Search Diligently 

Preaching Notes

Focus texts: Isaiah 60:1-6, Matthew 2:1-12

What are you looking for? That’s our annual Epiphany question. I know, it is supposed to be about the light. That’s what the word means, after all. But our texts for this festival seem to imply that if you aren’t looking for it, you probably won’t see it. That’s why, for many of us English speakers, the word “epiphany” becomes equivalent to surprise, or we say something like “it dawned on me” to imply that the knowledge or the realization snuck up on us unaware.

Isaiah begins his familiar call with the claim that the light is already here. Or does he? Tenses aren’t a prophet’s strong suit, it seems. Verse one of chapter 60 says the light has come. The next verse says the Lord will arise; then the following verse says the nations will come. “Lift up your eyes,” begins verse 4. But now? Or then? When are we to lift up our eyes? What are we supposed to be seeing? Something now or something later?  I am confident that Isaiah would grin and say, “Yes!”

Matthew’s story begins by noting that the light, so visible it brought a group of foreign holy ones all the way from the east (which is biblical talk for “out there somewhere”), was invisible to those in power under that same light--mostly because they weren’t looking. They were satisfied with the status quo; it worked for them. Never mind that it didn’t work for anyone else; they were doing quite well profiting off their position of authority. So, when these dignitaries, or crackpots, from the east showed up asking where the new king was born, Herod and his cronies were “frightened,” says Matthew. Not just those in the circle of power were frightened, but all of Jerusalem, we’re told. They were frightened not because they had any special devotion to King Herod, but because they knew if there was going to be trouble and the machinery of government was going to get rolling, they understood who was going to be rolled over. But Herod calmed the waters by delaying the response. “Go and search diligently for the child,” he said with a somewhat sincere smile on his face, “and when you have found him, come bring me word that I may also go and pay him homage” (Matt. 2:8 NRSV). Because that’s what kings did, you know, get out of the way for a peaceful transfer of power. And if you believe that, Matthew has the story of a massacre he is going to sell you in a few more verses.

Yet Herod somehow managed to give good advice on this occasion, despite his ill intent. “Go and search diligently.” Unpack that for a moment, preacher. It starts with “Go.” The implication might be that you rarely find sources of inspiration or opportunities to serve by sitting still. One doesn’t grow one’s faith by remaining comfortable. There is a stretching to “go.” There is risk, and there is adventure. Jesus concludes his ministry by telling the disciples and all of us to “go.” Go where the need is; go where the opportunity is. Go where the light already is shining. You won’t see it sitting where you are. Go.

“And search diligently”:  There is activity and intentionality in this phrase. Searching implies a goal, a treasure, something for which to search. Matthew says – or has Herod say – “search for the child.” Isaiah describes the dawning of the light being ushered in by children, by sons returning and daughters carried home in their nurses’ arms. Maybe part of our searching is paying attention to children — protecting them, providing for them, and giving them opportunities to grow, succeed, and be who God created them to be.

“Wait,” you say, “the king’s command wasn’t to look for children in general, but for one specific child.” Our search should be for Jesus, not for random children. Well, look at what happens when the search for that one child goes off the rails: random children suffer. It is ever the case that when power struggles grow bigger, random children suffer. When searching for peace through weapons of war and arm wrestling for authority ventures into international conflict, random children suffer. Maybe if we decided that the welfare of children requires more than rhetoric and culture-war fearmongering, we might come closer to finding what we seek – the face of Christ in the vulnerable around us and a kingdom and kin-dom worth striving for.

The proclamation of Epiphany declares that the light we seek is closer than we realize. But that requires us to move from where we are to get a better view. That takes intentionality to put our minds, hearts, hands, and resources into the search and the struggle to nurture the light in us and in those around us. We have work to do and journeys to take. So, let us search diligently as we lift up our eyes to what God is doing around us.