"Fear Doesn't Stop Us" (January 4, 2026 Sermon)

“In the time of King Herod…”

This sermon series ends with the same words with which it began: a frank acknowledgment that Christ is born and Herod still looms large. “Silent Night” has been sung, candles have been lit and raised in defiance during the final verse, shepherds have quaked, glories have streamed from heaven afar, and heavenly hosts have sung “Alleluia.” And Herod still reigns.

From his perch in Jerusalem, far from the peaceful hills of Bethlehem, Herod hears whispers about the birth of a child who will be called “King of the Jews.” The text tells us that this frightened him. It’s comical, really, to think of a big, mighty man like Herod being afraid of a helpless little baby. But Herod probably knew of a particular story about another baby, one who floated down the Nile in a homemade basket, and that didn’t turn out very well for the man in power in that story. So he lets his fear bring out the worst in him. But it also says that Herod wasn’t the only one scared at that moment. Matthew tells us that all of Jerusalem was afraid along with him. I have to admit, I’ve often been confused by that statement. Why would all of Jerusalem, a subjugated Jewish community, also fear the birth of a child who was supposed to be their savior? It doesn’t seem to make sense. But if we look closely, the text doesn’t say that the people of Jerusalem shared Herod’s fear; it only says they were frightened as well. Maybe they weren’t scared of the baby, but of Herod’s likely reaction to his birth. Because men like Herod rarely respond to fear with curiosity. No, they usually respond with some combination of violence, retaliation, and paranoia. They shoot first and ask questions later. The people of Jerusalem were not afraid of Jesus' birth itself, but of the violent response they knew would follow, and they weren’t wrong.

I trust the story is familiar to most of us.  The Magi are sent by Herod on a mission to investigate the birth of the prophesied child, under the laughably false pretense that he wants to "pay him homage." The Magi follow their instructions... until they don’t. They check their charts and follow the star. In the end, they find the child.

Here, I want to share two observations that I hope won’t spoil Epiphany for everyone. First, the text doesn’t specify the number of Magi, nor does it call them “kings.” It’s only later that Christian traditions assign the number “three” to them. Second, the text also doesn’t specify the gender of the magi. The term for Magi comes from the Greek word “magoi,” which generally referred to a variety of Zoroastrian mystics, most likely of Persian ethnicity. Since there are at least two of them, the Greek word in Matthew’s gospel is a gender-neutral plural pronoun. It’s well-known that both men and women were called magi in those days. So, it’s plausible that the magi, whatever their number, could have been women.

Although we don’t have textual proof of the gender of the magi, I like to think of them as women because, if they were indeed women, it would place them in the company of other women and girls who stood up to men like Herod elsewhere in the Biblical narrative. Last summer, we did a sermon series on the women and girls of the Hebrew Scriptures, and you may recall a group of them who saved Moses’ skin on more than one occasion before, during, and after his conflicts with Pharaoh.

Although the Magi may or may not have known that specific story, they embody the rebellious spirit of those women and girls when they choose, after finding the baby Jesus, to blatantly disobey Herod and “return home by another way.” Their “epiphany,” if you will, leads them to literally change course. Instead of allowing fear to make them part of Herod’s murderous rage, they hold fear and curiosity together as they decide to tread the path of peace.

We know, as Steve Harvey would frequently say on the radio, “the rest of the story.” Herod learns of the magi’s disobedience and goes on a killing spree. Because men like Herod will do all sorts of violent things in the name of “peace.” Subjugate this group of people. Bomb this country. Force regime change in the name of “democracy.” Stoke racial tensions to distract from gross incompetence. Herods love to think of themselves as unique, special, and innovative, when in fact they follow a tired playbook that relies on violence instead of bringing people together to help one another and serve the common good.

And so, on this Epiphany, we stand on familiar ground with stark parallels between the violence of those days and our current circumstances. It may be a new year, but we see a painfully familiar pattern of those in power using fear to drive us apart repeating itself. However, we won’t let that happen. Because you and I know “the rest of the story.” We know that Jesus survived Herod’s order of infanticide. He survived because Mary and Joseph fled to Egypt to escape the danger. Jesus, therefore, began his life as a refugee on the run.

But the story continued.  Jesus returned and continued to challenge the Roman Empire by providing a alternative to one driven by fear run wild.  Instead, he showed us what it looked like when love run wilds.  And that’s the work that we continue in his name to this very day.

As we begin a new year, we affirm that fear won’t stop us from letting love run wild.  As we begin a new year, we will join the Magi by going home by another road.  You know, some thirteen centuries after the Magi went home by another road, another Persian mystic by the name of Rumi wrote this poem called, "Keep Walking.”

Keep walking, though there’s no place to get to.
Don’t try to see through the distances.
That’s not for human beings.
Move within, but don’t move the way fear makes you move.
Today, like every other day, we wake up empty and frightened.
Don’t open the door to the study and begin reading.
Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

Friends, I invite you to holy curiosity this day.  In this new year, as that Persian poet preached, how will you let the beauty you love be what you do?  How will we, as a church, let the beauty we love be what we do?  For there are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.  And there are hundreds of ways for us to kneel and give the Christ-child homage.  And when we rise again to our feet, we can choose to return to the Herods of the world, or we can go home by another way.  And we do that by holding curiosity along with our fear.

In that spirit, I’ll close this day with the following words from Rev. Dr. Boyung Lee, who wrote much of the commentary that undergirded this sermon series.  In her reflection for this week, she wrote the following and I commend these words to each of you:

Who are the magi among us today—
those willing to cross borders for truth and love?

Who are the Marys,
holding the Christ child in fragile arms,
waiting for a knock at the door?

Who are the Herods,
terrified their illegitimate power
might be exposed by the light?

In the face of fear, let us travel together.
Let us defy empire not with swords,
but with solidarity.

Let us kneel in awe,
not before the powerful,
but before the powerless Christ,
whose birth marks the beginning of
God’s peace campaign.

Let us believe, with trembling hope,
that fear does not have the last word.

Because fear doesn’t stop us.
Love leads us forward.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God's children, say: Amen.