"Adoration" | The Rev. Heidi Thorsen | January 7, 2024

May I speak in the name of God, who is to us Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Good morning, and happy Epiphany! This feast of Epiphany, which we celebrate today, commemorates the visitation of a number of wise men (maybe three, maybe more) who come to see Jesus, not long after he is born to Mary and Joseph in a stable in Bethlehem. Our text today calls them “wise men,” though they have also been called kings and even magi, a word that means a member of a priestly caste in Persia; or, alternately, a sorcerer (see, who said the Bible wasn’t interesting?). This image we have of the wise men gathered around Jesus in a stable, or perhaps in the home that Jesus returned to, following the census, is sometimes called the “Adoration of the Magi.” That’s the art historical term, if you will -  a combination of words that is repeated so often in church contexts that we sometimes forget just how strange these words are. I’ve already talked a bit about Magi - a word that identifies these visitors as wise people with some kind of deeper spiritual wisdom, associated with other traditions in the Middle East. But today, I want to focus especially on that first word: adoration. What do we mean when we say “adoration of the magi”? What exactly is the action of adoration? And is this adoration a practice that we, as followers of Christ, can take upon ourselves today?

Adoration is, in a sense, a very traditional word. For centuries, Christians have participated in variations of a practice called the “adoration of the blessed sacrament.” In this practice, Christians turn their attention toward the consecrated bread, such as a communion wafer that has been blessed in Holy Eucharist, and pray. This practice goes back as early as the 4th century, though it really took off in the Western Church in the Middle Ages. Over time people crafted elaborate vessels called monstrances, in which priests could place the consecrated bread behind a piece of glass surrounded by wrought metal decoration. They would hold it high as they processed around the town or parish for all to see, and adore. At other times this practice of adoration has been more private than public, inviting people to come into a church on their own time and sit or kneel near that consecrated bread, and contemplate the mystery of God’s presence here in the world, in physical things. This is not just a historical practice. There are churches in our city that carry on this tradition. If you’d like to experience it, go to Christ Church on the feast Corpus Christi (Thursday, May 30 this year), and you too can process around the block at Broadway and Elm following bread held high, perplexing all the cars that pass through the busy intersection at Elm Street and Broadway. I have done it and I will tell you: it is profoundly strange, and profoundly meaningful. This practice takes us outside of our modern lives, and compels us to think about God’s presence in the world in a different way.

Maybe some of you here today can’t wait to participate in the adoration of the blessed sacrament, as a kind of New Year’s resolution. New year; new spiritual practice. Perhaps others are working through some Roman Catholic baggage, and are wondering why on earth we are talking about adoration of the blessed sacrament at an Episcopal Church. I imagine others don’t care, or are simply confused. Let me reassure you that it is not my intention to introduce this particular practice, here at Trinity. But I wonder if there are other ways that we as Christians can adopt an attitude or practice of adoration, without smoke and bells and monstrances. I think there is something about an attitude of adoration that is good and holy for all of us. After all, this is the same impulse that led the wise men to follow a star and find Jesus. The impulse to pay homage. The impulse to adore.

Adoration is, at its heart, an attitude of wonder. It is a feeling that draws us out of ourselves, and connects us to all that is holy in the world around us. Our longing for holiness, our longing for connection and purpose and meaning, all lead us to Jesus. Joyful, joyful, we adore thee. O come, let us adore him. These are words we sing at Christmastime to recognize the way that our hearts are drawn towards God. To recognize the magnetism of this powerful idea: the belief that God became human. This gift of incarnation means that God chose to enter this world; to become flesh and live among us. In doing so, God has consecrated—God has made holy—the world around us. Because of Jesus, we can find the presence of God in bread and wine. And we can find it in so much more, too. We can find it in the mountains and the ocean; in the eyes of another human being; in the changing of the seasons; in the fall of snow.

If adoration of the blessed sacrament is not a practice that appeals to you, try adoration of the world around you. This practice is not as unfamiliar as it might seem, at first. Perhaps you are familiar with the adoration that comes, almost second nature, when interacting with a beloved animal: with a dog wagging its tail when you come home, or a cat purring on your lap. Perhaps you are familiar with adoration when you look out over a beautiful view. Or perhaps you know the adoration of looking at an infant, a child, a young human being with a completely different way of interacting with the world. I imagine that feeling is most similar to what the wise men felt, when they paid looked on the infant Jesus.

Adoration is the practice of looking at the world with wonder, and recognizing God in the midst of it all. 

Adoration is the practice that I want to commit to, this week and in the year to come: to look upon this world with the same love and tenderness with which God looks at each one of us.

Our Gospel passage for today shows us what adoration looks like, as we read the story of the wise men traveling from far away to pay homage to Jesus. But it also shows us that there are some attitudes that may look like adoration, from the outside, but are far from it. This is the example of King Herod, who shows a singular kind of focus on the infant Jesus that is not adoration. It is, instead, a kind of obsession - an interest corrupted by fear and envy. Herod seeks out a Jesus with the same level of devotion as the wise men. But this devotion is for the sake of his own self-preservation. It is not for the sake of Jesus.

While Herod may seem like an extreme example, I think we can each consider how a shadow side to adoration might show up in our own lives. Maybe your love or appreciation for something outside of yourself triggers a kind of envy. Social media is a place where we see this happen all the time. We see the happiness or success of other people, and instead of bringing us joy it brings us pain. Envy is a kind of singular focus that makes us forget how our lives and wellbeing are all bound up with each other. We forget that we are all part of one creation, one body, one community in Christ.

 Another shadow side to adoration is idolatry - when we put someone or something so high up on a pedestal that we forget its flaws. When we do this, we lose touch with reality. And that is an unfortunate thing - because reality is where incarnation happens. God chose to enter into our reality, into the mud and mess of our lived experience. This is where we find God - not high on a pedestal, but down in the dirt where our feet touch the earth.

Remember that Jesus was born in a stable. When we think of adoration, we might be tempted to sugarcoat it: to draw pretty Thomas Kincade images of the manger in our minds, or to only adore those things which are truly adorable—puppies and babies and the like. But Jesus was born in a stable—amidst the slop and grime of animals living their everyday lives. Imagine the smell of manure. Imagine a goat in the corner that won’t stop bleating. This is the reality that the wise men came to adore. The reality of God, in human form, made manifest.

Adoration is a far more radical practice than simply loving those things which are lovely. Adoration is a practice of seeing God in everything, and loving the world in all its brokenness. Can you adore a world in which people are living on our streets without housing? Can you adore the rubble in Israel and Palestine, that represents so many lives fractured or lost? Can you adore sickness, flooding, car accidents, long lines, broken fences, the DMV, earthquakes, missed opportunities, wintry mix… all of it? I hope we can. Because adoring something doesn’t mean that it is right, or perfect or good. It simply means: this is holy. Adoring something means: pay attention. Holiness is here. This matters.

We are called to adore this world for a simple reason: because God first adored us.

And so I invite us today: to choose love over hate.

Choose adoration over envy.

Choose wonder over fear.

Let us follow in the footsteps of Christ by adoring this world that God chose to live in, right alongside us. Amen.