not afford a lamb. Perhaps it served as a reminder of the days of Noah when a dove was released from the ark and returned with an olive branch in its beak as a sign that the waters were abating, the period of punishment, of cleansing was over, God’s anger had relented, and the earth was to be given a new start, that a new covenant was to be made that would be grounded in God’s mercy. On the second occasion that Noah released the dove it never came back - the sign that the earth was ready for habitation. So, now, as Jesus came up out of the waters of cleansing, out of the waters of death and judgement, symbolically the dove that Noah had let out that had never returned coming back to rest on the one who was truly was going to be the beginning of the new creation. It came back to rest on the one who was to restore peace between heaven and earth, on the one through whose body and through whose blood was to be revealed the sign of the new covenant to replace the covenant even made to Noah. And as a sign of sacrifice the dove rested on the one who was to be the sacrifice for the world’s sins. Moreover, in the context of Matthew’s gospel, there is surely also an illusion here to the very opening of Genesis where the Spirit of God hovered (like a dove) over the face of the waters. Jesus represents not just a new covenant to replace the one made by God with Noah, nor just another fresh start, not even an exodus to a wilderness en route for a new kingdom, but a totally new creation.

It was thus in the action when Jesus most identified with humanity, being baptised in repentance for its sins, that God most openly recognised him as his son. This was a lesson that he was to have to take forward with him in his ministry. So when the devil said ‘If you are the Son of God........’ Jesus would know that being the Son of God meant no short cuts, no wizardry, no spectacular gestures. It is said that Roman emperors, when enjoying triumph processions in Rome, had a slave behind them in the chariot whispering continually in their ears, ‘Remember you are human’. Perhaps that is why Jesus continually referred to himself as the Son of Man. As Paul was to put it: ‘Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.’

Bethlehem, magi, Herod and the massacre of the innocents

Matthew, like Luke, affirms that the Jesus was born in Bethlehem. According to the Amarna Letters, one of the oldest sources for the story of Palestine, Bethlehem was known as Bit‑Lakhmi or house (temple) of Lakhmu. Lakhmu was a pagan god. This name became subtly changed to the more acceptable Beth Lehem or house of bread. This was totally appropriate because, as we learn from the story of Ruth, around the town were fertile crop‑growing fields. Its earliest mention in the Bible is as the tomb of Rachel, the mother of Israel. But Bethlehem's main claim to fame was that it was the birthplace of the one great international man of note that Israel had ever produced: David. However, after the exile, its significance was merely symbolic. A new David would one day arise and restore Judah, perhaps even reuniting the ancient kingdoms of Israel and Judah and re‑establishing the old Davidic empire. Bethlehem had a past and it had a future: what it lacked was a present. For now, all that Bethlehem had was its routine of everyday living: its annual harvest; its daily baking. It was a prosperous town: its vineyards were as noted as its grain, but its prosperity was by no means renowned beyond the confines of the desert within which it was set: it was a fish large only in the goldfish bowl of Palestine. 'Not least of the cities of Judah' comes as near as possible to damning with faint praise. At this point of its history what lingering hope the people had was centred on the other great Davidic city, Jerusalem. It was therefore to Jerusalem that the magi came. They came from the east. At the time of the Babylonian exile was born the hope that one day even the kings of the sophisticated super‑powers who enthralled them at that time would come and bow before their king; for he would come from God with power and his glory would know no bounds. By the time Jesus came, the world's centre of gravity had decisively shifted west, first to Athens then to Rome. But the east remained an important source of luxury goods through the trade caravans: roads linked Ephesus with Susa, and Babylon with Kabul, and about 120 Greek ships a year linked India with Egypt. The world of the east was shrouded in mystery; but travellers had returned with stories of fabulous temples, astonishing technology, and elegant living. Roman cooking depended on eastern spices and the aristocracy craved oriental silks. Two of the gifts the magi brought, myrrh and frankincense, commonly came from Saba, in the South of Arabia, where it is likely that the Queen of Sheba had once had her palace.

The magi were probably astrologers. As such it is unusual to find them being treated favourably in the text. Balaam serves as an Old Testament example. He was a foreigner from the east whose prophecies included a star and a sceptre. Balaam is treated as a bit of a comic turn in the Book of Numbers, being shown as the wise man who was less wise than his ass. These magi are misled to Herod’s palace, but there is no attempt by the writer to portray them as anything other than serious scholars, obedient and humble before their learning, sensitive to the traditions of the Jewish people, for protocol would have dictated that a king was to be searched for first in Jerusalem: perhaps they would have felt honour bound to start their inquiries with the king. Indeed the humble, honest and diligent searching of these Gentiles is compared most favourably with the lazy, casual and devious methods of Herod, whose negative attitude sets the tone of hostility among the Jewish ruling class which is to mark out the rest of the gospel.

Herod reigned from 37- 4 BCE. He was not king by birthright - he was not even completely Jewish: he owed his position to his courting of the Romans. His servile attitude to Augustus was accompanied with paranoia towards his own people. Married ten times, he systematically eliminated not only political opponents but any who might have seemed to have a rival claim to the throne. he was determined to build for himself an eternal name by initiating architectural works: baths, aqueducts, stadia, theatres, palaces and fortresses. His greatest and most costly project was to rebuild the temple. This was not finally completed until 63 CE, and then survived only 7 years before it was totally destroyed by the Romans.

Herod’s motive in rebuilding the temple was probably three-fold: a desire to copy the temples of Athens and Rome, a desire to make a name for his dynasty and a desire to curry favour with the people. But despite rebuilding the temple he was not particularly interested in Jewish tradition. His appointments to the priesthood were mainly men steeped in Greek philosophy and learning rather than their commitment to Judaism. His chief advisors were also mostly those schooled in Greek philosophy. He was therefore not trusted by the orthodox Jews who plotted against him with sons of his various wives. He had two of his sons murdered in 7BCE and another murdered just five days before his death. To counter any threat Herod built massive fortresses through the country and a fortress palace on the hill of Masada to which he could retreat. Towards the end of his reign, as opposition became more pronounced, the golden eagle was torn down from the Jerusalem temple by conservative Jews and their followers. Herod retaliated by having them burnt alive.

So when the magi asked "Where is he who has been born King of the Jews? For we saw his star in the east and have come to worship Him," it was the sort of question Herod had been dreading all his life. And Matthew’s portrayal of the anxiety that this question brought both to him personally and to the political establishment rings true with what we know about him from other sources. The words ‘born’ and ‘Jews’ would have been particularly threatening to a king who had been placed in office by a Roman emperor and relied on his relationship with the Romans for his office.

For centuries from Socrates to Voltaire the whole world believed in the Great Chain of Being. Events on earth were accompanied by events in the heavens. Matthew’s gospel is written within such a framework. The interpretation of scripture quoted by the scribes is affirmed by the heavenly sign. The star which signified the birth of a king reappears over Bethlehem; the magi’s quest is confirmed. But what was the star? Halley’s comet appeared in 11-12BCE: Jupiter and Saturn were in conjunction three times in 7BCE. Given that Jupiter was the star of kingship and Saturn the star of the Jews, their conjunction may well have created the ‘star of the King of the Jews’ which was understood by eastern astrologers. The fact that this phenomenon happened three times in the year may account for the re-appearance of the star when the magi turned to leave Jerusalem.

So the magi found their way to Bethlehem and the house of Joseph, Mary and Jesus. Gentile wise men, using their wits alone, would never have found the king for whom they were looking. The Hebrew scriptures were necessary to help them read the signs of the world correctly. Matthew seems to be giving us a clue to how we are to find the Messiah in his gospel, too. Looking for signs in the heavens will not be sufficient; those signs - even the signs of the deeds of the Christ - will need to be interpreted in the light of scripture. Herod had the scriptures but did not read them and would not obey them. The scribes had the scriptures, read them, understood them, taught them correctly to others, even to these wise men, but did not follow to worship the child whose birth they acknowledged was important. They preferred to keep in with the corrupt and paranoid Herod than to worship at the feet of the Messiah. The wise men did not have the scriptures but when the words were opened to them they believed, obeyed and worshipped. Matthew will therefore provide those of us not versed in Hebrew scripture with the relevant texts along our way so that we might be guided aright and not have to depend on stars and signs alone in our quest for the whereabouts and significance of the one born to be not just King of the Jews, but Lord of all.

Matthew seems to suggest that Mary and Joseph lived in Bethlehem. Nazareth is the place in which they finally settle to keep out of the way of Herod’s family. Not only is there no inn or stable but there is not even a manger. They live in a house, presumably Joseph’s house where they had always intended to live when they were married. The climax of the story has been reached. The magi go into the house, throw themselves in worship at the feet of the child who is with Mary his mother and open their treasures before him. By opening their treasures to him they show him and us where their hearts are.

The treasures that they opened were the treasures of worship. Frankincense and myrrh were both essential ingredients of incense. Pure frankincense was kept in two vials before the sacred bread in the tabernacle and the temple. Myrrh was used as an essential ingredient in the ointment of purification used by priests before they could perform sacrifices. Gold also played a significant role in the furnishing of the temple. Frankincense and myrrh came almost exclusively from the South of Arabia. The Gold of Sheba is referred to in Psalm 72. So in the visit of the magi to the infant Jesus we see echoes of the visit of the Queen of Sheba to Solomon. It had probably been the building of the temple and the consequent requirements of gold, myrrh and frankincense that her kingdom produced that made it important for Solomon to make an alliance with her to secure supplies. These magi now come to pay homage to great David’s greater son, bearing the same signs of worship. By presenting them to Jesus rather than to Herod, who was building a temple to surpass even that of Solomon, they prepare us to see in him the one whose temple will outlast that of stone.

Once the magi have worshipped at the feet of Jesus, they receive direct guidance from God himself. Up till now they had been guided by a star and by scribes. That guidance had been equivocal and not always clear. Now they received guidance in a dream that was decisive. Their encounter also opened up for them new routes in life. After encounters with Christ we do not leave by the same door through which we entered.

The literature of the ancient world is packed with stories of gods and heroes, mythical and historical, whose life was threatened soon after birth and had to flee to distant lands or be hidden in caves. There was, of course, above all, a parallel in the story of the baby Moses. The plan of Herod to kill all the male children under the age of two is also reminiscent of that story in Exodus. The urgent flight by night of Joseph, Mary and Jesus to Egypt recalls (in reverse) the hurried night escape from Egypt of the Jewish slaves in the exodus. Matthew accentuates that allusion by quoting the famous verse from Hosea 11: ‘Out of Egypt I called my son’. Jesus, who has already been introduced as the son of David, and the son of Abraham, is now identified as the new Israel. In ancient times the king personified his people. Thus Jesus experiences the alienation of his people, their fragile existence, their exiles. So this story also resonates strongly with all who are driven from their homes today: refugees, asylum seekers, the homeless and the threatened.

Herod’s massacre of the innocents at Bethlehem is not found in any other texts. But from what we know of Herod from other sources it would not have been out of character. At the very least the story shows the kind of vulnerable society into which Jesus was born. But the Hebrew scripture with which Matthew chooses to illuminate this story takes us straight into a passage deeply significant in the development of New Testament doctrine: Jeremiah 31. The verse he quotes is the one sad verse in the chapter. The chapter bristles with texts that became Messianic in hope. It is as if Matthew is pointing to the weeping in Bethlehem as the tears which will give way to joy as the Messianic promises are fulfilled. Rachel’s tomb was reputedly in Bethlehem: in the place of her sorrow, her son - the New Israel - was the one sign of hope. But that hope was as sure as a covenant of God written upon the heart. Even though the temple was in ruins (as Matthew wrote) and the children of Israel were going through an agony of grief, God’s son had been given, and the days of dancing would not be far behind. The cries of Rachel weeping for her children would be but the beginning of the story which would end with a new exodus into a kingdom of heaven.