Do you ever ask when you witness horrific world events: Where is God? Will he do anything about this?
And when that devastation comes closer to home, when you’re in a prolonged season of grief that hurts more than you’ve ever known, have you wondered: Lord, do you love me? Do you not care that I’m suffering?
A writer in the Old Testament said, I’m weary from my crying; my throat is parched. My eyes fail, looking for my God (Ps 69:3), and I understand where they’re coming from. There are times when I can’t see God anywhere and I’m sure he’s not listening to my grief. What I really believe, what I’m afraid might be true, comes out in crisis and although it may sound like a question, I’m often actually making a statement: He’s not here.
It’s no different for the people of Jerusalem during the time Matthew 2:1-18 takes place.
Luke 2 tells us Rome has imposed its rule on the region and its current leader, Caesar Augustus, wants to register every citizen for taxes and military recruitment. The law demands everyone must register in their actual places of birth so folks are forced to stop work, pack bags and travel far distances, fearing punishment if they disobey. In Joseph and pregnant Mary’s case, they leave their home in Nazareth and head to Bethlehem, about a four day journey on foot.
In Matthew 2 we read that during this politically tumultuous time, a bright star blazed in the sky and some wise strangers followed that star from far away, looking for a child King.
It begins this way:
After Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of King Herod, wise men from the east arrived in Jerusalem, saying, “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we saw his star at its rising and have come to worship him. When King Herod heard this, he was deeply disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him. So he assembled all the chief priests and scribes of the people and asked them where the Messiah would be born.” (Matt. 2:1-4)
There’s a sad irony here because Bethlehem is the place where everyone should be looking for the true King (Mic. 5:2), but this passage reads like no one is. Herod, and Jerusalem with him, seem surprised and are deeply disturbed by the wise men’s questions.
Disturbed? Herod’s been put in charge of Jerusalem and its people; he’s in league with Rome. He’s a politician, a man of power, so it makes sense he’d be disturbed by the mention of anyone who may potentially rival him. No surprise there.
But what about all of Jerusalem? Why were they deeply disturbed? Perhaps it was because they were a people group who’d been pushed around, afraid, and profoundly disappointed, for a very long time. Another king? Another upheaval? Another fight for power in their midst? More taxes? More military recruitment? More oppression?
Tired and beaten down the people of Jerusalem forgot what was promised. They didn’t recognize the signs of their Messiah who had come, just as God had said. In their terrible suffering they couldn’t see. They needed an epiphany.
And isn’t this familiar to you? Do you ever feel this way? Another sorrow? Another loss? Another disappointment? Another illness? Another crisis? Another conflict?
Another war? Another rape? Another famine? Flood? Drought? Outbreak? Another displaced people? Another missing indigenous woman? Another fentanyl overdose?
We, just like the people of Jerusalem, can be so tired, so sad, so jaded. It’s a struggle to see Jesus in our suffering and in our suffering world. We too might stop looking for the promised one and we are deeply disturbed with each new report.
But listen to what Matthew says to our weary and sad selves: Behold, he says, be sure to see!
Behold, wise men came from the east to Jerusalem saying: Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him. (Matt. 2:2)
Matthew wants us to see the blazing star and wants us to see these wise men who don’t live in Jerusalem. Matthew wants us to behold and know the God who sent them both—epiphany.
This shining star and these strangers from far away come and say to the Israelites then and to us now: Hey people of God! Where is he? Where is the child of this messed up world? Where is the King? Let’s go worship him!
Even during seasons of tremendous fear and terrible darkness, even when we are done and doubtful, harassed and helpless, blind and brutal, Jesus wants to be seen and known and he will use people we’ve hardly met, unsettling events, and even the stars, to help us find and worship him.
Maybe you’re like the people of Jerusalem, like me, and you’re having a hard time seeing anything good or hopeful, anything that smells remotely like God.
Come see and know the one who hung a massive star right above the place Jesus was born–he was that intent on being found. Come see and know the God who moves folks to travel very great distances in order to seek him and to tell others–he wants us to remember the promised one that much. Come see and know the God who came to a very bewildered and burdened people when they needed him most.
What are the things and the people God uses to remind you he is right here, with you, always loving you? A song? A bible verse? Goldfinches? A faithful dog? A long run? That person who’s always prayed for you? Sunday worship? Dinner with a friend?
Seek these out and find Jesus.
Or maybe you’re one of those unusual things or people in the life of a weary and worried wanderer. Is there someone that needs you to point to the blazing star and say: Hey, come with me, let’s go find the King so we can worship him?
Who has God put in your life? Who are you living beside, already texting with, working with, being family with? Who are the folks in your life that need help believing there’s a God worth looking for and his name is Jesus? Is there one person in particular, someone living like there’s no hope? Someone who needs a star or a stranger to help them find the King? Would you commit, this year, to loving this person well? Praying for them every day, inviting them for dinner, introducing them to other believers, walking with them towards Jesus?
Jesus chooses to be seen and known through strangers and stars, and we are both.
