Sermon I. The Magians

Luke viii. 32.

“A light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel.”

Two subjects which appear incongruous were brought before us on the day of Epiphany. The Gospel spoke of the Magians, who were led by a star to the cradle of Christ. The Epistle spoke of the message which St. Paul delivered to the Ephesians. What connection is there between these thoughts? What has a star in the heavens to do with the sermons of a tent-maker?

A study of St. Paul’s words would suggest the answer to this question; it is embodied in the very word Epiphany. Not a sermon or a star is the subject of the Epistle or the Gospel, but God’s manifestation of His Son to the Gentiles. This manifestation can be as little explained by the discourses which St. Paul delivered as by the shining of an outward luminary. It is to the spirit within that God makes any of His discoveries. Only with this spirit can a man seize any truth, or enter into communion with it. Newton might have seen a thousand apples fall from the trees on which they hung; there was one which led him to perceive the law of the universe. The object that was presented to his outward eye became the instrument through which an idea was presented to the man himself. A universal truth shone through that special instance. His devout and humble mind would have acknowledged at once that God had led him to the one through the other. If afterwards he studied the speculations of Copernicus and the demonstrations of Kepler, he would have confessed, with all gratitude to his earthly teachers, that they also were instruments by which he was guided to the knowledge of a truth, which would not have been less a truth for them, for himself, for mankind, if no one of them had been able to apprehend it. In like manner the leading of a star, and the labours of St. Paul, are equally unintelligible, if they are viewed without reference to the object of both; when connected with that, each may enable us better to understand the other.

I have taken the words of the old Rabbi Simeon, which have become a Vesper Song of the Church, to illustrate this subject. The best commentary upon them which I know, is found in our Collect for the Epiphany: “O God, Who by the leading of a star didst manifest Thy only-begotten Son to the Gentiles, mercifully grant that we, which know Thee now by faith, may after this life have the fruition of Thy glorious Godhead, through Jesus Christ our Lord!” One can but follow lamely in a discourse, the movements of the spirit in a prayer; but I shall try to keep the method of this Collect before me, and to examine its different clauses.

I. An Eastern sage, believing in a light which was older than the darkness, and which would at last overcome it, associating this light with the luminous forms that presented themselves to him in a still evening,—trying honestly and earnestly to find out what these were and what they signified to him, was in these very studies sending up a prayer to the Source of Light, that he might be shown his way, which was bewildered with shadows and deceitful fires. Such a man is surely a most interesting subject for contemplation. Yet how mournful a one he would be if we supposed it was all in vain; if his wishes were self-created, and met with no response; if his life was passed in dreams, and death was the awakening to a certainty that they pointed to nothing! Is not the doctrine of the Epiphany a more cheerful and a more reasonable one? If we take it,—so we are bound to take every record of Scripture, supposing we believe it,—as the instance and exemplification of a law, of the course of the Divine working, is it not good news that God Himself was directing the thoughts of the student of the stars, and of all other students and seekers in every direction—that their disappointments and sorrows and hasty guesses and crude anticipations were themselves schoolmasters by which He was bringing them,—yes, why do we stumble at the words?—bringing them to Christ, bringing them to the Light which was lightening them, and had lightened every man that came into the world,—bringing them to know that He was there who always had been there,—bringing them to understand the deepest moral truth, the truth that most concerned their own being, through some common, often-observed incident, and by its commonness to feel assured that it was a truth for all as well as for them?

If we think of Him who was born at Bethlehem as having never lived till he was conceived by the Virgin, we may lose ourselves in all kinds of speculations about the miracle of that particular star that led the wise men to His manger. But if we adopt the Catholic Faith,—the Faith which was set before us on Christmas Day; if we suppose that the Word who was with the Father, who had been with the Father before all worlds, by whom the worlds were made, who had always been the life and the light of men, was then made flesh and dwelt among us,—that star will be no exception to the law which all stars have been obeying. They needed not to forsake their courses or break loose from their orbits that they might become instruments of illumination to the inner spirit of man, any more than that they might show him his path through the wood or across the ocean. In each case they were obeying their Creator’s high behest, they were glorifying His calm and settled order, and so were ministering to the greatest as well as to the humblest needs of His children. It might have been indeed a wonder to the wise men, an overthrow of many previous conjectures and high imaginations, a tearing in pieces of many plausible schemes of the universe which they had devised or adopted, when they were led to confess the glory in a Jewish child, born in a Jewish stable, which they had looked for either in some Persian monarch or in some sun of the upper world. But if there was a breaking-down of theories, like that which every true man of science, in whatever department he works, has to endure and ultimately to give thanks for,—what a satisfaction was reserved for the humbled heart of the truth-seeker in the very meanness of the outward vesture, in the discovery that the glory was all within, in the assurance that it was not the less human glory because it was Divine! How many lines of thought and of hope, which had each been visible at times, which sometimes seemed to intersect each other, sometimes to be running for ever parallel without the power of meeting, found their centre in that cradle! While they confessed how little the vision corresponded to what, as wise men, as Magians, they should have anticipated and wished, the conviction would be brought home to them, that this was what they required because they were men, that here was the Son of Man.

II. At this point then there seems no violent transition to that general Manifestation of the Only-begotten Son to the Gentiles, which came through the preaching of St. Paul, or of any who followed in his steps. It was as a messenger to men concerning a Son of God and a Son of Man that the Apostle went forth. This was his Gospel; and wherever he went preaching it, he found that other preachers had been before him. The rains and fruitful seasons, filling men’s hearts with food and gladness, had been there. The sun and stars had been there. There had been thoughts of a Deliverer, of a King, of a Judge. Wherever he went, he had proofs that God had other ways than by the leading of a star to manifest His only-begotten Son to the Gentiles; that in every nation and language there were tokens and witnesses of Him which God Himself was drawing forth, which His minister was to learn first of the invisible Teacher in the secret ear, and then to proclaim upon the housetops.

III. And how is it now, brethren? Are things altogether changed? Have we, as some tell us we have, the Scriptures and the traditions of the Church, either separately or both together, as substitutes for that inner manifestation of the Son of God, which the Scriptures and the Church say came to certain wise men through the guiding of a star, and to the bulk of the nations through the preaching of the Gospel? The actual prayer of the Collect would be utterly inconsistent with the words which introduce it,—the desire for us could have no connection with the light which came to wise or foolish Gentiles in the old time, if our knowledge of God has not the same ground, is not essentially of the same nature with theirs. The Magians had their traditions, and paid them fitting reverence. They studied the stars in conformity with them. But if their traditions had been a thousand times better than they were, they would have said: “Trust God, and not us. He is with you. Follow His guiding.” They acted on the conviction that this was their duty. They opened their hearts to God’s teaching, and He manifested His Son to them. He led them to the Child. Those to whom St. Paul preached were not merely Gentiles. A Jewish colony was mixed with them. He spoke to both equally. He made use of Gentile traditions and lore. He appealed continually to the Jewish Scriptures, and to the history of the Jewish calling, as authoritative and true. But in both cases equally his object was to lead them to faith in God, in the living Son of God, who had spoken and was speaking to the Gentile conscience, who had spoken and was speaking to the Jewish conscience, not less directly because He had given the Jews a Law, because He had raised up Patriarchs, Kings, Prophets, to rule them, teach them, reprove them; because He had caused His oracles to be collected and written down as testimonies of His continual presence with them. The Jew fancied that the Patriarchs, the Law, the Prophets, were substitutes for the voice that was speaking to the Gentiles. He put these and the written oracles, as well as the comments and traditions of the elders, between God and himself. Whilst therefore he prided himself on his superiority to the Gentiles, he in truth reduced himself to a lower level than theirs. He renounced the human privilege, of which he could not deprive them. He cut himself off, as far as he could, from the Divine light and the Divine manifestation, using his traditions, using God’s Scriptures, to close the passage through which the light of Christ, the Only-begotten Son, was penetrating into his inner man. Therefore is it that St. Paul had to complain so continually, “A veil is on their hearts.” It is not taken away in the reading of the Old Testament, though that testifies everywhere of Christ. Only when they turn to the Lord, when they seek Him who is seeking them, will it be taken away.

This example is so certainly meant for us and is so fearful, that there is need continually to press the truth which the Collect suggests. It is the God, who manifested His only-begotten Son to the Gentiles, who does only, who can only, manifest His Son to us. No book can do it, be it ever so divine; no Church authority or tradition can do it, be it ever so venerable. We must know, not the book, not the tradition, but Him by faith. We must trust Him as we trust a father; that is what the Divine book tells us to do, that is what the Church tells us to do, and its authority and its traditions belie their own origin, contradict themselves and become blasphemies, if they speak otherwise. If we believe in God habitually as a living Person, if we seek Him as a refuge from our own atheism, from our own idolatry, from that in us which is most utterly contrary to Him,—our self-will, our pride, our spite and malice, we shall know Him, really, as one knows a friend, not by seeing Him with the eyes, not by getting reports of Him or traditions of Him from others, be those reports ever so trustworthy, be those traditions ever so reasonable and credible, but by experiencing His help, by finding out how much better He is than we are, and yet how well He understands what we are, and cares for us. To exchange for this practical faith, which rests upon God Himself and His own manifestation of Himself in the Son of God and the Son of Man, a belief in the holy book, is to disobey all the warnings of that Book, to show that we do not know what is in it, that we prize it as a name or a watchword, not for that which it teaches. To exchange for this practical faith a belief in the Church,—a notion that the Church will tell us the right thing and will bring us to Heaven,—is to show that we do not know what it is to be members of a Church, or what a Church is good for; that we do not prize it because it leads us to the Rock on which it stands, to the God who has called it out to be the witness of His revelation of Himself to mankind, of His redemption of mankind, but because we suppose it is ours, and that it gives us some privilege and glory which other men want. This is to exalt ourselves and to deny God.

IV. That is to say, we do not adopt the next clause of the Collect: “We which know Thee now by faith.” I have been obliged in some degree to anticipate these words, but they deserve a separate consideration. We were willing enough to limit ourselves by objects of sight. The world had a great many to offer us that were very beautiful, that deserved all admiration. But to rest in them was impossible. We overlooked them. If we came to them with a heart free and open for joy, they met it and gave it food on which it could feast for a time; if it brought sorrow, they oftener took their colour from it than gave it a brighter one. And there was an inward aching, a craving of the spirit for that which was like itself, for that which was higher than itself, a craving for deliverance from itself, that all these fair images merely mocked. How delightful was it to escape from them to a friend, to a kinsman! to find an object not of sight but of trust!—one who could exchange thoughts and feelings with us, who actually suffered and rejoiced, who was wiser and better than we! But the sympathy becomes exhausted, or there is a vacancy in the character which had seemed all satisfactory, or the wisdom perishes, or some jealousy tears the cord in twain. We need more than this: one altogether better than ourselves; one whose sympathy has no stint; one whose character has no flaw; one who will last the same for ever. We want a Son of Man. The Gospel that there is such a son of Man, that He knows our conditions of birth, of poverty, of suffering and death, what has it not been to Europe for eighteen centuries! Who knows into what hovels the sound has penetrated, over what cradles and what coffins there has been an echo of it? If you suppose the sun’s light and heat have only been felt by those who are acquainted with the right doctrine concerning the heavenly bodies, you may suppose also that Christ’s power has been limited by men’s acquaintance with the right doctrine concerning His relation to the visible or invisible world. As the truest astronomy, by declaring what is the unchangeable law of the world, by showing how entirely independent it is of our conceptions and anticipations, refutes the one conclusion, the truest theology spurns with far greater indignation the other. The theology of St. Paul declares Christ to be the foundation that is laid for every man, not one that men by their faith or feelings can lay for themselves. The theology of St. John declares Christ to be the Light that lighteth every man, whether the Light is acknowledged or denied. The Church, in its Creeds, its Sacraments, and its prayers, proclaims the Incarnation and the Manifestation of the Son of God as good news to the world. She prefers to endure the charge of being assuming and dogmatical, than to earn for herself the credit of hesitation and modesty—by refusing to meet the demand of the human conscience and reason—by teaching men to fancy that truth is created by their thowings.

V. But Simeon did not speak only of “a Light to lighten the Gentiles.” He said there was “a glory” for the “people Israel.” The Collect does not only thank God for manifesting His Son. It asks that we, though Gentiles, may have the “fruition of His glorious Godhead.” These are equivalent expressions. We ask for the whole Church, for the whole Universe, what the Jew believed in for his countrymen.

He felt, and he had a right to feel, that the children of Abraham had been educated for something higher than the sight of the most blessed Child, of the most perfect Man. All their discipline had been to teach them that they could only be satisfied when they awakened up after God’s likeness, that to know Him was their great reward. In our efforts to convert them, we have, I should think, been far too inattentive to this consideration. We have not done justice to the feeling which has been working, however confusedly, in their minds, that there must be the revelation of a divine glory encircling their nation; that if no such glory is in reserve for it, it has existed for nothing. But if we have failed to meet the secret cravings with which God has inspired Jews, if this has been the cause why so few of them have cast in their lot with us, we have done equal wrong to ourselves and to the other nations of the earth through the same ignorance and misunderstanding. The fruition of the glorious Godhead is as needful for us as for them. Whenever we speak of glory, whenever we think of glory, however paltry our words about it, however low our conceptions of it may be, this unspeakable, inconceivable blessedness is lying behind them. Why else does the thought of glory so naturally, so inevitably associate itself with the thought of departure out of the world? Why is there something painful to us in calculating the petty rewards which we can bestow upon a man who has done any work of deliverance for his country? Why do we almost dread—eagerly as we may desire his return—to hear the vulgar, formal phrases which are all we can devise, to commemorate the toils and sufferings that we think of with most gratitude and affection?¹ Why is there somewhat calming and soothing in the sadness which follows a brave man to his grave in the very place where his work was done, just when it was done? Solon, we are told, thought those young men blessed above kings, who yoked themselves to the car of their priestess-mother, and when they had brought her to the temple where her services were due, fell asleep for weariness, and (since she had prayed that the Goddess would pour her best gift upon them) woke no more. Such a gift we may surely believe the God whom we worship would bestow on those who have offered themselves as freely for our common mother. Here the hard fighter knows Him by faith. Whatever may be the nature or the weapons of his outward warfare, he must seek the Captain of his host amidst jungles, must watch for Him by the light of camp-fires. It is by his own weakness that he learns the everlasting Strength; by his sins, the perfect Righteousness; by the feebleness and uncertainty of the halo which plays about the head of the noblest of His servants, the substantial glory of which that is the reflection. After this life comes the fruition of His glory. The longing for selfish prizes has ceased; the earthly weakness of desiring to exchange faith for sense has been taken away. What remains is the vision of that Light which fills earth and heaven, the revelation to the inward eye of the Godhead itself, as the eye of the spiritual body will by degrees become capable of taking in all the beauty and harmony of God’s works.

Yes! there is in us all a deep sighing for Home, a longing which nothing but this beholding of God can satisfy. The more we know of the faiths of all the nations of the earth, the more we discover it. Even where the desire has been most perverted, it still exists. Buddha taught those who honour his name to crave for annihilation. Though few may understand his philosophy, hundreds of millions have been affected by his practical teaching. That dream of theirs seems to us monstrous at some—which are surely the best—moments of our lives. But how often has it seemed most natural, most desirable! To lose oneself, to forget, to be forgotten: who, after days and months of intense restlessness, may not have counted this the highest of all blessings which the soul can attain? As long as there is about us a floating image of a God of wrath, a God from whose dominion we should be glad to escape, yet a God who would fain curse us with immortality, we shall turn to this as a distant but not impossible hope. Terrible as it may be to us to part with all beautiful things that we have delighted in, with all energies, affections, memories, hopes, the conscience will count this a trifling sacrifice to be delivered from its own ever-increasing burden, from the presence of an irresistible enemy.

But when there comes to the conscience the revelation of a reconciled and reconciling God, of One who has manifested His only-begotten Son bearing the burden which we could not bear, taking away the sin of the world, bequeathing peace, giving repentance, baptizing with the Spirit, all is changed. That which was sought in nothingness, is found in a Father. The death of self is the beginning of a new life, of purified affections, energies, memories, hopes. These have their fruition in God. These realize their glory when He is revealed. Therefore it is true, as it was of old, that the desire of nations is for a Christ, a Son of Man; but for a Christ, a Son of Man in whom we may see the Father. Therefore it is true, as it was of old, that the star which shall guide the wise men from the East, be they Buddhists, Brahmins, Mahometans, will rest on the cradle where the young Child lies; but will rest there because that Child has come to manifest the glory of God. Therefore it is true, as it was of old, that the preachers of a Gospel to the Gentiles must go forth telling them that the Word who is their Light, took flesh and dwelt on earth, and suffered the death of the Cross, and that they may be signed with the sign of His Cross; but it is because the Wisdom and Power of God were revealed at Calvary; it is because the assurance was given there that sinful and dying men shall hereafter behold the face of God, and that His Name shall be on their foreheads.