January 5, 2014 | 4:00 p.m.

Dreams . . .

Adam H. Fronczek
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Matthew 2

There are lots of dreams mentioned in tonight’s scripture lesson. I have weird dreams all of the time, and I remember many of them. I’m not an expert in dream interpretation, and I go back and forth about how much stock we should really put in trying to understand our dreams. But I do often dream about things that are about to happen. Last week there was a day I knew I needed to be up early to meet a member of our congregation for breakfast. I had a dream in which I met the guy for a meal. His wife was there too, so was my colleague Hardy Kim. We met in a kind of grotto restaurant underneath the Sanctuary here, and I was wearing the swimsuit and towel I usually have with me when I take a swim in the basement across the street. If you’re anything like me, you wake up asking, “What in the world was that about?” But sometimes, when the dream is pretty vivid or when you talk to the right friend about it, you know. You know because the details and images in the dream lead you to the point. Dreams and stories can be like that—the details can either distract us or lead us to the point.

That’s what I’m going to talk about today: that the story before us today has powerful details that may be distracting, but there is a point.

There’s an old joke about a minister teaching a Sunday School class and the minister, wanting to get the children thinking, describes things. He says, “I’m thinking of something, and it has wings and flies, it has wheels and propellers, and it looks like a big Tylenol.” The children are all silent until one little girl speaks up and says, “It sounds like an airplane, but we’re in church, so I know the answer must be Jesus.”

I said that there is a point of today’s story, and not to make you wonder, the point is Jesus. So now that we’re done with that, let’s talk about the images and details that are sometimes distracting.

One thing that distracts us in this story is the wise men. We love these guys. The primary tradition that our culture preserves around the celebration of Christmas—the giving of gifts—is based on them. We like these guys because they provide such easy material for us to expand upon and build a story we can experience with our senses. They are wise men, or magi (which means something like astrologers), and so we get interesting thoughts in our heads about the majestic robes and hats they must have worn. They’re carrying lavish gifts that are shiny and fragrant; we can smell the incense and see the gold. We’ve become so inventive with their story that there are plenty of traditions about them that have no foundation in the text. The Bible never says that there are three wise men, but it does say that there are three gifts, so we’ve decided three wise men. We gave them names: they are known traditionally as Melchior, Caspar, and Balthasar, even though there is no mention of any of that. Even though none of the Greek words used in the text mean “king,” at one point we made them kings because of a reference back in the psalms that talks about kings bringing gifts. You see how much we risk losing the point of the story in the midst of all this. We love the wise men, so we can easily miss the point: the place where they were headed. They were going to see Jesus. And when they finally get there and they enter the house, the first thing that happens is not the gift exchange. The first thing that happens is that they fall down and worship the child.

An equally distracting feature of the story is the star. The star is arguably a more pivotal image in the story than the wise men, because without the star, these magi—these astrologers—would not have known where to go. The star is a mystery to them. Where did it come from, they ask? Why haven’t we seen one like it before? Is it a sign of anything in our ancient scriptures? Why is it moving and where is it going? The star is equally fascinating to us. Throughout the ages, astronomers have bent over backwards trying to figure out the origin of the star. The most compelling scientific discovery has probably been the claim that Halley’s Comet was visible over the Middle East in 12 BC. If you entertain the idea that we may be a little off on the exact dating of Jesus’ birth, that bright, moving star could be the one followed by the magi.

That’s all very interesting but also distracting, I think, and here’s why. If you could confirm the origin of the star, would that really change anything? If I could say to you, definitively, that Halley’s Comet in 12 BC was the star followed by the wise men, would you suddenly believe everything else in the story: the appearance of the angel, the virgin birth, the shepherds who followed the same star, the dreams to Mary and Joseph that made it all make sense? If I could prove the star to you, would it change your life? My guess is probably not, because the star isn’t the point of the story—it’s a detail. The point is that the star comes to rest over the house where Jesus was found, where the wise men knelt down to worship him. The point is that the star points to Jesus.

Both the wise men and the star are fun details to think about, but don’t miss the point. The point is Jesus—focusing on his arrival is what makes everything else fall into place. Think about it: if you can accept that the incarnate Son of God is a baby named Jesus, born in Bethlehem, cradled in the arms of a teenage girl, suddenly where the star came from is no big deal. But we get lost thinking about the star and the wise men and the dreams, the details of this magic story that appears like a dream, and we forget about Jesus.

You and I get distracted by a lot of details at this time of year. Just like the star and the wise men, we each areon a journey, right now and throughout our lives; we’re always on a journey through life and faith, and at this time of year, at New Year’s, we are perhaps most aware of that journey. Even if you’re not interested in making resolutions, regardless of if your family and friends tend to sit down and reflect out loud about joys and regrets of the past year and hopes for the year to come, this is a time when many of us ask where we are on life’s journey—we do a little navel gazing.

When I was drafting this sermon, I wrote down that term—navel gazing—without really thinking about it, and then it hit me. Just like so many of us are distracted in this story by the gifts brought by the wise men or the origins of the star, maybe we are also distracted by our navel gazing. For how, if we are so absorbed with ourselves, will we get the point of the story? How, if our eyes are cast down upon our bellies, will we be able to follow the star that is meant to guide us to God?

I do not say that to discourage self-examination or the hopes you may have to grow to be a better and fuller version of yourself in the year to come. But as you consider who you are and who God made you to be, remember that you may not find the answer in New Year’s goals or resolutions that are all about you. You may not find what you are looking for in the corner office or on the treadmill or any number of the other of life’s inwardly focused details that we chase in the desire to make ourselves better.

As we experience the first days and weeks of the New Year, perhaps it’s time to consider a new way of looking at where we are on life’s journey, helped by the story we read today. The point of the story of the wise men and the star is where they were going—to Jesus the Christ. Likewise, we are invited to seek out God along the journey of our lives. So if you are feeling at all overwhelmed trying to figure out what the New Year holds for you, perhaps it is time to take a lesson from the star and the wise men—to leave aside our own concerns and to go to the manger and ask, “God, what do you want of me?” Amen.