Category: Uncategorized

Text: Matthew 2:1-12

This sermon was originally preached at Saint Stephen’s Episcopal Church in Sherman, Texas, on Sunday, January 4, 2026.

In the Gospel readings of the Christmas season, the Lord Jesus is understandably silent. Usually, the Gospel reading features Christ saying something, doing something. He’s a grown man, active in his ministry: teaching, working a miracle, engaged in conflict. But in these Christmas Gospels, he’s a newborn and so has no words to give us. And he does not drive the action, but like all infants is dependent on the actions of those around him. The Jesus of the Christmas Gospels is passive: he is born, he is visited by the shepherds and the Magi, he is circumcised and named, he is taken by night to Egypt. Things happen to him.

And this fact should remind us of the ineffable condescension of the Incarnation. The Word is so humble– he humbles himself so much by becoming one of us. In the Incarnation, the God who is totally active becomes, for a season, passive. The Word of God becomes wordless. The eternal God as a little child– helpless, dependent. It is a humility beyond comprehension.

And so, it’s the other figures in the Gospel stories who speak to us, whose actions are woven into the Christmas mystery: Mary, Joseph, the angels, the shepherds, Herod… and the Wise Men.

The Magi are a colorful part of our Christian heritage, and most people have an idea in their heads of what they look like. Their skin is swarthy, they’re dressed in kingly robes and crowns, each with their treasure chest. Yet St. Matthew doesn’t give us much information about who these Wise Men are. We don’t learn their names. We don’t know which country they’re from, other than that it’s in the East. We don’t learn how they came to know about the Star that led them to Jesus.

We know that the Magi were sages from an Eastern kingdom like Chaldea or Persia. They are pagans from a pagan land. They are Gentiles. They are astronomers… what today we’d call astrologers. They studied the heavenly bodies and deduced current and future events from them. So there appeared in the night sky a star that for some reason indicated to them that a king had been born in the land of Israel. Something in their astrological “science” told them that this star, based on its location, its movement, its relation to other heavenly bodies, signaled the birth of a king in Israel.

And they want to meet this King. They are probably aware of some of the prophecies of the Hebrew Bible about the King of the Jews: how he will reign over the earth in righteousness, how he will bring the nations to the worship of the true God, how this King is so exalted he may even be divine or something close to it. They want to meet this newborn King and do him homage and seek his favor. So they make the decision to set out from their land to make the long journey to the land of Judea.

True to the minimalist literary style of the Gospels, we don’t get a detailed description of that journey, much less something cinematic. The Evangelist simply tells us that the Magi journeyed from their land to Judea, led on by the Star. But it must have been a long, hard journey! We don’t often think of what these sages must have been through to get to the newborn Christ.

T.S. Eliot wrote a poem called “Journey of the Magi” which imagines the conditions of their journey. It’s narrated by one of the Wise Men, who says

‘A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted [leaving]…

And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

It was a long and hard journey for these men, who had left their homes to see a King they had never met, who might not even exist if they read the heavens wrong. Imagine if they arrived in Judea and there was no King! There must have been for these sages doubts, questionings, grumblings as they made this journey through the dead of winter.

And when they did arrive, and found the Christ Child, and looked upon his face, did they truly understand the significance of the One they were meeting? Did they understand that this child was God incarnate? Did they understand that they were the first Gentiles to see the Messiah in the flesh?

True, they did fall down and worship him. They did present their gifts— but did they know the meaning of these presents? Gold for a king, incense for a god, myrrh for one who was to die?

They had met the newborn King— here he was, in the flesh, the Reality that had caused the heavens to give forth a sign. And they rejoiced. But then they returned to their country. Did they know what this Child would become? Had they any idea of the miracles he would perform, of the teachings he would proclaim, of the death and resurrection he would undergo?

The major events of the life of Christ, everything we associate with Jesus — the miracles, the parables, the Passion— none of these had happened yet. The Magi couldn’t have known who this Child would grow up to be. Yet they had an experience of him: the divine serenity of his infant countenance, the grace-filled atmosphere of the Holy Family’s home. They had seen the Christ, and even if they couldn’t articulate it, it had changed them.

And that’s how Eliot’s poem ends, with one of the Wise Men back home and reflecting how the experience has forever unsettled him:

We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

“No longer at ease here.” They have seen the true Light and now the darkness of the pagan world can no longer be natural for them.

The Magi represent all of us. Like them, we are Gentiles, shrouded in the ignorance of false gods until God in his mercy showed us the Light of His Son. We have, each of us, been led to the Christ– if not by a star, then by the events of our lives, imprinted with the touch of God. God has revealed to us His Son.

But we have to make the journey. The Christian life is one long journey to see the Christ face to face. And it can be a hard journey. We may say, with Eliot’s Magi, “A hard time we had of it.” The ways deep, and the weather sharp.

It’s not easy to journey toward Christ, whom we have not yet seen in the flesh, whom we have not yet seen face to face. We walk by faith and not by sight. And on the journey, there might be grumblings, doubts, questionings. Tragedy can strike, well-laid plans are leveled, and the whole enterprise can seem illusory— the voices singing in our ears, that this is all folly.

But we have the grace of God to sustain us in the journey, to comfort and help us, to reassure us that the trek is not in vain. We do not yet see him face to face, but we do see him in Word and Sacrament: in the inspired words of Scripture, in the mysteries of the Church, in the fellowship of our brothers and sisters. He is with us. And the more we get to know him, the more we feel ill at ease in this world, with all its lusts and falsehoods and idols.

When we have seen the true Light, even if only through a glass darkly, we can no longer be at ease here, in the old dispensation, clutching the gods of this world. Something within us has changed. We have changed. And the old ways are no longer sufficient or desirable.

“A cold coming we had of it.” And yet there is the Child, there is the Light. And aren’t we glad we made the journey? Amen.

This homily was preached at the wedding of Denton Knight and Madison Poe at Saint Stephen’s Church on Saturday, October 11, 2025.

Texts: 1 Corinthians 13, Matthew 5:1-10

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Marriage is for salvation. The highest purpose of your Christian marriage will be to help each other to be saved– to help each other to be better Christians. Our Lord Jesus Christ calls all of us to a life of discipleship, a life of following him in the way of the cross and the way of resurrection. And it is not an easy life. It is a life that calls us to die to self and to give ourselves in love to God and to others. It is a life that is characterized by the Beatitudes we just heard: poverty of spirit, humility, purity of heart, striving for what is right and good and lovely. It is a life that is characterized by the love that St. Paul so beautifully extols to the Corinthians. A love that is patient and kind. A love that is not irritable or resentful. A love that does not insist on its own way– that bears all things, hopes all things, believes all things. That is the kind of love to which we are called as Christians. And it isn’t easy to live this way.

Some people can do this on their own, or they choose to do it on their own. But for most of us, we find that we want a companion in life to help us on the way to salvation. We find that God has called us to give ourselves to another person, someone we find is a counterpoint and a complement to our own soul. And that’s what you have found in each other. And so, as you already have been doing, but will continue to do, you will help each other to be sanctified, to be saved. You will help each other to be the Christians that God calls you to be. And you will do this with both with your strengths and with your shortcomings.

Each of you has strengths, ways in which you will encourage and inspire each other. And each of you has imperfections, shortcomings. Denton will have to be patient with Madison, and Madison will have to be patient with Denton. And so in both your strengths and in your shortcomings, you will teach each other how to love, how to be patient, how to forgive. You are called to encourage each other in your Christian life.

And this will not be possible for you in your own strength, which is why in the marriage service we so frequently and unceasingly ask for God to bless your marriage, to give you the grace and help that you will need to love each other, to be faithful to each other.

Your married life together will be a life in which you truly look at each other. And when you look at the face of your beloved, you will know in your heart, “This is my person.” Marriage means looking at each other, in fidelity, not looking somewhere else, at someone else. We hope and pray that this will be a marriage that lasts, that endures for many years and decades– that you will grow old together, and will continue to see each other face to face. You’ll have more wrinkles, more gray in your hair, but you’ll see each other still, as you do today.

This marriage is for your salvation, your coming to know the grace of God in its fullness. And if you remember nothing else from my homily, remember that. That’s what this is for, this is its highest purpose. Marriage is not only for companionship, not only for romance, not only for having children– as great and desirable as all those things are. The highest purpose of your marriage is to help each other be saved. So that someday, having lived together faithfully in this life, you will in the age to come have life everlasting. So that, in the world to come, you will both be there, with all the saints.

And you will once more look upon the face of your beloved, now radiant with the divine glory. And you will be able to know, “This person is here, in part, because I helped them. I helped them to remain faithful. I helped them to learn how to love, to live according to the Beatitudes, to live a love that is patient and kind and that endures all things.” And that is the greatest joy of marriage. To know that you helped another person make it to the Kingdom of Heaven.

And that is what I ask both of you to remember throughout your married life. That’s what this is about. You’re helping each other to follow our Lord Jesus and to take one step at a time into his glorious and joyful Kingdom, into the land of that love, which, as St. Paul says, never ends. Amen.

Saint Stephen’s Episcopal Church in Sherman, Texas, will observe Holy Week with a full schedule of services. As a traditional Anglo-Catholic parish, we will celebrate Our Lord’s Passion and Resurrection with the very best of the Western Christian tradition.

Our services feature sacred organ music, ancient and modern hymns, and readings from the King James Bible. Children are welcomed and fully a part of the celebration.

On Palm Sunday (April 13 at 9:30 am), we will commemorate the Lord’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem with a procession and festal hymns.

On Holy Monday and Holy Wednesday (April 14 and 16 at 9 am), we will pray Morning Prayer and remember Jesus’ final teachings in Jerusalem.

On Maundy Thursday (April 17 at 7 pm), we will observe the Washing of Feet, celebrate the Mass of the Last Supper, and remember the Lord’s betrayal and arrest.

On Good Friday (April 18 at 7 pm), we will hear the story of Our Lord’s Passion according to Saint John, venerate the holy cross, sing Good Friday hymns, and celebrate the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts.

On Easter Eve (April 19 at 8 pm), we will kindle the paschal fire and hear the story of our salvation in a tapestry of readings, choral anthems, and prayers. We will announce Christ’s Resurrection, sing joyous hymns, and celebrate the first Eucharist of Easter.

On Easter Sunday (April 20 at 9:30 am), our Easter celebration continues with a festal High Mass, paschal hymns, and a Children’s Choir special. After the service, an Easter brunch and Easter egg hunt for the kids will follow in the Parish Hall and Garden.

Come and see!

Saint Stephen’s Episcopal Church

401 S. Crockett St.

Sherman, TX 75090

Perhaps the most unusual aspect of my Catholic upbringing is that I had no devotion to the Virgin Mary throughout my childhood and adolescence. Of course, I did not view her negatively, but I did not ask for her intercessions, nor pray the Angelus, the Rosary, or the Hail Mary. When I became Anglican during university, my lack of Marian devotion and minimal interest in Marian theology remained.

I am increasingly convinced that this is not ideal, especially given my pro-life convictions. The Advent and Christmas seasons provide more support for the pro-life position than any other—the Annunciation and virginal conception, the pregnancy of Mary, the leaping of John the Baptist in Elizabeth’s womb, even (tragically) Herod’s massacre of the infants. They are also the liturgical seasons in which Mary is most prominent.

This is not coincidental. From Annunciation to Nativity, Mary persisted in her commitment to the sanctity of the life she bore. She is the exemplar of the woman who said yes to life.

Yet Evangelicals have pushed her to the margins of our spirituality, theology, and iconography (not literally our icons, but the whole visual system we present to the world as representing our Christianity). Evangelicals can correct this unfortunate development with an added Marian emphasis in preaching, theology, and devotion, done tastefully and non-excessively (see Luther’s Mariology for a good example). Contemplation of Mary will not only further illuminate the pro-life position, but, like all good Mariology, it will draw our attention to her Son—not the one who said yes to life, but the One who is Life itself.