When Jesus is crucified in the Gospel of Matthew, the Roman soldiers put a plaque above his head that reads, “King of the Jews.” During Holy Week, we may note this in passing. There’s so much going on. Earlier that week, Pilate accuses Jesus of claiming to be the “King of the Jews,” himself.  Again, mostly, the reference tends to fly right past us.  This morning, though, I want to pause and put this accusation in context.  According to Matthew, who were the Magi looking for when they got to Herod’s court?  They were asking for the newborn King of the Jews.  That question was enough to drive Herod crazy.

I had a professor in college, Dr. Gerry Thorson, who was a sacred person in my life and a key figure in my growth as a thinker.  Dr. Thorson was an English professor who loved 19th and 20th century American literature.  Over a number of courses, we moved from the literature of a very agrarian America—people like Willa Cather and Ole Rolvaag—to the literature of the great wars—William Styron and the like.  He was an unassuming presence in class—humble and smiling most of the time, but in his own subtle way, he helped us not only become readers but grow as writers, ourselves.

Have you ever had an epiphany? An epiphany is a sudden insight into the nature of something, usually in a simple and striking way.  What I discover as true has been true all along.  What makes my discovery an epiphany is that all of a sudden, I “get it.”  “Wow,” I think to myself, “how did I not see that before?”

This morning, I would like to amplify a few of the things that I mentioned in the children’s time on Christmas Eve.  My hope is that in doing so, we can spend a few moments looking forward to the year before us with a sense of acceptance and maybe even a sense of direction.  There are so many unknowns and so many things over which we have no control.  This morning, we need to do a little inventory of what we do know and of the choices we can make.