Matthew 2:1-12; John 4:1-42; Luke 19:1-10

My name is Casper, an astrologer. My friends and I saw a star, a strange star.

Balthazar looked at our map of that part of the sky. “It’s not here. It should be …” He stuck his finger at the empty spot on the map.

Melchior looked back up at the sky. “But it’s in the sky! Right there!”

I thought about it. Sometimes, when someone important was born, signs in the heavens announce the birth. The great Greek conqueror Alexander was one such. Another was Caesar Augustus.

As we studied the new star, we came to the conclusion that it was a birth star, a star announcing the birth of a very special child. “The star will lead us to the west. We must go find this child,” declared Balthazar.

Melchior and I agreed. We gathered together what supplies we would need. The next night we bid farewell to our family and friends and left in search of this infant. To follow the star, of course, we had to travel at night.

The star led us in the direction of Jerusalem, the capital of the Roman territory of Judea. At dawn of the third day, we could see the city in the far distance. It looked like Jerusalem was in the path of the star. And surely a child with a star would be born in the royal city, born to the ruling family. Only a royal child would have a star!

We gave up our nighttime traveling, moving faster in the daytime. We continued into the city. It was late afternoon when we approached the guard at the palace of Herod, known as the King of the Jews.

“We have come to see the child who is born to be king,” we told him.

I saw the guard’s eyes widen, registering alarm.

“We saw his star at its rising, and we have come to pay him homage,” added Balthazar.

After a few minutes the guard returned and escorted us to a private room off the throne room.

We bowed to Herod, and Melchior asked, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.”

“His star?” asked the ruler. His eyes narrowed, and I noticed his fists clenching.

“A special star, a new star,” answered Casper. “Such a star usually announces the birth of a very special child. Since the star led us here, we presumed that it announces a child born to the Jews, born to be king, born in your palace.”

“No such child has been born here,” replied Herod carefully. “Let me consult my advisors.”

We discussed the situation as we waited. The child had not been born in Jerusalem to the ruling family? That was strange. Stars only announced the birth of powerful men, men chosen by the gods for a special purpose. Who would be more powerful in Israel than Herod and his family? Who else would be in line?

Finally Herod returned. “My advisors tell me that the prophets expect a ruler to be born in Bethlehem, a small town south of here.” He paused and then added, “Go and search carefully for the child. As soon as you find him, report to me, so that I too may go and worship him.”

We found the child in Bethlehem. A common child! Born to common people! In a common house. Not to a powerful family. Not a child who has a future of any kind. Yet he had the star. That makes no sense. Why would a common child have a star?

And then, why would he have an angel? An angel came to us to send us home a different way, not through Jerusalem. And we left, wondering. What was so special about this child, that he would have a star and an angel?

To add to our confusion, why were we the only ones who came to pay him homage? The parents said some shepherds had come the first night, but nobody since then. If Herod’s advisors knew where the baby was to be born, why hadn’t they already come? Why did Herod need us to come back and tell him?

We went home by a different way, but we went home not so sure of ourselves. Would God use a child born of common people? Why would God announce the birth of a nobody child in a nondescript family in a nowhere town? Didn’t God know how things were supposed to be? And so we questioned what we had known, what we had believed. We returned home, not only by a different way, but changed ourselves. What if he were not to be king, but he would be the Messiah the Jews waited for?

# # #

John 4:1-42

My name is Deborah, but I don’t have a name in the scriptures. I’m simply called the Samaritan woman.

Let me tell you my story. I was at the well about noon time, drawing water. A small group of men approached. I ignored them, because I expected them to ignore me. Most of them went into town, but one remained.

The strange thing is that the man spoke to me! “Will you give me a drink?”

I was shocked! Men in our time don’t speak to unrelated women under any circumstances, and certainly women do not speak with unrelated men! Certainly Jewish men do not speak to Samaritan women, but he asked me for a drink. And then we had a conversation! We spoke together, back and forth, even about theological things. Women in my day weren’t supposed to know anything about theological things, about God and worship and such. Certainly we could not talk with men about those things. But he and I did!

Of course I was surprised that he knew about my life, how many men had been my husband. So when I went back into the village, I told people that he must be the Messiah because he knew about me. But then, as everyone was heading out to the well to see this stranger, it hit me!

First, he did not condemn me. I went out to the well at noon because none of the women in the village would have anything to do with me. Having had five husbands in itself marked me as bad news. Why had they all died? So many brothers, each trying to raise a son to my first husband. I must be cursed.

And then, the man I was living with … not my husband in any sense. He was the man I was living with. Period. He was the man who “let” me clean and cook for him. And so I was a nothing in my village, a nobody.

But watching everyone head for the well, I realized something. I had called him the Messiah – the one who saves. SAVES! The one who offers us freedom, freedom from oppression, freedom from sin, freedom from guilt, freedom from judgment! The one who saves.

No, my life didn’t change that much after he left. I still lived with the man who was not my husband, and he didn’t treat me much better. I was still an outcast in my village. But at the same time, everything was different. Because I no longer saw myself as responsible for everything that had happened to me. I no longer bore the guilt that had burdened me since I was a young widow.

Yes, I followed the people back out to the well, and I listened to the teacher – he called himself a teacher, not the messiah, but I knew better. And when the others returned to the village, I followed them, but it was different. In a sense, I went back to the village by a different route, with a different understanding of Yahweh and of myself, because I was different.

# # #

Luke 19:1-10

My name is Zacchaeus. You know me as the man of short stature who climbed the sycamore tree to see Jesus. I’m a tax collector. I was before I met Jesus, and I still am. But things are not the same since that day.

Tax collectors, you probably know, in my day were both hated and feared. We had no restrictions on how we collected taxes or on how much we collected. The Romans gave us a certain sum that we were to collect for them, and we had better turn that exact amount over to them, not a mite less.

If we collected exactly what we turned over to the Romans, you can understand that we wouldn’t have any income for ourselves, nothing to live on, to support our families. So we charged the people extra, whatever we thought we needed to live comfortably. And the simple fact is that many tax collectors charged a whole lot extra, half again as much or more.

You can certainly understand, then, that the people hated us. And most of us were Jews, so we were seen as traitors to our own people. Since we had the power of the Roman empire behind us, they couldn’t do anything but pay what we demanded. Sometimes they had to sell their own children to raise the money.

I had heard about this Jesus fellow, that he didn’t view people the same way others did. He didn’t care about a person’s reputation, either good or bad. He didn’t care what others thought or said. He had even healed beggars! Blind or lame, it made no difference. We all knew that beggars were sinners, blind or lame because God was punishing them. So apparently this Jesus didn’t even care what GOD thought about people!

And then he saw me in the tree and called me down.  “Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.”

“At my house?” I asked as I scrambled out of the tree. To stay with me? To eat with me? You only eat with people who are your peers, your friends, people you trust. Nobody wants to eat with sinners, with the scum of society.

So when he said he wanted to stay with me, he was honoring me. He was saying that I could be among his friends, that I was worthy. And as you know, I accepted that honor. I’m still a tax collector, but I only take what the Romans demand. And if people can’t pay it, I help them out.

Because I’m different. The path we took to my house that day, it was different than I had ever seen it before. It was the same path, but I went home by a different route, because I was not the same person.

And later, after his death, they said he was the Messiah, the Savior. The one who saves. He saved me, saved me from a life of misery and shame and judgment. Saved me from a life of greed and gluttony. He did not judge me. He offered me release from bondage, release from oppression. The Messiah? Yes. Yes, he was, and he is.

# # #

My name is . . . ah, but I can’t tell you my name. I can’t tell you, because you might recognize me. You might recognize me as someone you know, perhaps even yourself. My name is Me, You, Us, We, Anyone, Everyone, All of us.

Our stories are different. We come from different places, different families, different backgrounds, perhaps even different cultures. We don’t look the same, act the same, think the same. Sometimes we don’t even worship the same way.

Perhaps this morning we have come, seeking, seeking the child in the manger, not sure what we will find. Perhaps we have looked in other places, asking others how to find what we seek.

Perhaps this morning we have come, certain of who we are, certain of where we are going, certain of how we will get there. This journey we are on — some of us have come from afar, and some of us live in the same village as always. Some of us have worshiped in other places, and some of us have always worshiped in this house.

And only we know what we will find as we gaze at the baby born under a star, the baby who became a man, the man who broke the taboos of his time, who spoke with women, who ate with sinners, who heals us of our guilts and doubts.

And when we go home, will we be the same? Will we accept his healing? Will we accept his acceptance? Of ourselves? Of others? Will we be different?

For consideration:

General Questions

1) How does this story follow its Scripture?

2) How does this story expand its Scripture for you?

3) What is the message of this story?

4) How does the message apply to us today?

Specific Questions

5) As we gaze at the baby in the manger (probably not a living one) this Christmas, will we be the same?

6) Will we accept his healing?

7) Will we accept his acceptance? Of ourselves? Of others?

8) How will we be different?