When I became an intentional Christian, as opposed to a Christin who was dragged kicking and screaming to church by my mother, I decided to read the Bible. I did that for several years, because a man I knew told me the government would confiscate all the Bibles, which needed to be memorized so we would know how to live when the Bible was gone. I was gullible then and tended to believe everything I was told, especially if someone spoke in an authoritative tone. But then I read that five billion copies of the Bible had been printed not to mention all the computer versions that were just then emerging, so I stopped worrying. With the pressure off, I decided I would just read the Bible to enjoy it. Then I decided I wanted to not just read the Bible, I wanted to understand it, so began learning its historical context, which I found fascinating and still do.
Each stage was pivotal in arriving at my current understanding of the Bible, as the spiritual stories of hundreds of people over a span of some 1,500 years, whose value transcends the stern rigidity embraced by so many Christians today. I don’t need the Bible to be historically or literally true. I don’t need to parse out its exact meaning. I don’t even need it to be morally or spiritually authoritative, since I am perfectly capable of forming my own moral code, thank you very much, and you are too. If the Bible were to disappear today, I would still know how to live, and so would you.
Flexible interpretation allows us to see things in stories we might not have otherwise noticed. The Bible is what scholars call “multivalent,” which is to say it possesses multiple layers of meaning. Of course, we can interpret the stories in the Bible literally, but if we do, the stories lose their elasticity, lose their ability to become living stories, lose their ability to speak on different levels in different times, and consequently lose their power. This is especially true of the Christmas story, which has been drained of its power through repetition and familiarity. Joseph and Mary are required by law to make a difficult journey at an inopportune time, are unable to find adequate shelter, so their child is born in an animal’s stall. Shortly after his birth, a corrupt and jealous ruler named Herod, who leads a crooked and self-serving political movement, in a fit of paranoia, seeing schemes and plots where there are none, orders the murder of male infants. But this story also has its heroes, a small group go in search of Jesus by following a light that has appeared in the sky. We celebrate that event tomorrow, on Epiphany, when the Magi met Jesus.
We’ve been talking about do’s and don’ts in times of change. Sometimes social change is driven by profound innovations that reorder our world. Other times social change is driven by the Herods of the world. Their hunger for power is insatiable. Their desire to reign, to have their word be the last word, to silence all threats to their privilege, gives birth to great evil. This is Herod in a nutshell. Herod has many children. His descendants can be found in every culture, country, and generation.
In times of change, when a Herod has upended the standards of decency, when a Herod deals in darkness, wise people look for the Light and follow it. They do not despair, descending into hopelessness and doing nothing. They look for the Light.
In times of change, wise men and women do not comply with evil. The Magi following the Light were ordered by Herod to reveal the child’s location and refused. After visiting Jesus they returned home by a different route, evading Herod, thus saving Jesus. From his infancy, Jesus owed his life to the civil disobedience of wise and honorable people. Civil disobedience has a long and honored history in many traditions, not just Christianity. Mahatma Gandhi said, “Civil disobedience becomes a sacred duty when the state has become lawless or corrupt.”
In times of change, we do well to remember that another name for civil disobedience is organized love. When Quakers went to jail rather than going to war, that was organized love. When we assist immigrants, that is organized love. When we make room in our cities, towns, and hearts for those fleeing tyranny and poverty, that is organized love. When we insist on, and work for, the dignity of all people, that is organized love.
When God empowered Jesus, that was organized love.
When a Herod is loose in the land and we refuse to cooperate with his evil schemes, that is organized love.
We are not neutral. Never let it be said that Quakers have been neutral when Herods raged. Never let it be said we stood silently by while the powers and principalities seethed, thundered, and destroyed. Let us be organized lovers. Desmond Tutu said, “If we are neutral in situations of injustice, we have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse and we say that we are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate our neutrality.” You and I are called to be organized lovers. To follow the Light, to stand with Jesus, to protect the innocent, and to keep our distance from Herod, lest we partner in his schemes.
As a child in church, I was told to put on a bathrobe and present Jesus with a cigar box covered in gold foil. I was told the visit of the wise men meant giving gifts to Jesus. I was never told the story of the Magi was a call to moral courage and integrity. I was never told this story was an invitation to follow the Light, to resist evil, to obey the good impulse, and stand against that which would diminish us and others. The story of the Magi is the story of organized love, of saying No! to Herod and Yes! to Light.